Page 159 - She's One Crazy Lady!

the drugs being administered through this line – a Groshong Line they called it – which, of course, I looked up on the internet. I readily said I would agree to this and felt comforted knowing it wasn’t a nice experience for the staff to see me, or anyone, like this.
My mind was taken off chemo for awhile after I went to see Julie one evening for a good catch up. Julie lived in a lovely village, in a small close where there wasn’t much activity. There was a knock on her door. Julie dutifully went to see who it was. My ears pricked up when I could hear a man’s voice asking if she knew who owned a red car parked outside her house. I called to her saying I had a red car and went to the door.
“I’m really sorry, but I’ve just reversed out of my drive into the side of your car.” Really? My car? Yes. The man, who was a neighbour, who lived opposite Julie said he didn’t expect a car to be there, the close always being so quiet, so just reversed, thinking nothing was in his way. Julie looked at me – we both looked at her neighbour. He was mortified. We couldn’t be cross – it was a very plausible and honest confession and we felt sorry for him and glad no one was in my car at the time. My poor car was a mess though and I somehow drove it home but there followed a few days of trying to get the damage assessed, insurers on board, a garage to fix it and a loan car. Months later, and everything sorted, the charity, out of the blue, received a generous donation from him.
Also, at this time, Mum, bless her, had decided that she couldn’t cope much more in looking after Dad, so the balls were set in motion to get her, and Dad, the help they both needed. It was a cry for help that we acted on quickly. Dad, we were told, would be admitted to St. Mary’s Hospital in Kettering in early January 2002 where he would be fully assessed, and decisions made as to his future care.
Round Four
The last of the FEC treatments. Marilyn came with me this time as we’d planned on doing something nice afterwards. She was surprised when I said I was dreading this one. This was one of those times when you could say: “Well, unless you’ve experienced it yourself you’ll never know what it’s like.” But I didn’t, of course. I tried to explain why I felt anxious and how trying to get the cannulas in ‘bloody well hurt’ and that I wasn’t being a wimp!
“Oh, go on, you’ll be OK, get on with it!” As I got out of the car she gave me a further card with the words:
“This is your reminder that you will get through this.” Marilyn may have appeared somewhat unsympathetic, but deep down I knew, that she knew how I was feeling and knew not to pity me. Her positive words and thoughtfulness kept me focussed.
With trepidation I sat nervously in the waiting area thinking “Come on Glennis. It will soon be over”. I got chatting to Sue – ‘Chemo Sue’, to whom I dedicated this book. Sue had phoned my school to see if she could talk to me. Sue, from school, rang me so I phoned ‘Chemo
“Oh, go on, you’ll be OK, get on with it!” As I got out the car she gave me a further card with the words: “This is your reminder that you will get through this.”
”
159