CANCER: Pneumonia

...now if there's anything at all I've learned from my cancer experience, it is that doctors are not God- or even God-like. And I'd be an ass for thinking otherwise. This isn't to say they aren't good people. No, I'm not implying that. But, really when shit is hitting the fan, they are often just as lost as we are.

So where am I going with this? Well, lemme tell ya. On Wednesday October 3- the evening of the inaugural presidential debate, I found myself sitting in the very posh emergency room of my favorite haunt, Swedish Issaquah. Honest, they really do it well. And here's what was going down- my lungs felt like they were on fire- from the inside. There is simply no other way to describe it. Events leading up to this lovely experience included chemo the previous week as well as a couple of different steroid inhalers offered to me over the phone via my medical oncologist. Now, I am always dubious of any drug prescribed over the phone. It kinda feels like I'm not being heard and I'm getting some shit thrown my way just to quiet me down. Seriously? Like that would work.

Nope- so instead of trotting over to the pharmacy to pick up any number of curious steriods, I demanded to be seen be some person who went to medical school and earned the right to wear the long white coat. So...there I was. In the ER.

Now, here's what was going down: my back and hips were positively SCREAMING from the stupid white blood cell drug. Honest! I almost crawled into bed. And you know what happened? I got sad. Really, really sad. I realized that while yes, my hips hurt like Hell- like childbirth hurt, honest- I was in the ER for something completely separate from that- and wasn't going to be treated for back pain, as that wasn't the primary problem. Nope. I was what I would like to call a "train wreck." Lungs hurting, hips and back screaming out, and my eyebrows looking pathetic. I was a hot mess.

Of course, I was bolstered up by the amazing members of team Moy: Michael Carius and West Coast Director of Operations, Paul. The kids were tag teamed with both Hana- the sitter and baby daddy, Warren.

Michael and I arrived before Paul. So, we settled in. We turned on the awesome flat screen TV in my private ER suite and planned to watch the debate. Paul swept in fresh from happy hour and announced with his white-guy like authority, that there was no way we would be able to watch the debate with him in the room. And, to call Paul animated would be an understatement. At one point he was standing up and shouting- (YES, I didn't know white people did that) SHOUTING at poor Barack that he needed to call Romney a liar. It was at that point when Michael and I conceeded defeat and calmed his ass down with some terrible spaghetti western on none other than the "Western Channel." It worked.

During this, I was wheeled over to the CT scanning room. And, the CT tech was the very same dude I had to do another CT scan of my body. Funny...He didn't remember me. I was like "Um, really? Just how many African American cancer patients do you get up in here?" Seriously! Focus.....

The CT done in under five minutes. I then layed around en suite for another hour or so waiting to find out the results. The kind nurse, Mike was all kinds of an amazing host. He plied me and the team with yummy treats of cheese, crackers and a host of juice options. He also swathed me in those delicious heated blankets. Total silver lining to all this cancer business.....

So, the MD pops in- not the cute one this time- and let's be honest, we were all pretty happy about that....and informs me that I have pneumonia. He hands me 1,000 MGs of antibiotics and tells me to pick up the new steroids and antibiotics the following day. SWEET! Because the alternative to the pneumonia diagnosis was something called "Bleomyicin Toxisity." (Bleomyicin- "Bleo", for short- is one of the four drugs in my chemo regimine.) It can cause permanent and often fatal lung damage if the toxisity isn't caught in time.

But, here's the thing- the dude in the white coat was wrong. It was the bleo. And all I got to show for it was a yeast infection from the antibiotics, that I took for my fake pneumonia.

We finally settled on a proper diagnosis just yesterday, when I met with Dr. Wahl. Because effects of the steroids were working themselves out of my system, my lungs were hurting again and I had a yucky dry cough. (Michael, to his lovely credit, determined that I was feeling sick due to the fact that he was leaving town on Tuesday. RIIIIGGGGHHHHHTTTTT!) Again, Michael DID NOT go to medical school.

WCDO Paul and I chatted after the diagnosis. I complained to him that the cough makes me sound like I'm sick. He replied: "Ah, just tell people it's TB." Lovely.

On the road to recovery now....I'm staring down another 6 - 12 weeks before the lungs are better. I am popping some interesting "beads" to calm the cough and trying on ibuprophen for pain and inflammation management. Radiation will be delayed for a week or so to allow for more time to heal up. Next up- the last chemo treatment on 10/25.

And the wheel in the sky keeps on turning.....