PART 2 of MY STORY OF GOING BLIND

“This one will make your bum itch,” said the Ward Sister to me as she hooked a new bag up to the pump. I had become so used to all the weird and wonderful (and downright painful) things that chemo did to you that I greeted this piece of information with a shrug of the shoulders but also a sense of curiosity. An elderly guy in a chair in the main part of the ward heard what she said to me, and piped up,

“It’s the best feeling I get all week.”

I waited, in anticipation, wondering when the feeling was going to hit me. This drug had already turned my pee a sort of pretty rosy red colour, so this new experience could only be a bonus. Suddeny, there it was.

“Oooh,” I exclaimed. “My bum’s on fire.”

“It’ll soon go,” said the nurse.

In a sense, anything that happened seemed almost natural. I learned to be surprised by nothing. So, my dwindling eyesight did not really register properly and certainly did not take centre stage. Unlike everyone else in the chemo ward, I was in a bed, being too weak to sit in the leather chairs that lined the walls of the main room. I felt very cut off from everyone else, and was unable to join in any of the conversations that were going on. I attempted to watch what was going on, however, from my half sitting, half lying position. At first, I could see the nurses going to the patients and hooking them up to their drips, changing the drips, and various other things. As the weeks wore on, I was a little disconcerted to find that I could no longer see what was going on. I mentioned this to the haematologist and he seemed unconcerned, telling me that when this was all over I may need to see an optician and get stronger lenses in my glasses. One of the drugs that I was being given could cause some loss of eyesight. This was likely to be minimal though.

I ceased to worry too much about my loss of sight, as there were so many other things to contend with. I simply trusted that if I got through this lot, I would get the glasses that I needed. Undergoing chemotherapy was, in the words of the ward sister, still a “leap of faith.” No one knew which way it was going to go.