This Is My Low
I get up feeling drained and go to the bathroom for my usual morning routine, which involves flushing my PEG (the tube inserted into my stomach in case I need to be fed that way) through with water to prevent it from getting blocked up. It’s an odd sensation to have cold flushing into my stomach while everything else is warm. As I make my way back into the bedroom, I hit my foot against the bed. Pain rushes through me and I look down to see blood around my toes. Michelle helps me clean and strap it up.
I test my foot and can only put weight on it with difficulty. Sitting back on the bed, I realise this is my low point. I have no choice but to go in for my radiotherapy session. But I have no idea how I’m going to do it. I think back and then it hits me. This is the reason why I have exercised so hard over the years. And I have trained like a maniac. I’ve run sub-five minute miles, circuit-trained, kickboxed, sweated, been injured, coughed up blood, cried, and I’ve still trained. Now I need to push beyond my physical limitations and get to hospital.
I take a deep breath, get up and make my way to the tube station, which is agony. Somehow, I limp into hospital, do the radiotherapy and drag myself back on public transport. The five hour round trip all seems a blur. I need help, but it doesn’t arrive in time. When I get back, the pain is so intense and my sock is red with blood. Later, I get a lift to the local hospital and two toes are glued up to stem the blood flow. When I make it back to bed, it’s a massive relief and I rest up before my next trip to The Royal Marsden Hospital.