Since my last post, I’ve turned a corner. There’s no other option than to move forward. Shutting down and sitting around feeling sorry for myself are not things I do. I can’t. There is still life to live. No matter how long that may be.

I’ve been emotionally shattered. I’m still fragile, but both Vince and I can say “When I’m/you’re gone” without breaking down. We’re working on all those things that need to be done – wills updates, power of attorney, final arrangements (what I want, what the cost will be), getting a lot of information together for Vince for after, and most importantly, cleaning up hoarded items (well, that’s also part of being home during a pandemic). Wow. Cathartic. And sad at times too. Lots of tears as I work through my new reality.

Since my last post, here are some updates.

Going back to the bone scan from my last post, here is an image of how the needle containing the radioisotope is stored. And THIS is what they’re injecting into a person!!

Was at the BC Cancer Agency yesterday to get my headgear made for the radiation therapy and have another CT scan. The blue dot on my jacket is part of the screening the Agency does when you go in. It means you’re clear to walk around. Lose that damn dot and there’s trouble!!

The second image is the headgear – what you don’t see well at this angle is that I’m holding a plastic piece between my teeth. Very tight against the head. Has to be to hold my head in place (can’t have any movement during radiation).

The final image is my appointment card – beginning radiation on May 15 in the Oak room. What I found interesting is that my BC Cancer ID is the same one as from my first time through.

Yesterday’s second story is about the MRI I had at the Royal Jubilee Hospital. My appointment was for 6:15 p.m. I went in early (545 p.m.) because I knew that if I had to have a contrast injection, they would need time to insert an IV. Half-way through the warming of my arm for the IV a fire alarm goes off. FLUFF. Announcement goes over PA, staff realize it’s a live alert. We have to evacuate. And so we did. (Turns out we didn’t really need to). Didn’t get on the MRI table until 6:55 p.m. Got home at 8 p.m. Holy FLUFF!

And finally, let’s do an IV count. Because I have so much luck/fun getting them!

  • Successful: 6
  • Attempts: 5 resulting in some amazing bruising
  • Failed (vein collapsed): 1

Only me.

I have one piece of trivia for you. One of the things about cleaning/purging is finding lost treasures. I secreted away a bar of soap that I really like, it was discontinued because it was a low seller. I had used that soap for 45 years! I’m now using it up. And loving it.

Continuing to laugh. ❣

2 thoughts on “forward

  1. Thanks for sharing, Gayle. Interesting little tidbits about cancer clinic procedures! I like your headgear😊.

    It’s heartbreaking to hear about your emotional struggles….but it helps to know that Vince is there to hold you up. You are so lucky to have each other. 💟

  2. My wife might have you beat on the IV poking; sometimes, they have to bring in certain nurses who are expert at finding and working the needle in due to her fragile veins.

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