Fortunately, after the nurses recognised that the whole procedure was taking far longer than it should (a combination of factors not worthy of repeating), they've managed to streamline it somewhat.
One of the reasons I've been spending pretty much the whole day attached to a drip is that they can't start the actual chemo itself until I've been sufficiently hydrated and have been able to pee 500ml.
Sounds easy. It's not.
I was surrounded by blokes sculling water and acknowledging each other with frustrated "tell me about it" smiles as we all engaged in a weird sort of AA drinking competition.
I was lucky to have Renae, a very sweet nurse who knows what I've been going through. Not only did she place me where I could watch the TV (I even got to commandeer the remote, so we got Ellen and Letters and Numbers!), she set up a little personal bathroom just for me:
I was so touched, I completely forgave the lack of an apostrophe.
And then, upon departure, I saw a glimmer of hope in the waiting room, or rather a life-affirming sign of black humour, something I thought had been all but extinguished:
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