It's 5:30 in the morning here. The sun has just started to creep up over the height of the apartment complex and things are only halfway visible. I woke up to start getting ready for work. We have a big event today at Nordstrom. After we left the hospital yesterday, I texted my Assistant Manager and let her know that I planned on still making it in today. I'm supposed to be speaking in a show that we're holding this morning, as well as giving a few facials and teaching some customers about the benefits of using the Clarins products on their skin. However, I'm still bleeding at a decent rate and I'm not allowed to use tampons to soak it up--probably because those aren't designed to hold clots, I'm guessing. So I'm not going in.
I feel guilty for not being able to go in during an event. I sent about 20 texts to my Assistant Manager this morning giving her information about a few things that I was planning on doing this morning and I know she's already got enough on her plate. And add to that, the segment of time they were planning on me taking up during the show.... well, I don't know what they're going to do with it. I guess this is just the most un-ideal time for this to happen. Next weekend would have been much more convenient. There's nothing going on.
So now I'm wide awake, blogging about working because I can't actually be at work. I must have a disorder of some kind, because everyone else says my body should be a priority and in my head, my responsibilities at work are battling for that position.
Isaac and I talked about the baby off and on all day yesterday. We deal with things very differently. My coping mechanisms are sleeping, writing, and eating. He can't stomach anything, can't sleep, and keeps himself occupied. But at least we talk about it. Counseling has been immensely helpful in us learning to communicate better in situations that I find stressful. We've been going to see Jessica Couch pretty regularly since I ended chemotherapy last year and we love her.
He wanted to call it Dion if it was a boy. I loved Sevita for a girl. We probably going to be due in February and I was planning on taking maternity leave until the middle of April, which was perfectly convenient because Isaac would be ending rotations at that time and could stay home with the baby until we had to move for residency. It was unplanned, but was going to work out absolutely wonderfully, time-wise.
I didn't realize until I miscarried that I had started to want a baby.
For several months before I quit using birth control, I had been gung-ho against having kids until we were back in my beloved Iowa because my emotional life has been emotionally unpredictable since moving for med school. I was depressed for a long time and struggled with some suicidal issues because I felt like I had no support here. I'm extremely slow to make friends, and even slower to trust. Blame it on past relationships or whatever you want, but the fact of the matter is that I'm broken in that area. And then heap cancer, chemotherapy, radiation, medical bills, and being newlyweds on top of that... yikes! I wasn't an anchor for Isaac during that time--I was a deadweight, pulling him down, down, down.
I don't want to do that to a child. He didn't deserve it when it happened and they wouldn't either. So how to prevent it? Well my answer was just don't have kids. Not until you are home in your safety zone surrounded by my Iowa family, friends, and other familiar faces because there you can break down and you know people will help. They've helped before when I was diagnosed and pulled together over $10,000 to help with medical bills and expenses that we couldn't pay for because I couldn't work during treatment. I know I'm safe with them. I trust them.
But then at some point, I started to realize I can't let my fear rule that area of my life, because we may never have children if I do. There's no guarantee that I'll ever live near my Iowa family again, and even less of one during residency. You just take what you get. Even though thinking about it is enough to get me worked into tears again, I think that's just something I have to get used to. It's just extremely hard and very much heartbreaking to me, but it's life. Sometimes life sucks. There are other people whose families aren't even alive anymore, so I just need to think about the fact that mine are living and healthy--even if I can't be with them.
Writing the last couple paragraphs was really hard... exhausting, actually, so I've cried again for a while now and I'm going to go back to sleep. I'll have to finish my thoughts later.
Showing posts with label ER. Show all posts
Showing posts with label ER. Show all posts
May 25, 2013
May 24, 2013
Surprises in May
The original purpose of this blog was to stay connected to friends and family back in Iowa when Isaac and I moved to Michigan for his medical schooling. When I got diagnosed with cancer a few weeks after moving, it took on a new purpose--being open with people about our struggles while navigating through them.
This year, we celebrated our anniversary on May 8th. It was awesome. I had to close at Nordstrom and Isaac worked in the morning, so we didn't get to do anything the day of. However, the morning after, I had my routine PET/CT scan and then was off for the day.
Since we were no longer preventing pregnancy, the hospital had to do a blood test for pregnancy before I could get my scan. Had I realized how long they had to wait for the labs to get back, I might have stopped by the morning before so I didn't have to sit around for an hour, but lesson learned. While I was waiting to get injected with the radioactive glucose, the tech and I were chatting about life. When you get tests like this done regularly, you start to get to know the people at the hospital pretty well. This guy was new to me--I'd only had him once before--so we were talking about family and how long he'd been working as a tech.
At some point in the conversation, he started talking about the statistics of how many people have actually been pregnant when they come in for their PET/CT scan.
Zero.
