Hey, hospital, where’s my blood?

I should have been in my local hospital in south London this afternoon having my sixth monthly cycle of treatment for the secondary breast cancer with which I was diagnosed in April. Instead I was sitting round the corner on the high street having fish and chips in a great little chippie.

Why? Because the hospital has seemingly lost the blood I had taken shortly after 0800 this morning for testing to see whether I was OK to go ahead with treatment this afternoon. I had a second lot of bloods taken early this afternoon and my treatment appointment has been rescheduled for 1100 tomorrow. I’ll hear from the hospital this evening only if the results mean I can’t have treatment.

Thus the fish and chips. Comfort food was needed to calm me down.

I’m over it now but at the time I was both frustrated and upset and I’m afraid I was initially less than polite with the poor registrar who saw me and had to try and work out what on earth was going on. I hope I caught myself in time; I have also since apologised.

It didn’t help that while I was waiting to be seen, I’d to listen to the inanity that is Loose Women, which was on in the TV in the waiting room. Among the topics for discussion on the chat show was whether it’s ok to dump your hairdresser. I swear I heard someone say it was easier to cheat on your partner. I’m sorry, but ffs.

You psyche yourself up massively for these appointments. What will the blood test results show? Will my tumour markers be up? If so, what might that mean? Will we go ahead with the next cycle of treatment or not? To be fair, this is the first time anything like this has happened. Everyone was very apologetic and keen that the alternative arrangements were as convenient for me as they could be. 

They say you shouldn’t sweat the small stuff. Was this small stuff? In the grand scheme of things it was, but for a while it felt like big stuff to me.

I just got back last night from a short cycling holiday in Spain and I had today and tomorrow – and indeed this coming weekend – meticulously planned. It’s our older son’s 21st birthday on Saturday and we’re having a small family gathering that evening. On my list for tomorrow was to spend a couple of hours’ gardening (the garden’s a mess), buy helium balloons and party accessories, buy food and cook for Saturday, get some photos printed, sort out a present and, oh yes, meet my mum, who has dementia, off the train from Glasgow at Euston at 1600 and bring her and a bike (my brother’s bike, not my mum’s!) back to the house. Thankfully my brother will be there to help me get get my mum and the bike – and me – into a taxi.

On treatment days, I’m usually at the hospital for a couple of hours. On those days, I generally do nothing other than have treatment and relax around the house. Treatment’s generally not painful but it’s not an easy day. I have one drug administered as two injections, one in each buttock, each of which takes a couple of minutes to administer. I also have an infusion (as you do with chemo) of a bone-strengthening drug – that’s usually over and done in half an hour. The oncology nurses are incredibly caring and careful doing the injections and finding a good vein into which to insert the cannula for the infusion. But while generally none of it is painful, it’s certainly not pleasant.

Usually I have bloods done one day then see the consultant the following day with a view to having treatment later that same day. Ironically, this time round, the consultant had very accommodatingIy arranged for me to have everything done on the same day. This was so I could go on the cycling trip. I came back late last night and went down to the hospital first thing this morning to have blood taken so the results would be ready for my appointment with the consultant (or in the event with the registrar) a few hours later. Luckily I live close to the hospital and can easily get there and back.

There’s plenty of good news. I feel incredibly fit and well. Not only am I doing lots of cycling, I’m also running and I’m even playing tennis again. Back when I was diagnosed, I really thought my running and tennis days were over. On the cycling front, I’m incredibly touched that the two clubs I ride with are organising a joint 100k ride this coming Sunday (half way through Breast Cancer Awareness Month) to raise money for research into secondary breast cancer.

The cycling holiday, organised by a company called Mellow Jersey, was fabulous. The feeling I had hurtling downhill on my bike at almost 60 kilometres an hour will take some beating. As will the feeling of triumph at the top of a steady climb of around eight kilometres. I was by far the slowest in my group on the hills, but someone has to be last and really I was happy just to be there. When I was first diagnosed, I had no idea whether I’d be in a position to do something like this ever again. Cycling more than 300 kilometres over four consecutive days would have been inconceivable just a few months ago.

But where’s my blood? I know big institutions can’t be totally efficient but you have to wonder where the two vials of blood are that I had taken this morning. They have to be physically somewhere. The department that took them said they were delivered to the lab but the lab claimed to have no trace of them. Like lots of lost things, they’ll probably turn up and, in this case, we’ll end up with two lots of results on the system.

As for me now, I’m off to do some of the many, many things I had planned to do tomorrow. Hopefully I won’t hear from the hospital this evening and treatment will go ahead tomorrow, we’ll all have a lovely time with the birthday boy on Saturday evening, and we’ll have a great bike ride on Sunday.