The picture is of me in the hospital. I crashed Tuesday evening, or at least my immune system did. One moment I was fine, the next I felt like death warmed over. I went to yoga class and started out fine, but I could not get warm. I stuck it out but my teeth were chattering. Jasper picked me up (thank goodness I didn’t have to drive myself home) as I felt sicker by the minute. Dinner was in progress when I arrived home so I sat down, still dressed in my heavy coat, scarf, and a couple of hats, but the food looked remarkably unappealing although it was Howard’s fabulous stir fry, which I usually love. I tried a couple of bites and immediately felt nauseous. This was a bad sign. I never go off my feed. I excused myself, went upstairs and found the thermometer. I had a temperature of 100.3 degress. No cause for alarm, perhaps, but given how ill I felt it was time to call the doctor.
Dr. V. said to go to the hospital immediately and he would check me in. David drove me over and dropped me off at the lobby. Once he came back from parking the car, he commandeered a wheel chair and we went off the cancer ward on the sixth floor. Dr. V. had come and gone and the nurses were expecting me. My white cell count was down to 1700 and my neutrophils were down to 200. My blood pressure was 82 over 40 and my fever was over 101. I was neutropenic, thanks to the chemo, which meant I had no immune system left. Chemo kills fast growing cells, including all those lovely white blood cells that spring into action when we are beset by microscopic invaders.
I got a private room and everyone had to wash their hands and put on a mask before seeing me. I had lots of visitors, especially that first day when I was just a sleeping lump. I didn’t have the energy to even feel apologetic about being so dull and uninspiring. But I was still running a fairly high fever. At one point it got up to 102.2 – hardly a record, but uncomfortable enough.
The worst part of the ordeal was the emergence of a painful hemorrhoid. Oh my heavens. I was warned about mouth sores, but not this. And the doctor said it was definitely the result of chemo. Mouth sores would be a lot more dignified. This hemorrhoid made every shift of the body, every tiny fart absolutely unbearable. I never quite understood about hemorrhoids before. One more damn thing to feel compassionate about when someone mentions the problem. I had no idea how very unpleasant they could be. On a scale of 1 to 10 where 10 is the ultimate torture, it has gone from a 7 to a 2, thank goodness, but a 2 is bad enough on an a scale of ultimate torture.
My port was accessed most painfully that first night and I proceeded to have three days of IV antibiotic. I also got a shot of nupogen each night for three nights to stimulate my bone marrow to make more white blood cells. That first night I made several requests for water, which was always promised but never came. I was too ill to be very assertive about getting my needs met, basic as they were. I was pretty dehydrated by morning when I found a bottle of water that Andrine left for me, a full 32 ounces, which I polished off fairly quickly. Finally the morning nurse was able to bring me bottled water and I haven’t lacked for it since. However, it does reinforce my belief that hospitals are not places to get well. Other than that first nurse with her empty promises of water, the nursing staff has been great.
The food was the usual foul offerings of a hospital cafeteria. They had a rating sheet that I didn’t bother to fill out because what was the point? Hospitals have always served this sort of bland nasty food. I had clearly declared “no wheat, no dairy” so they sent up a waffle and a glass of milk for breakfast as well as a tub of high fructose corn syrup to put on the waffle. I was amazed. None of that looked like food to me. Fortunately, I wasn’t hungry in the least, just astonished.
However, they don’t have any respect for the need for sleep. I was amused when I was woken up at 4:30 am by and nurse’s aid with a scale who wanted to weigh me. And then at five someone came to take my blood pressure and temperature. Then at 5:40 my nurse came in to give me IV antibiotics. I told her of my amusement at being weighed at 4:30 am. She says every morning the nurses have to prepare for the doctor’s early rounds and that’s why they wake patients up so they can get all the data to give to the doctors by 7 am. They usually start at 3:30 am, so I was spared for an extra hour of sleep.
As of today, my white count is up 4800, the neutrophil count is 2400, my temperature is 98.6 (high for me but it’s on target for most humans) and I’m ready to go home. I just have to wait for my nurse to de-access my port and I’m out of here. I have an immune system again. People no longer have to wear masks in my presence; I get to see their faces. And I feel like myself again. Life, she is good.
It was a very good thing that I got a buzz cut last Saturday. My support group members related how distressing it was to end up in the hospital 12 to 14 days after the first chemo treatment and have their hair fall out in great clumps while they felt lousy. My hair was coming out, but it was only ½ inch long. It was much easier to deal with, but a bit scratchy. Of course, I’m losing hair from every part of my body. From my legs, it’s okay. From my pubic region, well, not so okay. It’s scratchy.
I’m going to get my next chemo treatment as planned on the 6th. However, this time I’ll get a shot of Nulasta to build up my white cell count. At $7000 a pop it’s a bargain compared to three days in the hospital and a near death experience. Well, perhaps, I’m exaggerating about the NRE, but I haven’t felt that rotten in a very long time, and thank heavens for that. This cancer experience is a wild ride and it’s only just beginning.
Later on…
I’m home. Yes, this is so much better. I’m watching the sunset out of my attic window. I’m sitting at my computer.
Howard has flown off to Nashville to get trained by Al Gore to give talks on global warming. Gavi has a cold so I’m a little freaked out about using the kitchen. Jasper changed my sheets and I’m washing all of my hairy pajamas from the hospital. I expect I’ll do a lot of washing in the coming days. I’ve had the fear of infection inculcated in me in the last few days. I’m rubbing everything down with alcohol wipes. I’m washing my hand obsessively or using hand sanitizer. I’m avoiding the kitchen. I’m used to having a pretty functional immune system but right now it’s just flying at half mast.
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