In his 12+ years of working as a radiology tech, he said he'd never had a result come back positive. That's not exactly comforting. I wasn't exactly sure what it meant, but it indicated to me there's a pretty strong correlation between people who get PET/CTs and not being pregnant. Maybe it's because a majority of the people he sees are older, maybe it's because there's an unknown side effect of getting them regularly, or who knows what.... but I was kind of bummed when he told me that.
When the lab finally called, he went into the other room to hear the results and I was straining my ears to see if there was any surprise in his voice that might indicate I was pregnant. Nope. None at all. By the time he hung up the phone I was settled in and ready to get injected, even though I was bummed. He came back in the room and surprise, surprise: "Well ma'am, you're not going to be able to get your scan done today because we don't want to bake the baby!"
I'm sure I had a really big smile on my face but the only thing that absorbed at that point was that I wasn't going to be able to get my PET/CT. Still, I walked out of the hospital grinning like a goon. And I still smile now remembering the feeling. I started to process it on the way home and screamed and cried a couple of times in the car on my way home. Isaac was supposed to be at the hospital that morning, so when I pulled into our apartment complex and saw his car there, I was even more excited that I'd be able to tell him right away.
Now, my husband is a man of one face. His expression rarely changes, regardless of the circumstance. I have no idea how that works, because everything I feel shows on my face. I decided I'd try and play the "one-face" game when I told him to see if I could get a reaction out of him. The conversation went something like this-
Isaac: "How did your scan go?"
Me: "I don't know."
Isaac: "Well, how do you think it went?" (You normally have to wait a few days to get results)
Me: "I don't know. I didn't have one."
Isaac: "Why?"
Me: "We're pregnant."
Isaac: "What?"
AND HIS FACIAL EXPRESSION NEVER CHANGED!!!!!! I tried, ladies and gentlemen. I tried. At first he thought I was joking, because I was doing a good job at hiding my own excitement. Once he finally understood that I wasn't pranking him, he did crack a smile and laugh a bit.
Over the last couple of weeks, we've started doing things that I'm sure other parents-to-be do: talking about the baby, discussing names, figuring out insurance, finances, etc... We've gotten a little attached to it and were envisioning a future with a child.
I say "were" because this morning I miscarried.
This week has been crazy, stress-wise. My closest friend in Michigan, Pearl, has packed up and is moving to Texas today. The cosmetic line that I manage started a gift with purchase on Wednesday (which I worked a 12-hour shift for). And today we started a department-wide event that will run through today and tomorrow and will draw in hundreds of women and lots of chaos.
When I arrived at work this morning, I started to bleed a little bit. I only noticed because I'm out of my "good" undergarments and I felt like I was getting an underwear line that was showing. I went to adjust it, and while using the facilities, saw blood. Bright red blood. Pregnant women shouldn't bleed.
I called my husband because he always knows what to do, and after giving me an over-the-phone exam, he came and picked me up. Off to the ER we went. During our 3-hour stay there, I bled and bled and bled. Chunks of blood. I was given a foley catheter (a pinch uncomfortable getting it in, by the way) and they took me to ultrasound to take images of my uterus and ovaries. After that, a few blood labs, and a pelvic exam, the doctor told Isaac and I that my pregnancy hormone had dropped significantly, indicating I was most likely no longer carrying.
So we were pregnant.
And now we're not.
I'm exhausted. There's the unwritten rule that you don't share that you're pregnant until you're past the 12-week mark. I was too excited, so I told quite a few people... probably half of the ladies I work with, some friends, and my three closest girlfriends. After we left the hospital I sent out a mass text letting everyone know.
The rest of today has been filled with talking to my husband and my mom, naps, cramps, and getting lots of hugs and kisses from my husband. He even took a nap with me, even though he wasn't tired--which is a HUGE thing. I've gotten a ton of supportive texts and a couple of extremely sweet voicemails.
Thank you, to those of you who have given me encouragement. It's still painful, but less.
We're going to keep "not preventing," but we'll see what happens. The silver lining is that we know we CAN get pregnant. Now to see if they'll ever stick...
This year, we celebrated our anniversary on May 8th. It was awesome. I had to close at Nordstrom and Isaac worked in the morning, so we didn't get to do anything the day of. However, the morning after, I had my routine PET/CT scan and then was off for the day.
Since we were no longer preventing pregnancy, the hospital had to do a blood test for pregnancy before I could get my scan. Had I realized how long they had to wait for the labs to get back, I might have stopped by the morning before so I didn't have to sit around for an hour, but lesson learned. While I was waiting to get injected with the radioactive glucose, the tech and I were chatting about life. When you get tests like this done regularly, you start to get to know the people at the hospital pretty well. This guy was new to me--I'd only had him once before--so we were talking about family and how long he'd been working as a tech.
