Faithfully Fighting

Saturday’s blog was so true.  Katie and I had a great day, we were tired and I tucked her in early.  Then about 8:00 that evening I felt kind of cold.  Pete had just arrived and I climbed on the couch next to him and grabbed a blanket to cover up with.  15 minutes later I was trembling.  I could not get warm.  At this point I new something wasn’t right.  Took my temperature and it was around 99.1.  It was so amazingly sudden I was shocked.  Now I had been given strict orders from the oncology department that if my temperature when up to 100.5 I needed to call them.  So I quickly popped two Tylenol to try and keep my temperature down.  I got in my flannel PJs (trembling like I was having spasms) and climbed into bed while Pete piled 3 more blankets on the bed for me.  I started drinking copious amount of water (trying to keep the fever down).  At this point I noticed that my right chest area was pretty sore.  The new ones had been doing great, but now one side was extremely tender to touch or movement.  Within a few hours I was moaning in pain and trying to sleep, but it was extremely fitful.  The highest my temperature went that night was 100.1 (with Tylenol going in steadily).  Pete couldn’t be persuaded to leave my side until almost 2:30 am and Katie had woken and was having difficulty going back to sleep.  What a mess!!

On Sunday morning I called the oncology emergency number.  Even though the chills had abated my temperature was hovering in the 99’s with Tylenol, but the pain in my chest was breath taking.  I was pretty sure I had cellulites.  I had it several times two years earlier when I’d had my lumpectomy and then again after radiation.  I have to say the PA on call for the oncology center was the sweetest person (they are all very nice).  She told me to call my plastic surgeon, and called in some medication in case I needed it.  I tried calling the plastic surgeon, but he was out of town and I got the doctor on call, who wanted me to come to the emergency room.  I wasn’t sure that was a good idea.  Luckily the oncology PA called back shortly and she had talked to one of the doctors who told her to call in an antibiotic for me.  So we went that route.  She wanted me to call the office on Monday.

This is when the real fun begins!  My oncologist wanted me to be seen, so they wanted me in there at 2:30 pm.  Dad took me, I was still incredibly weak and sore and angry that I couldn’t go to work.  They called me back into an exam room.  The Nurse practitioner came in, again an incredibly nice person.  I explained what had happened (read above). Then he examined the area.  The expression on his face didn’t change, but I saw him sit up straighter and purse his lips.  I knew it was not pretty, but that’s a pretty strong reaction from a medical person.  He said “I’m going to consult with the doctor.”  And left the room.  This didn’t seem good to me.  I was kind of expecting Ok, keep up with your antibiotics and we’ll see how you’re doing next week when you come for treatment.  Not 5 minutes later in walks the NP and my doctor.  He says “Up on the table”.  I hopped up and pull up my shirt again.  He looks at the area then walks over to the phone on the wall.  “Get me Doctor Lori Boyd”(that’s my general surgeon).  At this point I realize I could be in for a rougher day than I thought.  I won’t bore you with all the ruckeous but I’ll just say 3 tubes of blood later, and many people talking about admission and intravenous IVs and surgeon availability my exhaustion was getting the better of me.  They discovered (through blood work) that my white blood cell count was way low, so they didn’t really want to admit me unless necessary (apparently hospitals are full of germs).  So they got me started on and IV of antibiotics.  Just about that time my doctor, the NP, and another young guy with a white coat comes over to me.  This is the surgeon on call at my surgeon’s practice and my doctor wants him to see the area.  I walk, wheeling the IV cart into another exam room, climb onto a freezing vinyl table and once again raise my shirt for yet another exam.  By this time I’m pretty sure that I now have a red hot boil on my chest.  The very young surgeon takes a look and decided a CT scan is in order, and then makes the statement “I’m not that familiar with flaps and these are so new I’m not sure I’d be the right person to deal with any issues we may find.”  I have no idea what is happening at this moment.  I had no idea what they were thinking might be happening to me, but I suddenly realize they are considering the possibility that I may have to go back into surgery.  I felt my heart stop beating.  I looked right at that young man with his white coat on and said “Well no offense but, if anything needs to be done I will either wait for Dr Lambert (plastic surgeon) or Dr. Boyd”.  It all felt so incredibly out of control to me, I was sinking into a void, once again.  I had to let them know it was me, and I was not just wheeling into surgery with anyone.  I think he actually looked relieved and he said he completely understood. After that I got wheeled to CT scan then wheeled back to the treatment center.  The CT didn’t show any “pockets” (I have no idea what that means, but apparently it’s a good thing they weren’t there).  I had a slight reaction to the rate of antibiotic I was getting, and got some benedryl IV then finished the antibiotic.  It was exhausting.

Today, Tuesday, I had been scheduled to see my general surgeon at 10:50 then go to the treatment center for more antibiotics.  When Dr. Boyd came into the exam room she had a “what is going on” look on her face.  She was not happy with what she saw and she didn’t try to hid it from me.  This little woman puffed around the small room shaking her head.  “Well, the CT was clear.”  Good news I already knew.  Must have been the only good news she had because she didn’t say too much else.  I asked if I had to continue the antibiotic treatment and she gave me her do-I-have-two-heads look.  She told me to get dressed and she’d be back.  She left the room and I could hear her on the phone.  Ok, come on who do you think she’s talking about????  I leaned my ear against the crack of the door trying to easedrop on my own information.  She was obviously talking to my oncologist (I think they are also social friends – from the impression they both give).  She talked about another case she’s had where the woman got inflamed celulitus after each chemo treatment.  The rest of the conversations was mostly uhs and I think so too.  She hung up and I jumped back up on exam table just in time before the door opened.  She told me to go get lunch and back to the hospital for the antibiotic IVs.  “Oh, and by the way I’ll be in surgery on Friday and I’ll come by to see you there.  I also want you to have an appointment here in a week.”  Friday??  What do you mean Friday??  That’s when I found out I’ll be having IVs the remainder of the week.  I’m surprised you all couldn’t hear the air escaping from my lungs in despair this afternoon.  That means no work this week and probably not much next week.   The one thing that helps me feel normal, and like I’m not drowning everyday. 

When I got home from treatment, 4 hours later, I had two messaged from the nurse Sue at the surgeon’s office.  She made me an appointment to see a plastic surgeon.  Can’t wait for tomorrow.

Thank you,

Lynn

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