Page 24 - News and Views Spring 2023

Maybe it’s time to put your affairs in order? Barrie Mahoney

“Maybe it’s time to put your affairs in order?” is a form of words that many patients with a terminal
diagnosis are familiar with. It is intended as a form of words that gives the broadest possible
indication to the patient that he or she has limited time left. In reality, it so often far too late for many
patients to put their affairs in order. Those of us that are more fortunate are grateful for the warning
and that we have some time to sort things out for those who are left behind. It is something that I
have witnessed being said to patients a number of times, but often wished that I hadn’t intruded
upon this most personal of life changing conversations.

It was chemotherapy time for me again, the fifth of the third round of six two weekly infusions. They
are potentially very tedious affairs with an hour or so of preparation, followed by a four-hour infusion
and finally another hour or so of disconnection and fitting a pump to take home, if required. Initially,
it can all seem rather alarming and intimidating, but I have witnessed nothing but kindness, warmth
and excellent care from the wonderful team that work at my cancer unit. There is often gentle
teasing, jokes and raucous laughter from nursing staff and patients alike. Despite the serious issues
of many conditions being treated, it is always a centre that promotes love, hope and care.

All the preparations having been completed, I was ushered into the far end of the ward, which has
all the comfortable reclining chairs, in one of which I will spend the next four hours. I was pleased to
be allocated to my usual chair in a prime position by the window. There was one middle aged lady
to the right of my chair, whilst a very frail elderly lady was seated in the chair opposite.

“This lady is Lucy,” announced my nurse pointing to the lady on the right.

“I haven’t been called that for a very long time,” laughed Lucy struggling to swallow part of her
sandwich. She smiled and said “Hello” to me.

“And this lady is Ellen,” continued the nurse referring to the elderly lady opposite. The frail woman,
put down her book and nodded towards me. I could see that she was not at all well, and had been
crying.

I sat in my allocated chair; the drip was placed beside me with four or five coloured bags of fluid
hanging above me. The nurse fiddled with the connections, and finally connected one tube from the
drip to the connection on my chest.

“We’re all ready to go. Are you ok? Do you need a blanket or another pillow, Barrie?

“I’m all good, thanks. Is that lot all for me? I guess I’ll be spending most of the day going to the toilet
then?”

“It certainly is, my love. Now, you’re all connected and we are ready to start. You like hot chocolate,
don’t you? Do you want biscuits as well?”

Although I rarely drink hot chocolate at home, I always look forward to one after starting an infusion.
Amazingly, the team of nurses or ancillary staff always seem to remember.

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