Had a bit of a wobble this morning.
I was in the Royal Brompton Hospital, which is across the street from my normal hospital, the Royal Marsden. While the Marsden deals with cancer, the Brompton is just as excellent but deals with lungs and hearts. I was sent there for a CT scan by the Marsden, because the department was getting a new scanner fitted and was closed for the day.
Having arrived, drunk the requisite four glasses of water and waited for long enough to feel physically uncomfortable, it was my turn to be x-rayed. I was given a disposable gown made out of blue paper that had, curiously, fitted cuffs around the wrists. I stripped down to my underpants and socks (the floor was cold), took off my knitted cap and went through to the room.
The nurse was a young guy, who made polite chatter about where I lived, parking and the congestion charge. The usual stuff. I lay down on the bench and as he was preparing the canula to go into my arm, he paused and looked down at me and said:
'Seeing you and everything you are going through, it makes me so aware of what I've got.'
Just for a moment I saw myself through his eyes. A bald, middle-aged woman with dark circles under her eyes, wearing a huge, ill-fitting gown with tapered wrist cuffs and a pair of black socks.
I couldn't help it, tears sprang to my eyes. I felt so sorry for myself. I know he meant what he said in a kind way, he was trying to empathise with me. But it really had the opposite effect and when I started leaking tears I know he felt worried but I couldn't tell him why. I didn't want to go there. And his canula really hurt. He couldn't get it in the first vein: 'This vein has been used too many times,' he said. Like I'm a human pin cushion.
It did make me aware of how sensitive the staff are at the Marsden, who see all sorts of people in all sorts of states and never comment. The truth is that I don't look that ill, I actually look really well. But, emotionally, chemotherapy does make me feel very weepy. Or maybe I feel weepy and chemotherapy doesn't let me hide it.
In either case, I was lucky enough to find a Jack Reacher novel in a second hand book store and have already started it. And I blame the whole experience for buying this skirt from the same thrift shop.
What do you think of my new tartan skirt?
It's a lined, with front hip pockets and it's made of wool, or a light wool mix.
I don't know where it came from, the label has been cut out. It cost £5.99.
Bargain or not?
What I like about shopping in thrift shops, or op shopping as we call it in Australia, is that the labels, like in my new skirt, have often been cut out. It means that I have to decide whether I like something purely on its own merit. I can't always buy a piece of clothing safe in the knowledge that everyone else likes it, so I should too. In practise shopping in thrift stores means that I sometimes buy clothes that I think I like but I'm not sure. I miss the comfort of there being hundreds of the same pieces on a rail.
We are going out tonight and I'm going to wear it. I'll ask everyone there if they like my skirt and will probably have made my mind up by the end of the evening.
In the meantime... do you like it?
2 comments:
Linds, you're a tough cookie!... Interesting what that nurse said. I think people sometimes just don't know what to say, and when they do it's just sounds WRONG. And, sometimes they feel like if they say something then they are going to go wobbly on you and that's not what you need I guess. And that awkwardness you say, when you catch people looking at you and then they smile or worse still just look away. Jeez that must really suck! But you might feel alone Linds cos this is happening, and to you, but, you're not alone...and, you're very much loved - for your energy, your smartness and brightness, and your strength - your strength for writing about it all here even, and sharing it! this blog rocks! xxxIndi
Thanks Indsss, what the nurse said did sound wrong - and boy, have I ratted him out to loads of people! Meanwhile... the skirt Indsss - what do you reckon?? xx
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