My blood counts had plummeted to the point where I could barely walk or stand on my own. I couldn't speak with much of a voice, and two people at a time had to help me from my hospital bed to the bathroom.
As this one sweet little lady held me upright on the throne while I did my business, I had the overwhelming urge to hug her. I felt so helpless, and she was so sweet, patting my shoulder and holding me upright, which was both figuratively and literally what I needed most at that point.
The nurse's aids had been building a mountain of warmed blankets on top of me since my chills were so bad, and when I returned to my bed shivering, the same sweet lady drew back my covers, and mummified me with two more hot blankets, tucking them tightly around me from my toes to my cheeks.
"I'm going to wrrrap you like a burrrrito," she said so sweetly. Then she piled the rest of the blankets back on.
My mom was rubbing my head, and I kept asking for people to sing to me.
The two pints of "packed RBC" (donated blood minus the platelets, plasma, and I guess everything but the red cells) made a world of difference. The next day I had so much energy (in comparison), even one of my most stoic nurses broke down a little bit, and told me how glad she was to see me this way.
The day prior, I felt like one more infusion of Amphotericin might literally kill me. I told my mom in a feeble voice, "No more Ampho today."
Fortunately, Dr. Good-Hair signed off on the transfusions and sent a message through my nurse that I needed to take one more infusion, and the next morning I didn't have to come back if I chose not to.
Since I'm not a quitter -- and since I want to do anything I am physically able to do to ensure full recovery and the least likelihood of recurrence — I came back.
The only problem is, I woke up at 4:00 that morning feeling really tight-chested. I couldn't get deep, full breaths and it felt like an obese toddler was sitting on my chest. The feeling continued into the late morning at the hospital, and a deep, dry cough developed.
The symptoms seemed to subside a bit though, and I took a nap during my infusion, only to wake up feeling like a Victorian corset had been tightly strapped around my rib cage. The cough got worse, and pain I could put numbers to started developing in my chest. The doctor ordered an EKG stat, which came back normal, so they dumped some morphine into my IV to help with the pain.
Odd thing was, even after the morphine set in, my diastolic blood pressure soared. By the time I was brought down to the car in my wheelchair, my blood pressure was higher than it had been since my pre-med cocktail had been perfected (back when I was still having immediate reactions to the Amphotericin).
This morning I woke up tight-chested again, but this time feeling winded as well, accompanied by the horrible feeling someone had coated the inside of my chest with Icy Hot or Ben-Gay.
I had a chest x-ray, and when the radiologist called my nurse with the results, there was a lot of "Uh huh...mmm hmm...ok...hmm...and who read the film?" She then decided to hold off on my infusion until she spoke to my doctor.
"There was something that showed up that could explain the symptoms you're having," she told me. That's all I knew then, and it's all I know now.
The doctors gave my nurse the go-ahead to infuse my final (THANK GOD!) dose of Amphotericin, and remove my piccline IV as planned, with the caveat that I must be at Dr. Dad-Jokes' office at 7 a.m. tomorrow.
I'm developing quite a bit of anxiety at this point, and might need them to send me home with an extra Valium tonight if I want to get some decent sleep! I'll of course be back to share what I know, once I know it.
I'm a little over halfway through my 44th day at Providence St. Joseph's Medical Center, and I've got at least five doctor's appointments scheduled over the next week. Beyond whatever's going on with my chest, I've also got another year of tests and treatments ahead.
Thanks for the continued prayers and thoughtful gestures. I feel very, very loved. As a matter of fact, the nearly 90-year-old volunteer in short stay told me today that I am "her love," which was just what I needed to hear. (The tender little kiss on the cheek didn't hurt either.)
More tomorrow...
Love,
-Molly