Ok, so last week can be summed up in one word: HELL. What was supposed to be my celebratory lap- final chemo treatment- turned into a four day hospital stay on the dreaded fourth floor of Swedish Issaquah. It was there that I made my peace with my personal Lord and savior. I told Jesus- "F*CK the IRS. Take me now."
Obviously it didn't turn out that way. I'm still here.
So what landed me there? Well let me tell you....Last week I posted that I had a pneumonia diagnosis. That was wrong. Last Monday, coughing, breathless and tired beyond words, I turned up at my oncologist's office and told them very simply: "I cannot take another step." Laurie, the awesome receptionist/scheduler said the most loving thing to me. She said: "Let me get you a wheelchair."
I was wheeled over to nurse Sue who immediately ordered fluids to help with dehydration...I was totally confounded because honestly, I thought I was dying. Nurse Debbie stepped in too, plugged me up to my fluids and sent in the good Dr. Wahl.
Dr. Wahl took one look at me and said the second most loving thing of the day: "I'm admitting you." I weakly lifted my head and said "Bless you." While entertaining thoughts of my impending death, Dr. Wahl explained: "Look there's something going on with these lungs of yours and we need to get to the bottom of it. So, I am ordering a bronchoscopy. You'll undergo the proceedure tomorrow. We'll culture the lung tissue and find out for sure what is going on." Then she said something that filled me with dread: "And because we want a clean biopsy, I cannot give you any drugs today." WHAT THE HELL? I mean, I really wanted morphine. I wanted to entertain hallucinations. I wanted anything that got me out of that awful reality that I was facing. Instead, I got Tylenol.
WCDO, Paul saw me to my room and then had to return to his life of normal breathing. I was jealous beyond words. I didn't call ANYONE. I couldn't talk. Seriously. Between the breathlessness and the coughing, I couldn't get a word out. Not a one. So, thank GOD for texting. And that's just what I did. I texted my parents in Ohio and my sister, Kate- who is the official plug puller in my will. I told them I was being hospitalized. I didn't even try to tell them I was gonna be alright. Because seriously, I wasn't sure that was the truth. And then I fell asleep, praying I wouldn't wake the Hell up.
That's when I heard it- a foot shuffle and a gentle cough. I weakly cracked open an eyelid and saw my savior: Vinny! My awesome nephew. Vinny explained: "Grandpa called and told me you were in the hospital with Paul." That was all he had to say. I handed over my cell phone and put him in charge.
Things kind of moved on from there. Rather than go into a ton of detail, I will tell you this- I have had nothing but amazing experiences with everyone at Swedish Issaquah; that is until I was admitted to the dreaded fourth floor.
Let me just tell you, the fourth floor is a place that should be reserved for kids who talk back to their parents and other unloved family members. Out of the seven nurses, three of them were good. The CNA's must have been hired out of Craig's List- under the stalkers and perv section. For example, while my fever was spiking at 103 post proceedure, my day nurse shouted out loud, in front of Vinny and my very best gal pal, Patty- "She's going septic. I need to pack her in ice." Of course, this scared the shit out of them both. And somehow, I managed to find the strength and energy to crack open an eyelid and croak out: "That's bullshit. I'm not going septic." I was right. And don't even get me started on the male CNA who was really, really in to giving me a sponge bath. I tell ya...there's just too much porn in the world today. Of course, while rocking my oxygen tube, I told him to go the hell away. See? Still kicking.....
Oh- and the results? Right....you're probably wondering what the results were. Well I have none other than Bleomyicin Toxicity of the lungs. No pneumonia. The up side is that I don't have pneumonia, right? The downside is that the toxicity, while not fatal, takes about 6 months to a year to heal. My lungs still hurt like hell. I'm tired. And with the help of really good make-up (thank you, Nars....) I manage to walk around looking somewhat healthy.
So, no victory lap just yet...True- no more chemo. But, this? Well, this I hadn't bargained for.
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