Ok, OK, OK, I KNOW...I left information up in the air about the door option. And, well I apologize for that. But, see I have a really great excuse: I got really sick. Again.
To quickly answer the door question: It was a trick question. It was none other than Door#4: Do nothing but schedule a lung biopsy.
Basically my oncologist, the dynamic, and impeccably dressed Dr. Wahl called it an "infection." And the equally awesome Dr. George Pappas called it a recurrence of last year's bleo toxicity. Dr W called BS (but in a totally nice way) on that and well, Dr. P "stood his ground."
All the while I'm like: "Man, I hate it when my parents fight."
The deal is this: If Dr. P is wrong but treats me with steroids, it will suppress my immune system and allow the lung infection to wage holy Hell in my lungs. And if Dr. W is wrong, the antibiotics will also delay care, and well my lungs get jacked up too.
Because I have a little skin in this game, I weighed in- and suggested an alternative: more research. And, really why not take that approach? I was only a little tired, right? So Team Moy all agreed that I will undergo a lung biopsy this Wednesday at 3:30 PM at Swedish, Seattle.
Ha! When will I ever learn? Never, apparently.
On Sunday, while attempting to keep up with the St. Therese Shades of Praise gospel choir, I realized: "Holy shit, I cannot breathe." So I ended up sitting down for most of mass. And, I just kept going downhill from there.
On Monday I woke up feeling like there was a baby elephant sitting on my chest. And, well I DO like elephants. I just don't like them in that setting. I called Dr. P's office and was directed by his surly nurse, Jennifer (Yes, honey I AM going to throw yer ass under the bus!!! Just you wait!) to go directly to the ER.
Oh come now. You know me better than that. While not one to panic, I did shower, shave, get the boys ready for school and out the door on time. Meanwhile, I am praying I don't freakin' pass out in front of them. I gently, yet firmly kicked them out of the car, blew the requisite kisses and made my way to Swedish, Seattle.
And if there was ever a moment in my life when I wished I lived on the east side, it was yesterday. After being treated like veal at Swedish Issaquah- what with the private ER exam rooms, flat screen T.V.'s, hot, yet dumb doctors, I was surprised by the apparent worm hole I fell through in the Swedish Seattle ER.
Holy SHIT! What a dump that place is.
Of course, I was really, really, really sick. So, I did what any normal sick person would do: I parked my car in the ER ambulance drive-up. I looked for the valet I could blithely toss my keys to- and SURPRISE! No one was there. Too sick to care, I left it there and calibrated for what was lying ahead. I instructed the nurse with the following:
1) I can't breathe.
2) Yes, that's my car in the ambulance space.
3) Someone will need to move it.
Then I sat my ass down.
They rushed me back into a treatment bay- yes, a bay like some shit you see in a BARN. I was separated by a curtain from a 20 year old, Seattle U student who was in for pericarditis, brought on, probably by the strep throat he contracted from the woman he's been seeing. He hadn't had "intimate relations" with anyone in the past 4-6 months. He's a veteran- and the woman who brought him in, was Chelsea, his roommate- not his girlfriend. Well, she's a "girl" and a "friend" but you get my meaning.
He was sentenced to two days in the hospital for intensive IV antibiotic drugs. And apparently pericarditis is not a big deal- at least according to the med tech working on him. Right....Now my advice to this dude, if I had the energy was as follows:
1) Dump strep throat girl, NOW.
2) Marry Chelsea- any woman you can puke in front of- TWICE- and she's still standing is a keeper!
3) Call your mother.
Meanwhile, I was ordered to undergo a chest x-ray ("Um, do you have any experience with this type of test?") and then a contrast CT. While waiting, I overheard on the staff walkie-talkies: Yes, you read that right: walkie-talkies, like we're in the damn Boy Scouts of America, that the ER toilet was backed up. And every staffer- and I mean EVERY staffer, replied, in unison, out loud: "Yeah. Don't use it." The Hell????
And did I mention I had no cell service?
The X-ray room looked like it was used by Mme Curie herself and the CT machine looked like it was re-purposed from the yard of Sanford and Son. And well I just held on for dear life.
Tests completed, as I was being wheeled back to my "bay" I passed by on old, skinny biker dude, screaming into his phone(He had cell service???)that his guts were bursting through his hernia- and "just what in the Hell" did they plan on doing to fix it?
You know, that shit just doesn't happen in Issaquah.
It was at that point when I decided I had had enough. I fell asleep. Only to be awakened by my ER doctor who informed me that I didn't have any of the "yucky or scary stuff" and then walked out of the room. "Boy, that's a relief,"I thought....my diagnosis is "non-specific un-yucky or scary stuff."
Turns out, this same ER doc called it pneumonia. (And, I'm calling bullshit.) And apparently pneumonia, even the made up kind, is neither "yucky nor scary" in his professional estimation. I was then tethered up to another IV machine and watched the very powerful antibiotics drip into my vein.
During that hour long wait, I got a new guest in the bay next to me: a 238 LB, MS patient. Age 61. And I did not know this, but if you SHOUT REALLY LOUDLY at MS patients, they hear you better. I encourage all of you to try it out for yourselves and let me know the outcome. The couldn't really figure out why this dude was in the ER and did more poking and prodding. Turns out, they thought he had the FLU; just what an immune compromised cancer survivor needs to be sitting next to.
Suffice it to say, I couldn't WAIT to get the hell outta there. And, trust me- they kicked me out like the rest of those drug seekers in that neighborhood. I arrived at the parking garage where I learned I had to pay $14 to get my car out. Really.
But at least I had cell service. And now I know exactly where to go when I get the flu.
I still feel like Hell. I am going to do the biopsy. And hopefully neither "yucky" or "scary" will reveal itself tomorrow.
Stay tuned!
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