Week 2 - Day 3

Eleven o'clock last night Gail would have been due for dose four. The hour came and slipped away, and night gave way to day. Over twelve hours had elapsed since the previous dose. The registrar paid Gail a special visit first thing in the morning. Routine checks were made, but there was nothing else to do but to wait until that the systolic blood pressure was up and over 90. At last, at around midday today Gail's body was ready to accept the fourth dose of IL-2.

The observations are done on an hourly basis to check that Gail is coping and is OK, but they're also a signal as to when it's safe to go ahead and give the next dose of Interleukin-2. The concern over the last 24 hours was that Gail wasn't passing any water. Or hardly any. The fluids that have been flowing into her through the PICC line, and the fluids that she's been drinking, would, as you'd expect, be making their way through her system. But nothing much had been flushing out the other end. This meant that, put simply, the fluids were being diverted to the wrong places. The worst of the wrong places would be if the fluid was collecting in the lungs. Fluid could even drain to the heart causing it to swell. Not sure about the accuracy of my description of this, but you get the idea. It's bad.

Actually, there was a suggestion that the missing fluid had probably been backing up inside her intestine, swelling it enough to slow her normal bodily functions. She hadn't been to the toilet in two days. Then when eventually she did sometime mid morning, the floodgates opened... Soon after, her observations showed she was rapidly returning to normal. So, there's something we can all take away from that experience.

Dose four went in at 12:30pm. Sometime in between that, and the onset of the rigors two hours later, Gail had a manicure and a hand massage. Yesterday, she'd had a long and soothing foot massage. Volunteer complementary therapists come round the wards every week and offer their services to any inpatient that might like to receive them, and it's free. That offer even extends to a patient's carer – like me. I wouldn't be offered a treatment on the ward, I'd have to make the journey to the rehabilitation centre on the ground floor for my half hour of pampering. The patients just have to say yes and the volunteer therapists come to your bedside and do their magic.

It is a welcome, nurturing treat that none of the inpatients miss out on – the carers have been less likely to take up on this worthy service, though. Perhaps the restricted access to the therapists – only on specific days, and between certain hours, is too much bother for some people.

Not me. I bothered. I went during Gail's first week of treatment. When I arrived at rehab I was introduced to a tall, stately man in his seventies. With a quiet, broken voice he told me he was a reflexologist. And what an amazing practitioner he was. On his request, I'm back to see him tomorrow for a follow up treatment. I cannot wait!

The inpatients and visiting outpatients to the Christie hospital all have one aspect of their lives they share. They all have, or are living with cancer. Christie is the largest hospital of its kind in Europe. It is a centre of excellence, and involved in cutting edge research, treatments and therapies. There's an openness and kindness of spirit here. As a patient, not only do you know you're in the best place, but you feel it too.

The staff embody an incredible combination of serious professionalism and sincere care.

You chat with any of the nurses and they tell you that Christie is a brilliant place to work. Some have worked in other hospitals and have never been so happy as when they started working here. People come from far and wide to be treated here and it is clear why.

Christie's forward thinking approach to their specialist care is epitomised by their readiness to embrace complementary therapies, and the fact that these therapies are volunteered by some fantastic practitioners pays tribute to their reciprocal relationship of giving care to anyone who walks through their doors. Gail is definitely in the right place. She feels it with the wonderful care she receives, literally, around the clock. Whatever the outcome, we both know we couldn't have done anymore to give my darling Gail the best shot at a prolonged remission and the possibility of a good quality of life. We hope and we pray.