At some point in the conversation, he started talking about the statistics of how many people have actually been pregnant when they come in for their PET/CT scan.
Zero.
In his 12+ years of working as a radiology tech, he said he'd never had a result come back positive. That's not exactly comforting. I wasn't exactly sure what it meant, but it indicated to me there's a pretty strong correlation between people who get PET/CTs and not being pregnant. Maybe it's because a majority of the people he sees are older, maybe it's because there's an unknown side effect of getting them regularly, or who knows what.... but I was kind of bummed when he told me that.
When the lab finally called, he went into the other room to hear the results and I was straining my ears to see if there was any surprise in his voice that might indicate I was pregnant. Nope. None at all. By the time he hung up the phone I was settled in and ready to get injected, even though I was bummed. He came back in the room and surprise, surprise: "Well ma'am, you're not going to be able to get your scan done today because we don't want to bake the baby!"
I'm sure I had a really big smile on my face but the only thing that absorbed at that point was that I wasn't going to be able to get my PET/CT. Still, I walked out of the hospital grinning like a goon. And I still smile now remembering the feeling. I started to process it on the way home and screamed and cried a couple of times in the car on my way home. Isaac was supposed to be at the hospital that morning, so when I pulled into our apartment complex and saw his car there, I was even more excited that I'd be able to tell him right away.
Now, my husband is a man of one face. His expression rarely changes, regardless of the circumstance. I have no idea how that works, because everything I feel shows on my face. I decided I'd try and play the "one-face" game when I told him to see if I could get a reaction out of him. The conversation went something like this-
Isaac: "How did your scan go?"
Me: "I don't know."
Isaac: "Well, how do you think it went?" (You normally have to wait a few days to get results)
Me: "I don't know. I didn't have one."
Isaac: "Why?"
Me: "We're pregnant."
Isaac: "What?"
AND HIS FACIAL EXPRESSION NEVER CHANGED!!!!!! I tried, ladies and gentlemen. I tried. At first he thought I was joking, because I was doing a good job at hiding my own excitement. Once he finally understood that I wasn't pranking him, he did crack a smile and laugh a bit.
Over the last couple of weeks, we've started doing things that I'm sure other parents-to-be do: talking about the baby, discussing names, figuring out insurance, finances, etc... We've gotten a little attached to it and were envisioning a future with a child.
I say "were" because this morning I miscarried.
This week has been crazy, stress-wise. My closest friend in Michigan, Pearl, has packed up and is moving to Texas today. The cosmetic line that I manage started a gift with purchase on Wednesday (which I worked a 12-hour shift for). And today we started a department-wide event that will run through today and tomorrow and will draw in hundreds of women and lots of chaos.
When I arrived at work this morning, I started to bleed a little bit. I only noticed because I'm out of my "good" undergarments and I felt like I was getting an underwear line that was showing. I went to adjust it, and while using the facilities, saw blood. Bright red blood. Pregnant women shouldn't bleed.
I called my husband because he always knows what to do, and after giving me an over-the-phone exam, he came and picked me up. Off to the ER we went. During our 3-hour stay there, I bled and bled and bled. Chunks of blood. I was given a foley catheter (a pinch uncomfortable getting it in, by the way) and they took me to ultrasound to take images of my uterus and ovaries. After that, a few blood labs, and a pelvic exam, the doctor told Isaac and I that my pregnancy hormone had dropped significantly, indicating I was most likely no longer carrying.
So we were pregnant.
And now we're not.
I'm exhausted. There's the unwritten rule that you don't share that you're pregnant until you're past the 12-week mark. I was too excited, so I told quite a few people... probably half of the ladies I work with, some friends, and my three closest girlfriends. After we left the hospital I sent out a mass text letting everyone know.
The rest of today has been filled with talking to my husband and my mom, naps, cramps, and getting lots of hugs and kisses from my husband. He even took a nap with me, even though he wasn't tired--which is a HUGE thing. I've gotten a ton of supportive texts and a couple of extremely sweet voicemails.
Thank you, to those of you who have given me encouragement. It's still painful, but less.
We're going to keep "not preventing," but we'll see what happens. The silver lining is that we know we CAN get pregnant. Now to see if they'll ever stick...
Jul 13, 2011
Chemotherapy? No Thanks, I'm Good....
Today was supposed to be my second treatment. As it were, Isaac and I arrived at the office only to discover that my white blood cell count was low and my neutophil count extremely low.
I guess we know the chemo is doing its job.
This means a couple things. One is that I am extremely prone to getting really sick right now. Honestly, I'm a little surprised I didn't end up in the ER after my visit home this past weekend. I disobeyed the "no little kids" rule, the "no hugging" rule, the "limited sun exposure" rule... probably a few others, too. I'm sure if the doc had known exactly how low my counts were going to dip and how disobedient I'd be, he wouldn't have let us go. Secretly, I'm glad he didn't know. (Although, I'm not sure I'd feel the same way if I were hospitalized right now.)
