My night in the county jail

Okay. Not jail. That title is misleading. And total click bait. Agh! I got you. Never have I ever spent a minute in jail, let alone a night. In fact, I have a lived an extremely vanilla existence wherein I am not sure that I’ve ever truly committed any sort of jailable offense {so if you’ve ever heard the rumor that I sold smack or crystal meth, that one was sadly a tall tale} unless you count the time my friend, Andrea, and I got a talking to for impeding traffic and fleeing the scene while cruising 3rd street in Wilber. But I digress.

I did not really spend the night in jail. But I did spend the night at 42nd street. Which, in case you’re wondering, is not where I live. But it is where the hospital is located. And it is where I headed after running a low temp yesterday and feeling as though I’d just spent the entire week drinking while I had the flu {neither of which happened to be the case}.

Yesterday morn, I awoke and was tired from the get-go. Thankfully, my parents were on deck and took the kids for the majority of the day while I tried to sleep. I also had the chills, a low fever, and a headache. And so, after talking with my Angel Nurse {that’s you, Catherine} and watching my temp slowly rise, I made a call to the on-call oncologist.

“I’ve got white patches in my mouth. I am on day 9. I had the chills briefly this morn. My temp just read 100.6. I have a headache. And remember, I have a ~~wildebeest growing under my arm~~ seroma at my biopsy site.”

“Yeeeeeah. You’re gonna need to come in…” {that’s not really what she said verbatim but I really liked the Office Space reference}

So, I told Adam that to 42nd street, we must go. Infusion was our destination. They would check my white blood cell count. They would assess the ~~wildebeest~~ seroma. They would figure out the next steps.

And then I broke down in tears.

We needed to have coverage for napping kids. We had no clue how long we’d be there. This is our first go-round on the chemo train. It was one of the first times since starting chemo that I was uncertain about what came next.

My friend and widely-known candidate for sainthood {and also mother to her own two sweet babes} dropped her own life and came over to stay with the kids. And I could not have loved her more in that moment for helping a sister in a bind. And we were en route. To the Med Center.

I called Angel Nurse back and was crying asking if this happened because I did something wrong like enjoying T Swift or eating gum off the sidewalk {no. I didn’t actually eat gum off the sidewalk} and she quelled my fears… this is chemo…this is not you. Oh, Angel Nurse.

Once we arrived at the Infusion Center, they took my vitals and I was without a temp. This was both wonderful and annoying. Because I felt a little like a fraud. BUT… saving grace… after they hooked me up, drew my blood, and read my labs, my white blood cell count was at 100. And because I had no idea yesterday what that meant when they told me, I’m gonna share with you — they want them at 500 or above — which meant I had waaaay below the normal level of neutrophils , or I was neutropenic, or I had neutropenia {One of those has to be right.} and would be needing a bit of TLC. So, less of a fraud, I suppose. I was, indeed, meant to end up there {so thanks to the Big G Man for making me follow my intuition}.

When they hooked up my port {and yes, more and more people ooo’d and aaaah‘d at the trendy, hip arm port}, they took about 44 gallons of blood {including the stuff to figure out my counts, the stuff to test my kidneys, the stuff to see if I’ve ever swallowed a Monopoly piece… etc} from me, and started with IV fluids. And then, IV antibiotics. Then, they told me, you’re here for the night. At least.

I slept marvelously last night in my luxury suite. Okay. You got me. That’s a lie again. Man, I am just a liar face today. They did have to wake me several times in the night for vitals, blood draws, and an ultrasound of the Wildebeest {which, is indeed, just a big ol’ fluid pocket that likely will remain as such until chemo ends due to risk of infection in draining it. Mmmmm.}. But, silver lining — the room and the nurses were superb, truly. You win some, you lose some, eh? And if I can win with excellent nurses, I am good with that.

By the morn, they determined that while I don’t appear to have an actual infection yet, I am severely immuno-compromised and I have a Peter Pan haircut. Actually, they didn’t say anything about my hair. But I did also have very low potassium as well. So they brought in a bushel of bananas and told me to start peeling. Gosh. That didn’t happen either. They brought in four horse pills and said, “Choke these down”. And they knew that for the immunity issues, I would be getting a good dose of prophylactic antibiotics {and can I tell you how excited I am that I just used the word prophylactic and it wasn’t in reference to a condom? Very.} and would need to stay away from people who even have the sniffles. That should be fairly simple since I do not live with three living, breathing carrier monkeys.

Initially, this morning, they told me I’d be doing at least another night until I could be busted out of the joint. BUT my Oncologist decided that while my counts were not totally back to 500, I would get better rest at home and could have my counts checked again on Wednesday. He also told me I am a very sensible person which really has nothing to do with anything but I do feel it must be documented here that someone who has met me does not think I am a complete crazy train. He told me that they would make necessary adjustments to my upcoming chemo treatment to let help my body handle it with more grace. I had received 6 bags of IV fluids and 3 or 4 of antibiotics and my counts were trending toward past 300. And sent me home around 4 today with two more antibiotics, some magic mouthwash, and a partridge in a pear tree. The tree was very hard to transport with the noisy bird.

But. I feel I’d be remiss not to share the good parts. Because if you’ve been reading here since Moby Dick was a minnow, you might recall that I noted after doing tune-ups in the hospital while pregnant with the Oldest and the Littlest, when you are a momma of three, being in the hospital actually is a bit like a luxury stay. No one asking you to do anything outside of lay around, and take care of yourself. So, I enjoyed the opportunity to actually rest, got to visit with my Pastor, and crunched on the rockin’ free crushed ice and water in my complimentary water jug {As I’ve previously mentioned, I’ll do just about anything to get those hospital water jugs}.

I delighted in slurping down a delicious popsicle that pretty much felt like heaven on my torched tastebuds. {And yes, I know that I am totally nailing the Flock of Seagulls hairdo. You know you’re jealous, friends.}

I watched the Kardashians in the middle of the day {and just FYI, I never watch the Kardashians at home. Because I don’t have cable, people. I have kid TV}.

I read trash magazines. And thought about what I might wear to the Emmy’s next year.

And last night, I even got a few pseudo-date night snuggle moments with my main squeeze prior to his heading home to be with our brood.

And the best part of it is that now, I am home to rest… in my own bed. But still with my sweet water jug. How’s that for winning? My in-laws kept the kids today. A lovely family left dinner in our fridge {that the middlest actually ate. Proof of miracles, people}. And I have help tomorrow. And Wednesday if need be. And mama just has to worry about her jugs and her jug. Pretty good deal.

I swear, I wasn’t gonna cancer-write today, friends. I wasn’t gonna share about the hilarity of wig shopping yet. Or about this first cycle of chemo and the grab bag of symptoms that come along with it. I was gonna write about my boys. Or write a letter to T Swift after seeing her in concert the other night and realizing she was singing to me {wasn’t that nice of her?}. I was gonna write about the price of tea in China. Regardless, I wasn’t gonna cancer-write. But guys, it’s here for now, and I just gotta document what’s happenin’ here. But then again, I didn’t write about cancer. I wrote about my night in the county jail. And I think that is totally acceptable.