New project.

Wednesday follows on from the first good nights sleep so far, the ward was quite and I was finally concoring the pain of Monday's procedures. The view from my 2nd floor window is of the car park, boring you say, I disagree. Sitting in he window looking out at that car park rivals an episode of Eastenders for drama. Arguing couples, seagulls linching sandwiches from people, busy professional people rushing from Mercedes to appointment, air ambulance coming and going... Who needs tv?(mines broken anyway). The day seems to trundle on divided by meals and painkillers. Visiting time comes around, Bethan and my Mum enter the ward and it's as though someone has turn the dimmer switch up. Their smiles alone are a huge lift.
We sit and talk about home and the kids and what every one has been up to. A nurse comes over and mentions that a bed has been made available in Lowan ward and they would like to move me down there later on today. Lowan is the main adult cancer ward at Trelisk hospital and it's when I am booked to receive my first round of chemotherapy.
Is is possible to create a synthetic jacket potato, because it tastes like I've just eaten one, and the lump on cheese I've just popped I my mouth, was actually the butter!
Early evening passes and a grumpy porter collects me and my stuff and crashes me and my bed through every double door and threshold down to Lowan.
Expecting to see devistating scenes of the varying effects of this horrendous disease, I was was pleasently surprised. The ward is small with very limited views to the outside world, but it's clean, comfortable and above all it's quite. The patients in there all have hair and with the exception of the chap in the corner who is completely yellow everyone looks kind of normal, ill, but normal.
Having settled in and chatting to a couple of the other patients Im approached by one of the nurses who explains that it is essential for me to be hydrated before they begin the treatment. I'm handed a chart and some cardboard messuring jugs an told that every time I pee I need to measure the quantity and note it down on the time chart. Okay, I can do that. I'm hooked up to a saline drip via my Hickman line (the one in my chest). This is the first time it's been used so I was a bit apprehensive, but it feels fine. It's late, so the lights fade down and everyone begins the main event... The Fart League. I can only assume here is some kind of tally being kept because there seemes to be an unnatural amount of effort being put into ths be several members of he ward.
It's 3am and the "league" have simmered down to squeaks and grumbles. I really need the toilet, but I'm laid there trying to figure out how this is going to be achieved, with all my attached equipment, cardboard buckets, darkness, room full of sleeping strangers etc, it seems like a daunting task. I manage to get sorted and begin my urine production sheet with an impressive 950ml it must have been all the time I spent trying to figure it all out.

I've started dreaming mug more. Perhaps it's the medication? but each night seems to carry dreams that are flavoured with surfing and riding my bike with friends and family. I think that even though I've only been here for 4 of the proposed 10 nights and despite my best efforts to focus on the serious task at hand, I'm missing home.