The new normal

That's the second time I've named a blog entry after a TV show. Hopefully I won't do one called Have I Got News For You. If I do one called Skins, then assume I've become a psychopath and call the police okay? Okay.

One day in the hospital I started crying because I wanted things to just be normal again. I wanted to be in my pyjamas, in my own bed, drinking tea out of my Simpsons mug. What didn't occur to me at the time was that my life was taking on a new definition of normal.

I'd been in hospital for so long at that point, that it was becoming normal! The next day, my sister brought me my Simpsons mug and put a cup of tea in it that she'd bought in the hospital cafe. Don't get me wrong, I really did appreciate the gesture and if that mug hadn't had tea in it, I would have cradled it like a child. Something felt a little bit weird though. It was like I'd got used to drinking tea out of the NHS mugs. Drinking from my Simpsons mug felt a bit surreal.

I've previously mentioned about how I think you can become institutionalised in hospital, and I did. To the point where, even though having to come back in was incredibly annoying and upsetting for me, I don't mind  saying that part of me was kind of relieved. Some of the staff would say,"Oh, hello Adele! Are you back?" I was nearly like,"Yes! Yes I am! How have you been? What's the gossip?" That soon wore off though, and I wanted to come home again.

I was there for so long that I'd simply got comfortable with the routine. This had become my definition of normal. I knew when I would be brought medication, I knew when I would be given my main meals, I knew when I would be offered a cup of tea. I'd got to a point where I was chatting to the some of the staff like we were old friends! Once I started getting better, it was like being on a rubbish holiday.

Even now that I am out of hospital, I have a new definition of normal. Taking medication is now a normal part of my life. The scar on my neck is normal now. I am adjusting, because I have to. Eventually I will stopped being surprised by seeing my scar in my reflection. Eventually will take my medication without thinking about it (it's doubtful that I will stop whining about a certain calcium supplement though.) Hopefully I will adjust to this new lifestyle as quickly as I adjusted to being in hospital!

This, whether I like it or not, is my new normal.

The worst things

Look, I don't want to get dramatic, but it's going to happen. I'm here to tell you the worst things about being in hospital.

-Hospital food is THE WORST! (The mere memory of it makes me do a tiny vomit in my mouth)

-Blood tests are THE WORST! (Especially when they wake you up at 6.00 in the morning to do them)

-Ward rounds are THE WORST! (Yeah sure, I'll just sit here eating breakfast while you discuss me like I can't hear you)

-Vomiting is THE WORST! (Although Weetabix does make for quite a pleasant vomiting experience)

-Anti-embollism stockings are THE WORST! (They only come in one colour as well. What's up with that?)

-Hospital gowns are THE WORST! (Inadequate dresses)

-Canulars are THE WORST! (They get in the way and they itch!)

-Calcium problems are THE WORST! (Get it together, body!)

-Calcichews are THE WORST! (There's that tiny vomit again)

-Catheters are THE WORST! (Imagine constantly peeing but never getting any kind of relief)

-Using a commode is THE WORST! (They wondered why I had trouble "going". It was a chair with a cardboard bowl attached!)

-Overhearing a doctor and a nurse discuss your poo is THE WORST! (Yeah, this happened)

-Hospital beds are THE WORST! (Weird dimensions)

-Hearing me talk about my poo, pee and vomit is THE WORST! (For you. Probably. Sorry)

-Having to take so much medication is THE WORST! (Previously I thought the three vitamins I'd been taking each day was a bit much!)

-Shoulder and neck pain is THE WORST! (Can't get comfy. Or do anything!)

-Having a really weird numb feeling in my neck and ears is THE WORST!

Okay. I'm done. I think I'm done anyway. Phew! It was so good to get that off my chest!

Angelina Jolie's boobs

Will be the subject of this blog. Without visual aids though, cheeky!

As far as I understand it, she had a double masectomy. A preventative measure, because she was found to have a cancer gene.

Now, I wouldn't necessarily call her a hero. She was presented with an option, and agreed it was the best course of action. However, I still think someone could draw some inspiration from this and I'll explain why.

Aspects of cancer treatment can be demoralising. Having to have a masectomy. Losing your hair during chemotherapy. Even I got a bit of an unpleasant shock when I first looked in the mirror after surgery! You can't always find the strength to say,"Well now I can get a bunch of fun scarves to tie around my head! It'll be fun!" or,"Well now bikini shopping might be a bit easier!" For some it is probably a constant reminder of how unfair the situation is. 

Here's where I come to Angelina Jolie. Yes, the woman has done some weird stuff, but she is still strong, confident, and incredibly beautiful. Losing her boobs is not going to change that (and even she probably had to brace herself when she saw her reflection for the first time after surgery). I hope that other women who've been through this kind of thing would see that they can still be strong, confident, and beautiful. They ARE still strong, confident, and beautiful! 

Strong. Confident. Beautiful. 

The next step

So, today I went to the hospital where I will be having radioiodine treatment soon. It was mostly just a chat with the consultant and the thyroid specialist nurse (that is a thing you can be). Mum took loads of notes, and I just kind of nodded a lot. I'm not as nervous about this really. I just want to hurry up and do it.

