Bye

Well, it's time for my injection. This time they will inject the more potent stuff. It is so potent, that it is administered only once every 6 months, instead of every month like the previous one. It's also horrendously expensive but it is entirely covered by the health insurance, so I pay nothing for it. (I was paying in full out of pocket for the previous one, but the price wasn't high.) This isn't always the case - sometimes the health insurance covers only part of the cost, although it's a large part. For instance, when I buy some of the medicines for my mother, I have to pay something - but not the full cost.

Since the oncology department is on the 8^th floor while the place where I pay for the procedure is on the 1^st, I decide to be "clever" this time and reduce my trips between the floors first. So, as soon as I enter the hospital, to go to pay for the procedure - before I go upstairs for it to be performed. Before, I was paying for it the equivalent of 10 euros. Meanwhile, my country has switched its national currency to the euro, so I expect to pay a similar amount. When I look at the bill, it says 24 euros. Oops. I guess it is yet another example of our politicians lying to us that the prices won't increased drastically after the currency switch. (They have increased, although not drastically, in the shops already - usually by a few percent.) Turns out that I'm wrong.

When I reach upstairs (all the 4 elevators are in working condition this time; the 5^th remains reserved for "official use"), I find a huge line at the admin office where I need to registered and pay for "administrative services". The line is longer than the very fist time, although it goes faster. Eventually my turn comes and I present my ID and debit card. Turns out, however, that I'm already registered and have paid, so they let me go immediately. Obviously, the cashier downstairs took care of it when I was paying for the procedure. This explains the increased price; it must have included the payment for administrative services. It also means that I've wasted about an hour (and my leg muscles) needlessly waiting on a huge line. Oh, well, I'll know better the next time.

I find the head nurse, tell her why I am here and that I've already paid for the procedure. She tells me to go to the room dedicated for such procedures and present the medicine and the bill proving that I've paid for it to the nurse there, who will do the necessary. There is a line there, but it's a short one - only two people before me - so my turn comes quickly. My only gripe is that there is nowhere to sit while waiting.

The previous two times I was told to lie down on the cot for the procedure - and once I was even scolded for lifting my head up. This time the nurse tells me to sit down instead. Oh, well, whatever.

I helpfully tell her that the last time it was administered on the left side. She ignores me and sits on my left site, obviously intending to inject me there. "Shouldn't you do it on the other side?" ask I. "I'll do it wherever you want," is the answer. "Well, aren't you supposed to alternate sides? At least this is what I was told the last time.", I ask helpfully. "Yes, it is indeed so," she confirms. "Well, the last time I was injected on the left side," I feel like repeating myself. "Then I'll have to do it on the right side," is the answer. Well, thank you, Captain Obvious, and why do you think I started by telling you this in the first place?, I wisely do not say.

She proceeds with administering the stuff. Again it's much more professional than the first time (when the doctor did it). There is no bleeding and I don't feel a thing during the procedure - not even a pinprick. However, a minor pain starts afterwards and continues for several hours. Nothing major - it's like having a sharp, hard body irritating my skin.

I ask the nurse if I should talk to my doctor. (This is merely a polite expression; I've prepared a bunch of questions for him.) "I don't know and I don't care," is the answer. Oh, well. I find the head nurse and ask her if my main oncologist (the old one who gets irritated by my questions) is available. Turns out, he's not. Of course. I ask for the younger doctor. Sadly, he's not available, either. At this point I'm starting to wonder why they call it "healthcare" when "Health? We don't care!" would be a much more apt name for it. And, remember, this is a hospital where I have to pay out of my pocket just to sneeze in front of a doctor. I can't imagine how things are in the "free" hospitals that are entirely covered by the health insurance... Oh, well, in a week I'll have to come here for the new dose of pills. The younger doctor has to write a prescription for them, so I'll talk to him then.

Meanwhile, I visit my personal doctor for something else. My employer, the Bulgarian Academy of Sciences, has seen fit to cut the budget for my salary, in order to force me to retire, since I've reached retirement age. I've submitted the necessary paperwork to the retirement agency, but since I've worked for 4 years in Germany and 10 years in Iceland, they need to get confirmation from these two countries that I have indeed worked there. This process takes several months. Once it is complete and they start paying me a pension, it will be backdated from the date on which I've applied. But until this happens, there will be several months during which I get neither a salary (any more), nor a pension (yet). So, I request medical leave from my doctor - then I'll get 80% of my salary not from my employer (who no longer has the budget for that) but from the retirement agency.

Of course, we talk about my cancer. So far the only symptoms are fatigue - and it might be caused by the treatment. I share with the doc what I've read - that this cancer only goes to the bones (where the pain is horrendous) and to the lymph nodes. The doc (after noting that he's not an oncologist) surprises me with the revelation that, according to what he knows on this subject, it could also go into the lungs and into the brain.

This is... not acceptable. I do not fear death and they will give me drugs against the pain. But my intellect is the only really valuable thing that I have. Feeling how my personality is falling apart and my intelligence is evaporating as I am "getting stupider" (the doc's expression) is most definitely not something I'm willing to live through. This is a fate worse than death.

If he is right (I'll have to ask the oncologist if this kind of cancer indeed can go into the brain; I haven't seen anything about this in all the literature that I've read), if they discover metastases in my brain (it might not happen; the cancer entering my spine and destroying the nerve center controlling my heart might kill me first), and if my mother is no longer alive at the time (I cannot intentionally leave her alone), I will take the necessary measures to end my life the fastest way possible that does not endanger anyone else. In any case, I refuse to live through the second part of "Flowers for Algernon".