Another eight weeks have passed..
Another Monday lunchtime spent at the hospital, this time only for two hours; a one hour infusion followed by a hour of observations.
As always, there were problems prior to the infusion, discussed before the weekend in “Spring Forward” concerning my liver but after being given the green light to attend, I turned up, fretful from a good yet bad counselling session that morning, to have a difficult time being cannulated.
Cannulation, I hear you say, isn’t this a common problem with IBD patients? It can be, yes, but then again, no. Despite how much I try and drink before I need a cannula, it never goes in first time. Things are improving, but alas, that first attempt malarkey still alludes me. So, having not brought my “good veins” with me, I get stabbed twice before my infusion nurse settles the vein on my inner left forearm; one which is deep under some fat (thanks everlasting side effects of Pred and Humira and my foodie ways) and some muscle. It is a sore spot – quite literally – and I definitely feel the flush of saline through the line and when the Infliximab infusion starts, that too. At times, I over-feel it – if at all possible – the thump thump of the pump pressuring the liquid into my body through such a small port. Luckily, thus far, no reactions have happened and the one hour flies by. Unfortunately, the second one doesn’t, but only 40 ish minutes behind schedule, I leave the Treatment Centre, ready for the journey home, lunch and some much deserved and needed bed rest.
Now, for someone who isn’t great at getting bled, I sure do bleed alot when a cannula is removed. Partly my own fault, below is what happens when you do not apply enough pressure to your site after its removal. I went through three lots of gauze before it slowed enough for me to have it taped up.
I returned to the hospital today for a ultrasound scan on my abdomen. This was a follow up procedure from last weeks GI visit and was relevely painless, unless you count the pressure the ultrasound wand had over my ribs, onto my liver and kidneys, and the bottom of my oesophagus. My results from that won’t be available until I return my GI in five weeks time. In the mean time, I’ve just got to wait. I’ve got my Infliximab monitoring bloods to have done at the end of the month, lots of silly work to get through, lots of driving lessons to have, let alone celebrate my birthday tomorrow and my anniversary with my boyfriend at the weekend. This is all just more proof to the fact that time, is in fact, getting away from me. I am getting more scared about making mistakes and not realising that really mistakes are just paths covered in doubt and some fear.
I leave you with this, as my own thoughts on how much I hope the next three, four, five, six weeks go.