Yesterday afternoon I was rejoined at my bedside by grey Eeyore. Quite rightly, Jane decided he was a little too unhygienic to be in here at first. He’s now been through a full wash and tumble dry, so although he smells beautiful, he’s understandably a little ranty today. Even though the nurses love him.
His mood has rubbed off on me a little this morning. It’s not nine thirty yet and I’ve already had two good rants. The first was while I was chatting to my bed makers. Nothing to do with this hospital however! I was reminded of the time I was visited on the ward in Derby by a member of their trust board. I was more than happy to speak to her, until I realised that she simply seemed to be on a fishing expedition for complaints. Let me record now, that at both Derby and Nottingham, my treatment has been exemplary and the staff, at all levels, are amazing. The only time I’ve felt secondary is when being interviewed by that Derby trust board member. I wish I’d have taken it further at the time to be honest.
So that was my first rant. My second is on twitter, so you can follow the thread if you’d like to read it. Warning – contains NHS Brexit ranting, but if you would like to re-tweet it for me it would make me very happy!
If your government's mismanaged #brexitshambles affects my cancer treatment in any way @Pauline_Latham I shall be holding you to account personally, especially after the assurances you gave me earlier on this year. https://t.co/BURhhkUNqj
— Tim Holyoake 🔶🇬🇧🇪🇺 (@psychotimmy) September 8, 2018
In chemo news, I’ve just finished my third bag of cytarabine. I’m about to start bags three and four of etoposide. I’m still “functional” and putting on weight. 92.5kg this morning, although that’s probably mostly due to all the liquids that I’m having pumped into me. My appetite is still OK, but it’s more of a struggle to eat than it was a couple of days ago.