Tag Archives: procedures

My Autograph

Before I was able to start my transplant, I had to do a little something called Consent. I did it four times. Four times today, I put pen to paper and scribbled something that is supposed to read Emma Jane Jones and next to that, I wrote my signature. Sorry, I know my status, my autograph. Many, many more times than that, I had to listen to Medically Trained People tell me about what is going to happen to me, what I have to do and what the risks are. I estimate that between 08:45hrs-15:00hrs, I had 30 minutes where I was taking in all this information, and then agreeing that it could happen. After six months of waiting, planning and uncertainty, it is happening and it is now for certain. We have dotted the I’s and crossed the T’s.

It may have been a paper exercise, but until I was seen by a doctor today and examined, and then signed to say I was happy for it to go ahead, my transplant was not formalised. That said, I had already consented to my PICC line two hours earlier and had it implanted. In between that, I listened to somebody tell me about a study, I said I would be part of it, answered a questionnaire and used an orange pen. The last one was not too strenuous, I simply checked into the hotel. So, I was fairly confident. There was a split second whilst I was talking to the Senior Medically Trained Person who was not dressed in grey FYI, when I panicked after saying that I had been suffering from hay fever. That required more questions, and me metaphorically, crossing my legs.

The communication is good I suppose, better too much than too little, and half of the talk was from people not directly involved with my care current care asking me how I was. That’s just me, Emma Jane Jones, twenty fourth of the fifth, nineteen eighty four on this day, the sixteenth of July, I am friendly.

I do feel like my brain is saturated. I knew the majority of what I was told today, but still my brain is saturated. I feel like I have experienced so much and it is only day one. Take that worldwide travelling; this is living.

Also, the fact that I had to provide my autograph to get my autograft, amused me greatly. It did not amuse Big Sister who looked at my like I had just exposed a nipple covered in cream at a wake. Oh well. The Autograft has commenced.

Tomorrow, stem cells.

Night night.

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Loose Fitting Clothes

In the last week I have been advised twice to wear ‘loose fitting clothes’ for my forthcoming outpatient procedures. My response to this has been simple, I do not own any.

Given my build, the fact that I do not own any loose fitting clothes may be surprising, but it is true. The loosest things I own are pyjamas and I will not be wearing these to the hospital. It is bad enough that I have to wear them for a month when I am in hospital. The receptionist kindly suggested that for my bone marrow biopsy, I wore jogging bottoms. My response to this was simple, it was, “do I look like I own jogging bottoms?”

Now, I am wise enough to know that I need to be comfortable for these procedures and I understand that the jogging bottom is considered to be a comfortable garment. I know myself well enough to know that I would not be comfortable wearing a jogging bottom or any overly baggy trouser with an elasticated waist in public.

People, by people, I mean the public are not going to judge an overweight cancer patient for dressing like a slob. For I would look like a slob; I definitely would not look like I was about to partake in some vigorous exercise. I would judge myself.

You can say what you want to say about my fashion sense, but it is mine. It is my amour. I realised early on into my journey, that my clothes are the one part of me that oozes my personality, when the drugs send my actual personality to sleep. My appearance has already been compromised because of My Myeloma and I will not compromise anymore.

It sounds ridiculous but I know that I can handle a Medically Trained Person sucking out my bone juices and then removing a bit of bone with what I imagine to be a smaller version of an apple corer, if I am confident. I will feel more confident if I have my slap on and I am wearing my tight clothes. I need my armour.

The jogging bottom does not my armour make.

If I have to do these things, I am doing them looking like one foxy hot mama. Albeit, potentially, with a cannula sticking out my groin. Suggestive.

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