This particular hospital is kind of, well, nice. As far as hospitals go anyway. It had a Costa Coffee in for crying out loud! Yes, that is how I measure how nice a place is. By whether or not there's a Costa Coffee. There was art everywhere, and a piano for some reason. The waiting room had some terrible poems on the wall. It's obviously geared towards making you feel more at ease, and probably to trick your mind into thinking you're not in the hospital at all.  Your mind isn't that stupid though. It knows a waiting room when it sees one!

The next stage sounds like it will be less of an ordeal, though. I'll take a capsule of radioiodine on the day I'm admitted and then spend the next few days in isolation. That won't be as bad as it sounds because the room has a TV in it and stuff (not to mention a kettle and a fridge. It's basically a hotel room).  So, hopefully no vomiting or calcium issues. The worst part will probably be when I have to be in a scanner for an HOUR before I leave, to check how much radioiodine is still in my system! An HOUR! I might take a nap.

The highlight of my appointment was finding out that there's actually a thyroid cancer foundation that you can join and they will hook you up with a buddy, amongst other things. So, I will be getting involved in that, I think!

On a different, and more vain note, I feel like I've kind of let myself go a bit. I think being in hospital, even though you're clean, you just get used to wandering around in pyjamas with no make up (and matted, greasy hair because you can't wash it properly). You don't have to really make an effort for anybody so you don't. I just felt a bit self-conscious today because I was actually out in public and I was just very aware of my hair, and my face, and just everything! I just need a lick of mascara and I'll be fine.

I'm apparently sounding better today, and my shoulders do not hurt as much and are easier to move. I still think that being referred for physiotherapy wouldn't be a bad idea, though. I just need to be more patient with myself, I think. I'm recovering from a major operation, not the flu!  Life has not changed that much really. I am without a thyroid and on medication. It's just getting the balance between over-exerting myself, and just sitting around.

Speaking of medication, I should probably go take it now!

The voice

 No, not that TV talent show (though I could go on one, given that I have a killer sob story), I'm talking about my precious little vocal chords.

In my first entry I mentioned that when they take out your thyroid they have to be careful to not damage your vocal chords. I'm sure they were as careful as possible, but unfortunately my left vocal chord no longer works. (All part of the elaborate sob story I will tell at the TV talent show audition).

It's really not that big of a deal as apparently the right vocal chord compensates for it, and people have said that they do not think my voice is all that different. It's just that when you're on your own in a room, your thoughts wander and get pretty melodramatic. All I could think was,"What if I can't ever sing again?" and I had to shake myself out of crying on my pillow like a Disney Princess. 

I have sung a little bit. Just to myself, and the only difference I'm hearing is not being able to hit high notes as well as I could. All I really need to do ,when I'm up to it, is call my singing teacher and fill her in on what's happened so she can try to help me out.

So I have a goal in mind: my sister is getting married at the beginning of August, and has asked me to sing and play something at her wedding. Now, I may only have one functioning vocal chord (which may or may not fix itself apparently) and I may have "limited movement" in my shoulders, but I WILL do this for my sister! Even if I can't play anything properly, I will find a way to sing!

Look out, Current Popular Singer, I'm right behind you!

Pesky calcium

So, turns out, calcium is like, REALLY IMPORTANT YOU GUYS! If your levels drop, it can wreck you.

As well as your thyroid, you have a thing called a parathyroid, and that is responsible for your body not being an idiot with calcium (see? we're educational here at Pandora's Neck) My parathyroid stopped working after the surgery (apparently it is now "waking up") and so I was basically have to feed my body calcium and was at the mercy of raspberry yoghurts and chalky calcium supplements.

Two days after surgery, I was tingling all over, all day. At one point I thought they had set my bed to vibrate or something, it was that bad. It got to the point where I felt like someone was tugging at my skin! Oh, and the rotting cherry on the world's worst cake was that my hands locked! My fingers fused together and could barely move! That was the scariest part.

The most frustrating part is that I couldn't seem to get anyone to understand, or at least be as concerned as I was. Don't get me wrong, the staff were great and eventually helped. Their initial reaction however, seemed to just be,"Yeah it happens" and I was like,"Why is it happening? Make it stop!" It seemed to be wearing off after a while, but then as the night progressed it just got worse. That, dear reader, was possibly my worst night at the hospital, and it took one nurse to finally help me out.

That night I was tingling all over and was severely dehydrated. I did not sleep. I couldn't get comfortable and I was absolutely terrified. At one point, all I could do was shoot up a prayer and say,"Okay, I can't do this with my own strength. Help!" At around 5 or 6 in the morning, a nurse asked me if I was okay, I told her no and explained how I was feeling. My right hand had completely locked, but a nurse had not realised and stuck a canular in it so she could put an IV in. Jess, who'd asked me if I was okay, grabbed my right hand for some reason, at which point I yelped. She asked me if that had hurt me, and when I nodded she FINALLY leapt into action.

