8612/21531
I hate the car park at the Lister hospital more than I hate anything on this earth. As you may have noticed, I resent that whoever runs this facility is making money off of ill people (and I presume hospital staff) and also that they profit from any (inevitable) delays in the hospital. On the day that I ended up having to stay overnight they hit the bonanza, partly cos Catie had to go home and come back again. I don't know what percentage goes back to the NHS but I am going to hazard a guess that it's zero or thereabouts. It's super expensive and also it takes ages to park in there. Today it took longer to get into the carpark and parked then it did to drive to Stevenage. It's partly because there's building work going on, but today they were also policing the entry for some reason so there was a big queue to get in.
It's super stressful if you're running late (and even if you're running early like we were because we knew how long this would take), but it's the morality of it that bothers me most. Sure ill people could take the bus, if they're not bleeding out too badly or park in Sainsburys if they can walk for 10 minutes and know they'll be done in two hours.
If I become God at any point then the people who run hospital car parks for extreme profit are going to Hell. And no one else. I can forgive serial killers, but not these guys.
Anyway, good to be back for my third injection of five. I was a bit worried that the car park stress might have raised my temperature, but all was fine to proceed. They did say they needed to take some blood as my white blood cell count had been low last time and they needed to see if they could proceed.
This felt like a bit of a Catch 22 situation as I was there in the first place because my white blood cell count was low. If they were going to have to wait for it to get better in order to treat me, then they wouldn't need to treat me. But if they didn't treat me then it wouldn't get better and they wouldn't be able to treat me.
Luckily they talked to my specialist who said they needed to progress regardless.
Some of the staff remembered me from last time and asked how the hospital stay had gone and I told them that in the end nothing had been wrong. But we agreed that the right course of action had been taken.
I was sitting next to a lady who had been having treatment for five months and was coping with her long days of chemo with a quiet dignity So it would have been churlish to complain that my four minute injection had been delayed by 12 days.
As we waited the celebration bell rang. This indicates that someone has had good news or something worth ringing a bell for. Everyone applauds and it's a lovely moment. It's possible to leave this place behind. It might seem inappropriate to celebrate someone's escape, when everyone is poorly, but of course it's not. It gives hope, but also whatever is happening with you, it'd be weird not to be glad for someone else.
There's a camaraderie amongst everyone here, which is slightly unusual because everyone is also very respectful of privacy and boundaries and you don't tend to look each other in the face. But laughs are shared and applause is shared and the staff do an incredible job of keeping it fun and friendly. I've yet to meet any self-pitying cancer patient. So far it's pretty much entirely led to an increase in mental positivity. Nothing makes you love and appreciate your life more than it being in jeopardy.
Mine is barely in jeopardy if at all, but I am proud to be in this room of champions and delighted that someone gets to ring the bell. This time I was too far away to see who it even was, yet still delighted!
