There is no such thing as...

There's no such thing as a usual chemo day.

Today, in the hospital, it was a  kind of a bland, lacklustre experience!  But it started with a great laugh.

The head nurse Reyes first job was to insert a tiny little tube into my chest, where deep down lives a small metal implant, a 'resevorio,' into which the chemo enters a large vein. Mine is  exceptionally hard to  find.

Two student nurses gather around Reyes to watch, and Rocio, the senior admin nurse, arrives I think to witness or to help if things go wrong. This all happens in a little curtained off cubicle.  Everybody in the ward of course can hear, if they want to.  Most do.

'Push the chair (a blue reclining chair) back,' orders Reyes . Wham. Suddenly I’m flat on my back. My head seems to bounce at least twice!

'MADREEEE MIAAAAA,' I exclaim. I wasn’t expecting that! Everybody laughs.

Reyes says, 'shut your eyes.'  Rocio says, 'pretend to sleep!'  The two trainee nurses giggle.
I shut my eyes.
Reyes silently presses the 'reservoir' thingy, trying to find the entry hole.  It’s uncomfortable but not painful.
'Breath,' she says. She finds the hole and slips in the needle.

There’s a little murmur of respectful awe.

 ‘Done?’ I ask.  ‘Yes,’ she says.  ‘Enhorabuena,’ I say, and they all crack up !  The laughing doesn’t seem to be stopping !

I don’t know why that was so funny, but Rocio said something about ninos  (children)... maybe that’s the sort of comment you’d make to a nina when she’s done something unexpectedly, extremely well !

Jaime the jolly bearer of free filled rolls, (bocadillos), easily persuades me to have two, and a plain yogurt, and  would I like juice and sugar fee biscuits? Yes. He smiles ear to ear and pats my knee.

I’m disappointed the shy hospital chaplin didn’t show.  I was going to ask him for another blessing because my Reiki friends can’t come tonight. I have a feeling he might be a Reiki master himself.

I have to admit I am very upset- that’s is a strong word I know - let’s say I am disturbed to see my lovely seamstress friend Encari in bad shape again. I haven’t seen her for weeks. It’s deeply sobering to see my companions all on their own cancer camino… some of us are not going to make it, some of us are.
Encari told me her oncologist is a woman called Mayte.  I’ve heard great things about this Mayte. Tomorrow I will ask Rocio  if I can change. I feel excited at the thought of having a female oncologist who is simapatica, amable y carinosa. This is her reputation: understanding, kind, and loving.

Two new friends coloured the day beautifully.  While waiting in my car by the 7 Eye Bridge for Martin to pick me up,  I had a moment of fear.  What if he didn’t come, what if his van had broken down… a 101 what if thoughts galloped in…. I tried to change the chip.

Looking out of the windscreen, I suddenly saw the most beautiful rainbow, just a chunk, low down, over the direction where we were going  to be driving. The colures were fabulously strong. It zapped the fear instantly.

So there I was sitting in awe at 9am on a chemo morning.  Lovely Martin right arrived right on time and drove me to Motril.  And simapatica, amable y carinosa Maureen brought me back.  Both made that experience a joy.
I notice now how I have more energy to talk, and to listen.  To begin with after chemo,  I just wanted to look at the mountains.

Back home, some more packing for the move on Thursday, and then something to eat at our local  Moroccan café,  Baraka. The Sufi chef is a friendly acquaintance.  He is also very simapatico, amable y carinoso.  I was way too tired to cook, a bit short of cash, so I chose the cheapest thing on the menu and waited hungrily.

What appeared in front of me almost made me cry. It was a work of art.  It was so beautifully prepared with two little  spinach croquetas (treats from the chef) on the side, my absolute Baraka favourite.

Ten minutes later, I can’t pronounce or spell the chefs name… Nade I think… help me Jeni… Nade  came over and said in English,  “My wife would like to send you healing, she’s in England, but she needs your permission, and she needs your name. I will speak with her in an hour. Would you like that?”


There is no such thing as a usual chemo day.