She wheeled me around (on the infamous commode, as there were no wheelchairs to hand) to a part of the ward called the Progressive Care Unit, full of beepy machines and IVs. The first thing I saw was a woman, who was not only attached to IVs and various beepy machines, but also had a tube coming out of her neck! I realised then that the situation had got very real and very serious. I want to say that that was my exact eloquent thought, but my exact thought was,"WHAT'S HAPPENING?!" I lay there, bewildered, and feeling like a mannequin again, as Jess and another nurse attached me to an IV and a heart monitor. I told Jess that I felt frightened, and she promised me that it would be okay...and I trusted her, wholeheartedly. Simply because she was the only one to kick into high gear and help me.

I spent about 24 hours in the Progressive Care Unit, but I didn't know at the moment that the was beginning of a vicious cycle. My calcium would drop, they'd hook me up to the IV, I'd be fine again, then my calcium would drop and it would start all over again!

When they thought they had sorted it, they sent me home. It wasn't over though because, guess what? You can have TOO MUCH CALCIUM! I know. I didn't think it was possible either. I spent my second day at home feeling slightly in denial and trying to hold back whenever I needed to vomit. On Sunday morning however, my body fought back and I could not stop vomiting!

My family brought me back to the ward (where we encountered an annoying doctor who obviously thought that being sarcastic made him quippy and witty but instead he was just rude), fluids and anti-sickness medication were pumped into my body and we were back to square one. Apparently though, when your calcium gets too high, you can become psychotic so, I guess that puts vomiting into perspective!

Today I had a blood test, and they said my calcium was at an okay level. I'm still on disgusting medication but, when I initially came home and they had me on three "calcichews," three times a day. Now I'm one "calcichew", three times a day, as well some stuff called One Alpha, so it's slightly more bearable!

 The nonsense with my calcium is what was keeping me in hospital all that time, really. I'm sure I will relax at some point, but for now I am still fearful of it dropping or rocketing up and having to go back. I feel I am always on the alert for tingling, or my hands locking up. Or going the other way and feeling nauseous (or a weeny bit psychotic).  Got milk?

Honey, I'm home!

My my, it has been a while! Sorry about that, but I have been in hospital for an annoyingly long time. 

I have been in hospital for three weeks and now I'm trying to adjust to normal life. I was discharged  for the first time, last week, but then I spent the weekend throwing up and was right back in. If I'm honest though, that first weekend was tough. I just don't think I was mentally prepared for it. 

You see, I think you can become quite institutionalised in the hospital. They wake you up, bring you your medications in little cups (actually, they look like the little cups you can put ketchup in at McDonald's. Which is worrying). They bring you lunch, and more medication. They bring you tea. Then they bring you your final daily dose of medication at night and say goodnight to you. You don't have to take responsibility for it or think about it. When I came out, I suddenly had to do it all myself and I found it rather overwhelming! I felt like a ghost. A ghost who's life was about to revolve around taking medication! Of course, it didn't last long, for I was right back in hospital on Sunday because I couldn't stop vomiting! More on that some other time.

There's also something very undignified about being in hospital. My butt was hanging out of my gown, I had drains hanging from my neck and catheter hanging from...down there, like the worst burlesque act ever. A couple of times I had to use a commode, (if that is how it is spelt) and they are so awkward. I mean, I had a pretty shy bladder to begin with, but then they present you with a chair that basically has a paper bowl attached to it and expect you to use it as a toilet! Now, I don't know about you, but my parents spent quite a lot of time trying to teach me not to go to the toilet in chairs. So, for a nurse the present me with what is essentially a chair and tell me to do my business in it, goes against my natural urges! I've thrown up on myself quite a lot. A doctor pulled the curtain open while I was being strip washed. You just get used to it after a while.

It's been a frustrating time, because I went in feeling relatively well. I became ill after the op! My calcium levels have been up and down (that's a whole other blog entry!), another patient gave me her biscuits when she was discharged and they turned out to be TWO YEARS out of date and gave me food poisoning! I have been throwing up a lot and they didn't really know why. One afternoon I turned to my sister and asked her why my body wouldn't just behave. I had moments where I would just think to myself,"Come ON body! Power up!" I had to keep reminding myself that I'd had a major operation. I mean, they basically excavated my neck! It was taking a while to get back. The doctors were probably just as frustrated as I was. It can't be fun for the doctors when you're looking for answers and they just don't know. At one of my lowest points though, that amazing Cancer Research ad came on TV, and reminded me that I could kick this thing's ass!

I'm very proud of myself though. I have been exposed to needles thanks to endless blood tests and the injection they put in your stomach to prevent clotting or something. Actually, the needle in the stomach was worse than the blood tests and the nurses know it! I had one nurse come in and apologise for what she was about to do, and then tell me she had been trying to avoid it all afternoon! It hurts, and continues to hurt for a good while afterwards. Now when I have blood taken I just get on with it. I can even look right at it! Mind you, my veins have now had quite enough of your needles thank you very much! 

I still have a long way to go though. I have to go back to the hospital tomorrow for a blood test. Then on Wednesday I have a consultation at St. James hospital, so the next stage is rapidly approaching! 

Now if you'll excuse me, I have some medication to choke down.