Pumpin'

It's 6.30am Friday morning and the ward recoils into its morning groans and stretches under the fluorescent splatter of light as the nurses begin to bustle about the ward and the rattle of tea spoons on the drinks trolly bring the undead to life, very slowly.
It's been a funny night, somewhere between extereme exhustion and laying wide awake trying to suppress the ever present need to be sick. I've been issued with anti- sickness meds that the nurse had mentioned were state of the art. They are indeed, for about half an hour.
My mouth has changed too, flavours are now the wrong way around. Things I would usually enjoy are now the most repulsive things young can imagine. This mornings bowl of Frosties tastes like savoury wood shavings and bleach.

9.30am and the electronic chemo pump lets of a series of loud beeps indicating that it has delivered it's chemical payload. The nurse comes over and unhooks me from the machine and explains that they are waiting for the third load of chemo to arrive from the lab along with my mobile pump. I make full use of this time unhooked from the machine by having a shower.

Now, something I've not mentioned before is the fear I've been carrying around with regards the tubes and wires that are inserted into my torso. This completely alien concept has had me worried on many levels, so much so the I haven't really dared to look at them properly. As I slide out of my hospital robe I become acutely aware of the long full length mirror in the bathroom now sitting in the corner of my eye. Okay, here goes. I turn to see the full extent of what I'm physically going to be living with for the next 6 months. My eye is taken straight away to the clear,transparent feeding tube sitting just underneath the centre of my ribs. It cleanly exits my skin, without blood or any evidencce that it's causing any problems being there. The tube ends at a small plastic acsess toggle, and that's it. So the bit I was dreading the most, althought still very alien, isn't really as bad as I thought, and if my Frosties continue to taste like that, im going to need it sooner rather than later! I move on to inspect the Hickman Line. This involves what looks like two iPod ear phone cables that emerge from just bellow my right collar bone, both attached to a different coloured toggles, one for taking blood, the other for administering the drugs I'll need. This is a slightly messy affair still. Dried blood and stitches are trapped under a large piece of waterproof dressing, but I know from falling of my bike that blood has a tendency to make things look way worse they are. Having said that, there is a mysterious 'L' shaped wound at the base of my neck, weird. I'm no doctor but it doesn't seem to serve a purpose, is it possible a surgeon would sign his work? If so, it would appear Dr'L' was happy with his output and that's fine by me. I return from my very tentative shower to a kind of salute from the other ward members, I think they can visibly see the difference it has made.

I get settled next to my bed just as the nurse approaches with news that the pump and the rest of the chemo are ready, and I'll be able to go home right away as soom as its all fitted and working. I call Bethan, she delights in the news and jumps straight in the car. As Bethan arrives I'm just being shown how the pump works. It's all very simple. A clear plastic bottle, about the size of a coke can which is activated by a tiny heat sensor that's taped to my skin, return on Tuesday to have it removed,and that's it, off you go.

I sleep all the way home. When we get back I head straight upstairs and sleep for the rest of the afternoon. When I wake up I can hear the kids downstairs playing and laughing, giddy and exited. Bethan brings Joel up first. He's been well briefed about the fact that daddy is a bit poorly and to be gentle. I can see that this its difficult for him not to engage in our usual 'rough and tumble' routine, it's even harder for me. He lays down next to me on the bed and tells me how need to be very carful of his "toobs" and his "wump" in his neck and how he's been in the "hos-ter-pitwl" just like daddy. Cerys comes into the bedroom. She gets under covers and gently snuggles up, "are you different now daddy" she says. I reassure her that the doctor has put a special tube in daddy's chest so that he can give daddy the special medicine that he needs to get better again, she pauses for a second before breaking out into one of the songs from her Christmas play. It's good to be home.