|Pint of coffee - be careful what you wish for, small nurse!|
Big nurse gave me Benadryl, a strong anti-histamine which would make me sleep, and Emend to suppress vomiting. I asked why I was being confined to a bed without a view, rather than shifting my bum cheeks in the comfy chairs like everyone else. The lazy-boy recliners looked like business class airline seats from which one could keep an eye on all kinds of interesting activities.
Small nurse said that I needed to be isolated and monitored because I would feel dizzy, nauseous, extremely tired, and desperate for a piss. I asked her to predict how bad it would get, but she couldn't say. From what I could ascertain, it sounded like 2am after 8 pints and a dodgy kebab. I began to question my lifestyle, and just did what I was told for a change.
It took 3 hours and 15 minutes for all the drips to drip through the flow-control computer, along the pipes, into my chest via my new robo-tap, around my body, and into the rapidly-replaced piss bottles. Given the nature of Chorio and the typical horror stories of chemotherapy, I was expecting to feel a little off-colour. When Moniek showed up with a pint of freshly-squeezed banana & mango juice she said 'wow, you look better'.
I'm now back at the apartment, next to the flowers my family sent to Moniek's family (beautiful, and greatly appreciated - thanks!). There's a smell of warm ciabatta bread coming from the kitchen, and I can hear the ting of a salad being tossed in a stainless steel bowl.
I'm told I'm in for a rough ride on day 3 but, for now, I'm doing great.