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Okay, so got my first tatts, yesterday… Well, actually three tiny dots that are supposed to look like freckles. They may be small but the story of getting them is, of course, not.
I knew that the day was going to be a long one. I had an appointment at the Royal Adelaide to see the radiation oncologist at 11:10am – an awkward time that probably meant staying down in town to pick up the kids, and that was going to be a late one anyway as James wasn’t going to finish exams until 4:30pm. My only thought was whether I was going to cope physically with such a long day. But, feeling confident and on top of things. Oh, how the mighty fall…
I got to the hospital in perfect time and almost sailed into a parking space. I worked out how to do the check-in at the kiosk and found the right reception desk on Level 3 with ease. I saw that the number on my ticket coincided with a number on the automatic display so I relaxed and chatted with another woman while I waited for further instructions. After awhile my number turned green with a “go now” message. I thought I knew where to go from my previous appointment in February but I checked with the receptionist to confirm it and she directed me to the nurse’s station around the corner. There, I was weighed and ticked off electronically and sent to another waiting room and she told me there was no need to check in there.
Well, I waited and waited, and saw people come and go. I went up to the desk and asked if I should have checked in with them but was told “no” and that all was good. Then I waited and waited – and by this time it was past 1pm and more people and come and gone, and staff were taking lunch breaks, and I had seen no sign of my doctor at all. So, I went back up to the desk and asked how long he was going to be. Panic stations – he’s not there this week and supposedly there’s no patients booked for his morning clinic! The receptionist started madly trying to contact someone and after some some running around and phone calls, eventually another woman turned up. She told me that the doctor who was relieving him was seeing people on Level 2, directly below and if I go down there immediately, I might still catch her.
By this time, my confidence was in tatters, my anxiety levels had peaked and any resilience I had had deserted me. So, trying hard not to cry but barely succeeding, and wandering around in an increasing state of panic, I went looking for the right lift through tear-blurred eyes. Straight forward you would think. The new RAH may be beautiful but straight forward it isn’t. After walking in circles, I found the lift and the receptionist on Level 2, then promptly burst into tears – couldn’t even get my words out. She was lovely and found a nurse to take me through once I’d calmed enough to tell her who I was. The nurse took me through to a consulting room and said that they had been looking for me for hours. (I’m still not really sure why I was so hard to find as it was obvious that I was in the hospital from the electronic check-in and I did have my phone with me.) The positive news was that she said that the stuff-up was completely unacceptable and that she was going to report it, so at least someone else may be spared this. Anyway, the doctor was long gone on her rounds but the nurse tracked her down and after another wait, I finally got the appointment that I was there for – nearly 2pm by now. Another surprise was that I was supposed to be there for a CT scan and that had been booked for 12:30pm but, of course, I had been up on Level 3 at that time. Fortunately, they were able to reschedule me for 3pm – I don’t think I could have borne to be told to come back on another day.
An interview with another nurse to go through my particulars and make sure that all the details were correct and then it was time to don the flappy gown and go in for the scan (3:15pm, by now). Lot’s of careful positioning, texta marks, plastic templates, scan and finally! 3 tiny tattoos for souvenirs! It’s so they get the same position each time. Oh, and still tears on and off – way too hard to wind down after all of that – and knowing that I had to try to relax to keep the positioning correct during the scan.
Now, I’m not usually a teary person but it’s demonstrated to me just how low this has brought me emotionally, that something like this can be my complete undoing. I have no emotional reserves left to draw on.
By the time I got out of the hospital, I just had time to pick Elena up from my mother-in-law’s (so glad she is able to wait there after school) and then get to Glenunga to pick up the other two. A dash in to get Elena (I’m sorry, Jenny, that I didn’t stop for explanations – no time and I would have probably burst into tears again if I did) then, mercifully, little traffic on the way to the high school. I got there just in time for Francesca to leave the Hub as it closed and to pick James up from his exam. I was so glad to be able to hand the wheel over to him on the trip home.
As I said…a very long story for some small tattoos. I start radiation (if all goes to plan with the remaining chemo treatments) on the 9th of August – 2 days after my 55th birthday – 15 doses/3 weeks, in all. They must have felt very sorry for me as I’ve been given the perfect appointment slot- a comfortable amount of time after school drop-off. If I make it to the end, I have 3 more chemo treatments and, as the neuropathy seems to have settled a bit this week, I’m hopeful of getting there and also hopeful that all goes smoothly, now. No more drama llama.