The history of the healing

The second course of chemotherapy

They hung many different droppers on me again. The chemistry (the main medicine) had the other color, I don’t remember, which. Again, I took a bunch of pills, rinsed my mouth every 3 hours, including at night. I was not so weak as during the first course. I wasn't just lying, I was sitting in bed, watching series and cross stitching. I enjoyed the taste of sandwiches with butter and sausage for breakfast, as long as I had that opportunity. I knew that I had only a few days for them, then I will be forbidden to eat those sandwiches. Every day there were very tasty porridges, for all 4 months I did not get tired of them. However, now that I'm free, I don't eat them for some reason.

It became harder and harder for the poor nurses to take blood in the morning. I had to dance with a tambourine to find a vein from which it still came. My hands were all bruised despite the fact that I smeared them with ointment every day.

The doctor heard something wrong in my lungs and told me to do exercises. She gave me a new tube for dropper (a wire, as I call them) and told me to blow through it into a bottle of water. This should be done in order to develop lungs. I didn’t walk much so they didn’t work enough.

Volunteers sometimes came to our department. They organized either concerts in or drawing and needlework master classes in the hall. It was very good, I visited them with pleasure when I could. They distracted and gave the opportunity to get new impressions. We shouldn’t underestimate the importance of those master classes; they really meant a lot. But it must be hard to come to the hospital, plunge into this situation, see people around with masks and droppers, feel this energy and have enough self-control to stay in a good mood. I am grateful to those people.

I slept 2-3 hours already. There were fewer “domestos” left, and I went to the toilet less often.

Once a volunteer came into my ward and started chatting with me. I’m comfortable to be on my own, and I don’t need to communicate with people for happiness. That’s why I couldn’t understand what she wanted from me. Then she explained that she visited patients to entertain them with a conversation. When she figured out that I didn’t need it, she went to the other ward. I know that there are few people as unsociable as I am. I guess normal people enjoy chatting with her.

My mom is sociable too. She also tried to talk to me all the time, thinking that she helped me that way. I didn’t know how to say to her that I didn’t need to talk and at the same time not to hurt her. And in ordinary state, delicacy is not my strong point, and then I became more irritable. So, I put up with it and didn't tell her anything. She wanted to help me, there was nothing to be offended about. Besides, I thought that something was wrong with me if simple communication with a relative annoyed me. I understood that it was my problem, and not my mother's. And in order not to offend her I tried to pretend that everything was fine. Moreover, she was on my ward not around the clock, but just came almost every day.

And so, the days went by. I felt like I was going to be in that hospital forever. I wanted to speed up the time somehow and leave that all behind. I asked my friend, who also had got through the oncology, how she had survived that moment. She said that she imagined that she was climbing a mountain. It was hard but she saw the goal and she had to reach it. I imagined it too. I was glad that I was getting better. I was already barely able to reach my leg, I could wash and get dressed without help.