My previous posting came shortly after my second dose of chemotherapy. Since then I have been up and down, in and out, and just emotionally drained. I was admitted into the hospital a couple days after this last chemo session. My doctor had come by the apartment to see how I was doing and to take some cultures of three lesions that had recently become painful and what I assumed to be some kind of infection. My doctor said that he thought they were infections and that I needed to go over to UCSD hospital and have an extensive blood work up to see if my counts would be high enough to fight these new infections or whether or not I would need to be admitted back into the hospital for IV antibiotics and care.
Unfortunately, the lab where I went to have my blood taken does not access ports and the technician had to take blood from my veins. I am not an easy stick and this poor woman had to stick me four times to get enough for testing. She missed veins in my elbows and on the back of my hand, and finally was able to get into the vein on the backside of my arm and shoulder. Ouch. My mother had taken me to the hospital and patiently waited in the car while I was inside being massacred by "Shakey" the lab technician. Nothing worse then a shakey, newly certified or less than confident phlebotomist.
When I came out to the car with my arms all bandaged with that flesh colored tape and gauze, Mom could see on my face the agony of the experience. She offered a smoothie or a shake, but uncharacteristic of my usual self I declined. We made plans so that she would take me to my next chemo treatment, but as things turned out she would not be able to share with me in that emotional experience.
My doctor called later that afternoon with some bad news. My blood counts were terrible (my WBC was 0.4 and normal range is 4.0-11) and around 4:30pm he insisted that I go back over to the hospital for admission as an inpatient. The repercussions of what he said resonated in my head and I quickly came up with a million excuses why I needed more time at home before heading back. Luckily, Eric while being a pit bull at times is deep down an empathetic and compassionate care giver. He said that I was going, but he gave me some time to pack a bag and to make myself a PB&J in case I didn't get dinner at the hospital.
We arrived back at UCSD and were triaged quickly and before I knew it I was back in a private room in the Emergency Department. I had been running a slight 100.0 fever, but while in ER it spiked to 103.2. Now, I hope that you have never had a fever this high, but if you have then you know what I mean when I say that I literally felt like my insides were melting. I was given medicine to break the fever and some extremely strong narcotic pain medicines. Just as I was starting to feel better a handful of doctors came into my room and gave me quite a scare. This is what Eric heard and I was asked. "Mr. Cannon we do not anticipate your heart stopping this evening, but in the event that this does happen, what are your wishes?"
Huh? What? My wishes?
With tears starting to fall I was barely able to say that I needed to talk to my family first before I gave them an answer. The doctors said that would be fine, but I could tell by the pain and worry written across Eric's face that this was serious. More serious than I think either one of us had anticipated. This was going to be rough... really rough on everyone.
Here is an abridged synopsis of my stay at Hotel del UCSD: Waking up to not one or two, but eight doctors rushing into my room because my blood pressure had fallen to a dangerously low level; a myriad of pills, IV's and reasons for doctors to generally make you ask yourself one important question.... Am I still alive? Sometimes I didn't know. This made it hellish for those who came to see me, well that might be a huge understatement. With my relentless requests to get me the hell out of there, I begged, cried, pleaded, bribed, and ultimately it was to no avail. Eric quietly said, "Not today." That was all he had to say to shut me up, calm me down, and drop me into one of the few peaceful rests I was able to have while there.
After six days, and five really long nights, I was able to make an escape from hell and come home. Hallelujah! There is nothing like a hot shower and your own toilet. Enough said. For now I won't be going back to the hospital any time soon, but like Eric said "Not today." I have been set up to receive IV antibiotics at home through a home health nurse (who by the way is a *expletive*. He has been late, arrived without all of the right equipment, and no call/no showed. I have asked for a switch to another nurse provider who I am familiar and comfortable with, but I haven't been able to make that happen as of yet.
It has been rather emotional to have to get into the routine of three times a day, eight hours apart to hook myself up to my medicines. With a tube dangling out of my chest and a rush of cold liquid painfully entering my veins, my body, my being. When put in those kind of terms, who wouldn't be overwhelmed? I stall as much as I can, but inevitably my conscience or Eric quickly reminds me that I need these medicines to heal and to recover. Like it or not, I have to do it. Just sit down, shut up Carleton, and get it done.
So here I sit writing this post hooked up to my IV and doing as best I can to fight off this gloomy sadness and angst I feel. I remind myself two simple words that someone much wiser than I once told me........
Not Today.
Not Today, Carleton.
Chemotherapy will resume next Thursday and until then I am enjoying feel better, feeling energy and reserves that haven't been within me in a long, long time. That is good, even hooked up to this pole and in slight discomfort, life is good. I am thankful and very blessed to be here, be alive, and be home. Til next time be well my friends.
CJ
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