Today is a bit of a shit show. It’s starts off normally enough – well, for me, anyway. Susannah can’t sleep, gets up at 2am and decides to do some work at 3am. It keeps her mind occupied and means she can at least finish early for the day.

I visit with with Mum upstairs in the morning and try to talk about normal stuff. Then I go hang out with Susannah for awhile. Once she’s finished work we head out shopping – Briscoes has a King’s Birthday weekend sale on and we need pots for our new induction oven. Shopping. Normal stuff. We can pretend.

I’m finding breathing a little difficult. My aunt J had commented on it when she drove me to the doctor’s on Tuesday and Susannah notices it today as well. Once home we head outside to sit by the fire but my shortness of breath is starting to bug me. I realise it has been this way since the Portacath insertion and I wonder if there is a connection. There are no signs of infection – other than the bruising around the site the wound looks clean and is healing well. But my breathing – everything just feels so tight. It’s the start of the long weekend – no way do I want this to get worse when there is no one to contact so I decide to call the Oncology Nurses to get an opinion. Nurse J calls me back after speaking to Dr Sk and advises me to go to ED to get checked out.

What follows are 6 hours of testing, waiting, testing and waiting. I am moved quickly into an ED consultation room – by room I mean curtained off bed. The House Doctor comes to check on me. He has read my notes and says empathetically that I must be under a lot of stress and that he can’t imagine what I am going through. His words and the way he looks at me make me cry. His main thought, given my situation and recent Portacath procedure, is a potential blood clot so my lungs are checked out thoroughly. I am given blood tests, a COVID test, IV fluids (I’m very dehydrated), blood thinners, a chest X-ray and a CT-PE scan (of my chest). At this point I am feeling a bit like a pin cushion as I have had so many needles in my arms over the last two weeks. My veins are thin and tend to disappear so I am quite bruised. I now understand the purpose of the Portacath.

After the CT scan I am moved from the ED bed area to the Observation Lounge which has big lazy boy style recliners and access to tea and coffee. Susannah and a few other patients are there, waiting quietly. We are treated to a loud monologue by a mental health patient in the cubicle directly in front of us. She is bipolar and has completely lost the plot. She is extremely agitated and is shouting, swearing and repeating the same story about people trying to kill her, over and over. An elderly lady directly across from her quietly exits her bed and comes to sit next to us as it’s all a bit much for her. There’s safety in numbers. We can’t help but listen to the rant. There are police, security, nurses and social workers nearby and they all just wait for her to get it out of her system and calm down. It’s quite sad really and I hope she gets the help that she needs.

Finally the Head Doctor comes over to discuss my situation. Her opening line? I hear you have had a recent cancer diagnosis. I feel all eyes zero in on me. We are all sitting in such close proximity that there is no privacy. The doctor tells me I am ok, all dangerous possibilities have been ruled out so I am allowed to go home. She leaves to write up the discharge papers and the elderly lady next to me simply puts her hand on my arm and says I’m sorry. This of course causes more tears to flow. She asks if she can hug me but I say no thank you – it will just make me cry more. She says she will pray for me and although I am not religious, I appreciate the gesture and I thank her.

We finally get home around 11:30pm. We are both exhausted. Susannah says we should consider it a win as nothing bad was diagnosed but I just can’t take it any more.