Rookie Nurse!

I'm feeling a bit miserable after my chemo session and just want to crawl into bed and sleep for a week to get over the worst of the 'chemo chronics'.  But to top things off, one day after my chemo, I need to have an injection. There is just no escaping pointy sharp needles and discomfort.
So I drag myself out of bed by about 4 in the evening (dont judge me for being still in my pyjamas on these days post chemo - Im lucky that Im even lucid!). I feel like warmed up gruel which has been scraped off the sole of a long distance runner's shoe.
Knock, knock, knock...I limp-drag myself to the door and grunt a welcome.
Brittany is here...she's new. I havent seen her before. The whiteness of her uniform is slightly blinding....Welcome the District Nurse!
Chatter, chatter, chatter, chatter...it's like white noise. She is beaming, smiley, the picture of buxom health. I glare at her from beneath my beanie hat, if I had eyebrows they would be cocked in disdain.....OHhhhhhhhhh for the comfort of my bed.
But I remember my manners and smile semi-politely, leading the way to the front room and the icky injection which Ive just taken out of the fridge, where it was nestled somewhere between the avocados, brussel sprouts, pot of custard and my house mates cherizo sausage.....
I've not had Brittany administer an injection before but Im too tired to care at this stage, so I flop down onto the couch.
She waves her hand around my face, wiggling her fingers in my general direction. Im not really sure what she is at but I finally get the idea....she is showing off her engagement ring.
Im barely conscious and couldnt give a bats ass about her newly engaged status or the long drawn out story of the engagement process. Im more concerned by the fact that she openly admits to me that she is not supposed to be wearing the ring at work. I pucker a little frown and ask a tentative 'why'. The reason being that it is a place for infection and nurses are not allowed to wear jewellery.
Hmmmm, I'm a little nervous at this admission. She is freely telling me she is not supposed to be wearing a ring and Im infection prone...she looms over me....ARGGgghhhhhhh
She whips off the top of a large needle.
I hate needles, she giggles.
Yes love...but Im the one who has to endure it.....
Something tells me she is a newbie and hasn't done many injections. I don't know what quite gave it away but the stabbing action and feeling like a pincushion might have been the sealing evidence in the case of Brittany The Rookie Nurse!
Finally there is silence and she has left. Tomorrow the nurse will be back to change the dressing on my PICC line. Yipee - something to look forward to.

My PICC is my friend.
At the beginning, the prospect of getting it in terrified me. The potential that I would have to limit my movement and curtail my left hand was a bit daunting. The thought of a tube threaded through a vein in my upper arm right down into my chest seemed a bit surreal but then week after week I realised how much I rely on my PICC line to make my chemo treatments easier, to bypass the thin,weak veins in my left arm and to make sure that the chemo drugs do as little damage to my veins as is possible. Now, the PICC is my friend and I cant quite remember what it was like not having it.
In the shower I get to wear a sexy plastic arm bands to keep my line dry and then my functional white bandage, like a widows arm band, on my forearm for day time wearing...truely versatile with any outfit.

The one thing Im paranoid about with my PICC is the 2 centimetre window of movement. It cant come out beyond that two centimetres... (oh yes the picc line can move out of your arm if your not careful and its not taped down within an inch of its life). If it comes out, then they have to go through the whole thing all over again, re-xray, remove, replace......A terrifying fate, as the pain in insertion is not something I would wish lightly on anybody. Sometimes I wake up at night with palpitations over the prospect.

Each week with the regular nurses, Denis, Tracey and Hester, I remind them, 'please be careful of the length', I oversee with total ineptitude the dressing changing, eagle eyed when the measuring tape comes out, breath held for the reading, breath exhaled in a long outpour at the good news. Its not nearly near the 20cm mark yet, so Im safe.

Then BRITTANY happens.

She is being suppervised the next day in changing my PICC dressing. I tell myself not to be silly. Everyone must learn and its important to be supportive. Denis hovers nearby, his nervous energy making me jumpy. She is all chat, her ring removed from her finger, now that her supervisor is here. She chats and chats and chats and chats and chats and chats while putting together her bag of tricks, gloves, dressing, gauze, syringe; all unwrapped and placed on the tray.
Next, the unpeeling of the old dressing. She chats and chats and chats and chats.
ARGghgghghghhhhhhhhh, she has pulled off the stereo strip and i can feel a gerk on the line.
'Denis,' I mentally scream, 'Denis save me.'
 I look down and can see the little scab on the line where it used to be attached to my skin. The distance between scab and arm seems massive, THE LINE HAS MOVED.
The room starts to get very hot, my heart rate increases. I can feel beads of sweat forming on my bald head....who sweats on their head?????
I have to ask Denis to step in and fix this....I cant quite breath properly. thankfully Im already sitting down.
Denis finishes the job and I notice his hands are shaking.
Brittany pipes up that she has had four hours of training but never actually done a PICC dressing change. I want to hit her in nose with my fist but of course refrain.....
The tape measure comes out and I'm praying please please please please
20.2
DAMN IT....
It's over 20.


What Ive been worried about week after week, checking religiously the length of the line, calculating in my head the remaining centimetres before it gets past twenty. Worrying that it has moved, being extra careful in how far I move my arm, in the stretching to the top of the cupboard in the kitchen for the box of cereal, in picking up stuff.
The unthinkable has happened. Its gone over 20, even though I have been so careful. Now Ill have to have it xrayed and probably replaced. I squeeze my eyes shut and try not to think of the discomfort the first time around.
I sigh something akin to relief. Its done now and I dont have to worry about it anymore. I have no control over it.

Thanks Brittany, you're a real stress reliever......... :/