I haven’t written in a while because, well, I have been
recovering x2. One of these recoveries was planned, and the other was not. What
I have learned about myself is I can’t really write during recovery; I just
need to focus on getting better. As I look around my condo full of flowers from
my amazing friends and family, I am so appreciative of their generosity, but I just
can’t wait for the glum recovery phase to be over.
***
About two weeks ago, I went in for an appointment at Dana
Farber. The appointment was to get labs done and then my Zometa infusion – the
medicine for the bone loss the Lupron and Letrozole have caused. I had a really
tough time making the decision about going on the bone drugs or not, but
finally came to the conclusion that my life is more important than an unborn
child right now. (My main reservation about taking the medicine is that the
doctors don’t know how it affects children. I likely can’t have them but always
hold onto a tiny bit of hope.)
After waiting an hour for labs to come back and meeting with
a woman who coordinates the Young Adult Cancer Program at Dana Farber – cause I
need to get more involved ha – I was back up on the sixth floor for my Zometa
infusion. Most people take a pill form of these bone drugs but because of my
acid reflux they said they would give me this one-time infusion. Great! My
nurse Kerry (WHO I LOVE) comes in and we chat it up about boys, her new Anna
Beck jewelry from the boyfriend, and shoes, of course. She puts in my IV and
sets up the 30-minute infusion. The doctors told me that the only potential
side affects were MILD flu like symptoms for the first 48 hours and I really
shouldn’t worry about it. So I get my meds, pack it up and head into work.
Later that night I was living the typical single life,
picking up dinner at Whole Foods. I started having this weird chest pain, but
just ignored it and thought it would go away. I get home and can’t even finish
my dinner. The pain was pressing so hard on the front and back of my chest that
I would grunt when I tried to breathe in and out. Then came the chills…I just
couldn’t warm up. I put on that new Nicholas Sparks movie, The Best of Me and just tried to get into bed. It would just go away, right? I don’t need this right now. I called
my parents because I started to panic and well then, they did too. After about
an hour of chest pain and my mom calling me every five minutes I started
hysterically crying because I realized I needed to go to the ER. Fuck. That
moment when you realize you have to go to the hospital? It just sucks. My
parents and I suddenly shifted into panic mode and were trying to quickly
figure out who could take me to the ER. I didn’t want to go in an ambulance. I
texted my wonderful neighbor downstairs and he immediately came up. I was
already dressed with my winter hat on, hysterically crying, gasping for air,
and snot all over my face.
My neighbor got me right in his car and drove me to Brigham
and Women’s Hospital. While trying to breathe, I was sending my parents phone
numbers for my doctors and friends so they could come be with me.
We pulled into the ER and my neighbor asked if I was okay to
walk in. I said, “yes, yes.” The minute my feet hit the pavement, everything started
to go fuzzy and dark and I got hellishly dizzy. Then, noodles. My legs were
noodles. Luckily I was able to grab onto one of those large silver poles where
you pull up to the ER, so I didn’t go down. I started screaming my neighbor’s
name and full on panicking, hanging from the pole. My neighbor jumped out of
his car and came to help me, while some guy slowly walked up behind me with a
wheelchair and casually asked if I needed it. Yes I fucking need a wheelchair;
I just collapsed IN FRONT OF AN EMERGENCY ROOM. AREN’T YOU SUPPOSED TO HELP ME?
They wheel me in and some miserable woman asks for my blue
medical card, with NO urgency. Meanwhile, I was shaking, crying, gasping, and
all of the above. I rifle through my purse and yank out the card, mumbling under
my breath, “of course ‘cause this is fucking America.” Yeap – I was upset. Then
they ask me if I have been to Africa and finally bring me into a room to get
vitals. This nurse with a bad dye job and a scrunchy, yes a scrunchy, asks me
about every medicine I am on which takes forever to go through. I try to tell
her that I have Sarcoma and think I am having a reaction to a medicine. Bruce –
the medical assistant is in there too with a smug look on his face, chomping on
his gum, and not even cracking one leak of compassion. I even tried to joke
with him about my bear named Bruce – but nothing. After that I got to spend
even more time with Dick, I mean Bruce, as he hooked me up to an EKG. It is
highly uncomfortable having an asshole man you don’t feel comfortable put
monitors on your boob. When he was finished I said, “do I need to keep the
leads on?” He says, “Those aren’t leads, don’t believe everything you see on
TV. And yes, keep them.”
After the EKG, I thought they would bring me right back. I
mean I was having extreme chest pain and trouble breathing! Right back is not
where I went, I went to the waiting room for TWO HOURS. The ER is probably one
of the worst places on earth.
Shortly after my EKG my BFF Jennie came to relieve my
neighbor. Did I mention the ER is the worst place ever? Everything takes
FOREVER. After finally going back and getting a bed, they put in an IV and took
labs. Two hours to get those back. Then they wanted to do a chest CT – oh and
had to put in a different IV because the first one was in the wrong place,
excellent communication ER staff. Two hours for the CT results. They were
pretty sure I was having a rare reaction to the Zometa but had to rule out a
blood clot or PE. Oh, and when I say rare reaction to Zometa I mean my expert
doctor had to look up case studies for this reaction. SERIOUSLY, BECKY? YOU ARE
HELLA SPECIAL! Six a.m. rolls around and THE amazing Jennie is still with me.
The doctor comes in and says they saw a spot on the chest CT that could be
something or “just an artifact,” and they want to do another type of chest scan
and a leg ultrasound to be sure. At this point I had to let out a little cry
because I just wanted to go home and wanted my parents who couldn’t get to me
because there was a BLIZZARD that was about to start.
Another two hours later and they transferred me to
observation, which is between the ER and getting admitted. At this point the
fever started and Jennie and I were eating sub-par breakfast sandwiches from
the hospital cafeteria. At around 10 a.m. Jennie was relieved and Ryan and
Amanda came to take the day shift. (I don’t know what I would do without my
amazing friends). Amanda took over secretary duty from Jennie and talked to my
mom and doctors as I was in and out of sleep. Each time I woke up “transport” was
there to wheel me (on my stretcher) to the next test. Finally after everything
came back negative they determined with certainty I had a terrible reaction to
the Zometa. My endocrinologist felt terrible and was baffled by the reaction I
had.
By 5 p.m. on Saturday (I went into the ER 11 p.m. Friday)
Amanda and Ryan had me back at my condo to rest. It was recovery time. Tylenol
every four hours for the fever, fluids, and lots of sleep and TV for three
days…
And here I am two weeks later on the couch recovering
again…to be continued…
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