The history of the healing

The middle of the way

When everything in the body got better and there were 3 days of rest from medications ahead, I was offered to go home. I discussed it with my husband, and we agreed that it was better to stay at the hospital. I missed him, of course, but 3 days would be not enough for me to be at home. Of course, I missed him, but in 3 days I would not have time to “get enough” at home. I would have to cook myself, but I was too weak. My husband would have to clean the apartment thoroughly, and still it was unlikely to achieve the same sterile cleanliness as on the ward. I might catch some kind of virus. And if something happened to me, for example, the temperature rose, then in the hospital in 5 minutes there would be a doctor on duty on my ward, while at home I would die of fear. So it wasn’t not worth it.

They took me to all the doctors one could think of and even more. They gave me only saline drops, and only three times a day. That is, I often went to the toilet without a tripod with the droppers. It turned out there was so much space there! You could play football there. At night, there was an unusual and pleasant feeling – to sleep on my stomach, without fear of getting tangled in the wires from my neck. And I could already sleep for 4 hours in a row! It was just a holiday!

The most important thing – I was allowed to walk around the territory of the hospital! But only when accompanied by someone. My mother came and went to walk me. We found a coffee shop on the first floor, but you had to go down the stairs to it. Mom went and bought us 2 cappuccino. Another unforgettable feeling! I hadn’t drunk it for 100 years.

So, we went outside! How much air there was! I was choking of the amount of it. Everything was so beautiful around me! Trees, colorful houses, people in colorful clothes, cars. I looked at all those things and didn’t understand how people walk around and look at it all indifferently. Still now when I remember this feeling, I look around and feel euphoria from how beautiful everything is. And the air outside is so fresh! It smells like trees, I can feel the wind. Blue railings, flowers on the lawn…

We went for a walk at the speed of turtles and admired all that. And after 10 meters, I realized why I needed an escort. My legs buckled and I almost fell over. I managed to hold of my mother. We walked a little more, I held on to her. But I was too weak to walk for a long time. We stood for a while, leaning on the railing. Then I got cold, and we went to the ward.

Then I realized that I had to walk more so that the muscles on my legs would work at least a little bit. I put on headphones with music and went for a walk along the corridor. Sometimes I took the elevator to other floors, walked along other corridors, looked out the windows.

Then something inevitable what I was afraid of came: changing the catheter. You can't use the same catheter for four courses of chemo. And so, I had it for too long, even a small inflammation began. They took me to the same office as last time, but told me that the doctor would be different. I started complaining from the threshold about a “villain” doctor who put a catheter and did not believe that it hurt me. It was only later that I discovered that it was the same doctor as last time. Fine, let him find out how the patients were feeling. This time, oddly enough, it almost didn't hurt. Either he perceived my complaints, or it was easier to put on the other side symmetrically to the first one than to look for my veins for the first time. The funny thing was that the 2 little scars from the catheter looked like a vampire bite.

We went for one more walk outside with my mom. The second time we walked a little more.

Half of the treatment was behind us. As Vysotsky sang: “We have only two quarters of the way left to go”. (Vladimir Vysotsky, Tightrope Walker. You can write me; I will send you this song and translate it for you in English.)