Not the Best Possible Week

Sometimes you start to believe that the fairies just have it in for you.  I started getting a lot of bloating, trapped wind etc. and, at a routine meeting with my wonderful GP, we tweaked some of my existing medication.  The following day, I started with the amended doses and, by the end of the same day, I was unable to move more than 10 yards from a loo.  No more details required.  At first I didn't see the connection; indeed, I thought it was probably too soon but, when I read the 'sleeve notes' for that particular drug, one of the prominent declared side effects held out the promise of severe and persistent diarrhoea (sorry!).  Oh, joy!
My GP was away and I opted to reduce the drug to the original dose the following day but, when it came to it, I couldn't persuade myself to take it at all.  I put that decision off until I saw an improvement.  It would take most of the week and today was the first day I felt brave enough to start taking it again - so far so good, just in case you are wondering!
Since well before my diagnosis, I have enjoyed the delights of hot itchy skin, which really impacts most at night.  It is directly linked to poor liver function so we know what that is all about.  My Macmillan nurse got me some great cream called Dermacool, which is menthol in aqueous, and it is wonderfully cooling if applied in sufficient quantity.  Nights got a bit better from then on, but far from perfect.  Lots of broken sleep, but the steroids helped to offset that to some extent.  I was still functioning more or less normally.
As if that wasn't enough, I started to look a bit jaundiced, which isn't a great addition to one's list of little things to cope with.  I found myself needing to take naps during the daytime, despite the steroids, not a thing I am at all accustomed to.  Whoever I see at the moment tells me how yellow my eyes are and how 'tanned' I look.  Thanks everyone, it's good to have your confirmation.
The Macmillan team decided to get one of their doctors to come and take a look at me.  I am not sure what I was expecting to see on the doorstep when the bell rang but I know I wasn't expecting what I saw.  A lady of a certain age, probably retired, but continuing to do wonderful and much needed work in the cancer community.
A Scot, softly spoken and reassuring at every turn; it crossed my mind that we have got our mental image of angels completely wrong.  She went right through my history since before the diagnosis, asking many of the same questions that others have asked but, somehow, from a very different perspective.  She seemed to be looking at the mountain from the other side and discovering different things about it.  She stayed for well over an hour and subjected me to a thorough, yet wholly sympathetic and unintrusive abdominal examination.  She said all my bits were in the right place which, in the current uncertain situation, I found surprisingly useful to know!  While I realise that she is not subject to the same time constraints as our NHS doctors, I could only wonder how much better a doctor's bedside manner could get.  I really did feel a lot better afterwards.
That extended into yesterday (11th) - not a bad day.  Apart from the fatigue etc., it was actually quite a good one.  I went out and did my shopping in anticipation of feeling rubbish for a couple of days once my chemo started on Friday.  There had to be food in the house, at least for one of us.  I decided against going out last evening, a difficult decision because I really wanted to go.
Bloody good job I didn't go.  At about 1015, I got a really sharp pain in the left abdomen, just below the rib cage.  It had all the hallmarks of trapped wind but worse than I had experienced on any previous occasion.  But it just got worse and worse and there seemed to be no position in which I could sit, stand or lie that offered any relief at all.  All I could do was keep trying to bring up wind in the hope of reducing the pressure - but it seemed to be building at a faster rate than my well-practised burping mechanisms could cope with.  I will spare you the details.  After two hours of this, I rang 111 to get some advice.  Considering I thought I was dying there and then, I thought that was remarkably restrained!  111 is a useful service but nothing about it is capable of short-cutting.  First, the 'health advisor', nice guy but just running through a scripted list of questions.  After 15 minutes of that, I had to wait for someone else to call me.  A nice lady paramedic, who asked some of the same questions as before.  I passed that test and got referred on to a doctor.  I was warned that it might be four hours before I got that call but, mercifully, I only had to wait about 20 minutes.  She concluded that the likely cause was that it was linked to the withdrawal of the drug I had stopped taking, and that I should resume taking the original dose straight away.  I took her advice, but while I was still fighting with packaging (which is an imperfect science, to say the least!), I let out a massive burp, followed by another and another and another.  Blessed relief.  At last I felt I could go to bed, overdue by now as it was getting on for 0200.  A reasonable night despite the itching and scratching.
The phone rang this morning at 0900.  It was my Macmillan nurse who, typically, was calling on a non-working day.  She and the lovely Scots doctor had concluded that the jaundice had to be investigated urgently, not least because thet were unlikely to start my chemo while the cause was unknown.  More blood tests this morning on the hurry-up with an ultrasound of the liver to follow.  Unfortunately, it was too much to ask of a single day and I am booked in for the ultrasound first thing tomorrow.  As a result, my first chemo session has had to be postponed.  Once we know what is causing the jaundice, we can move forward.  Meanwhile the uncertainty goes on...