Also, this means that my chemo was delayed a week... which reduces its effectiveness... which means I might have to be in treatment longer.
It also means that the day after my session next week, I have to get a shot that it supposed to make my bone marrow pump out white blood cells like crazy.
I'm not particularly excited about this shot.
I've come across it while reading up on my specific type of treatment and over and over again I see two things about it repeated. First, it's expensive. One man's wife needed them and they weren't insured. It cost them over $12,000 a week. I can't even image--thank goodness for insurance! As much as people gripe about ObamaCare, I'm very thankful for it right now, or Isaac and I absolutely would have declared bankruptcy already.
The other thing I read about this shot is that it apparently makes your bones ache like you have a fever.
Oh, joy.
Thankfully, the chemo will probably knock me out for a few days anyway, so I'll be able to take care of all my miserableness at once, rather than stretching it out. That's one upside.
On another note, my hair is still in tact. I often find myself running my hands through it, like I'm petting a dog--except I'm petting myself. It just feels cool. Occasionally, I'll reach up and pinch some of it and pull to see if any will come out. The most I've gotten was two hairs at once. I was under the impression that it would have fallen out by now--although, since shaving it, I've learned that about 3% of people undergoing my treatment keep their hair.
I'm sure that'll be my luck--but only because I already shaved it. And because I was looking forward to it coming back different. Maybe red and curly...
I'd be game for anything.
I guess we know the chemo is doing its job.
This means a couple things. One is that I am extremely prone to getting really sick right now. Honestly, I'm a little surprised I didn't end up in the ER after my visit home this past weekend. I disobeyed the "no little kids" rule, the "no hugging" rule, the "limited sun exposure" rule... probably a few others, too. I'm sure if the doc had known exactly how low my counts were going to dip and how disobedient I'd be, he wouldn't have let us go. Secretly, I'm glad he didn't know. (Although, I'm not sure I'd feel the same way if I were hospitalized right now.)
Also, this means that my chemo was delayed a week... which reduces its effectiveness... which means I might have to be in treatment longer.
It also means that the day after my session next week, I have to get a shot that it supposed to make my bone marrow pump out white blood cells like crazy.
I'm not particularly excited about this shot.
I've come across it while reading up on my specific type of treatment and over and over again I see two things about it repeated. First, it's expensive. One man's wife needed them and they weren't insured. It cost them over $12,000 a week. I can't even image--thank goodness for insurance! As much as people gripe about ObamaCare, I'm very thankful for it right now, or Isaac and I absolutely would have declared bankruptcy already.
The other thing I read about this shot is that it apparently makes your bones ache like you have a fever.
Oh, joy.
Thankfully, the chemo will probably knock me out for a few days anyway, so I'll be able to take care of all my miserableness at once, rather than stretching it out. That's one upside.
On another note, my hair is still in tact. I often find myself running my hands through it, like I'm petting a dog--except I'm petting myself. It just feels cool. Occasionally, I'll reach up and pinch some of it and pull to see if any will come out. The most I've gotten was two hairs at once. I was under the impression that it would have fallen out by now--although, since shaving it, I've learned that about 3% of people undergoing my treatment keep their hair.
I'm sure that'll be my luck--but only because I already shaved it. And because I was looking forward to it coming back different. Maybe red and curly...
I'd be game for anything.
Jul 6, 2011
Laughter is Good Medicine
Since my little incident in the shower, I've been able to hear very little out of my right ear. I've grown rather accustomed to it by now and Isaac and I have started calling it my "bad" ear. The other night he just died laughing because we went to bed at the same time (a rarity when you're married to a med school student) and I sleep on the right and he on the left. I was turned on my side facing him, which meant that the bad ear was facing up and my good ear was smothered in pillow-ness.
I was just starting at his oh-so-handsome face as he started to talk. A millisecond into whatever he was saying and I realized I couldn't hear it because my bad ear was the one up. Then, as yet more proof that I am really an old lady, I had to speak those dreaded words you hear from the 90-somethings in retirement homes.
"Heh? What are you saying? Hold on... my good ear is in the pillow."
He. Just. Died.
I hope by now you realize I'm learning to laugh at myself because the alternative lately is probably to cry or get angry, and so as he continued his guffawing, I joined him. Really, if you think about it, I am just a miserable mess. My body has been started more drama in the past month than I care to admit. Let's see what we've got a count on so far (you can click on some of the following for the full scoop if you're behind):
- Excisional Biopsy Surgery
- Diagnosed with Hodgkin's Lymphoma IIA
- A million blood tests, PET/CT scan, MUGA scan, and a pulmonary function test
- Fever/headaches/sore throat/wry neck
- Ear erruption that resulted in early anesthesia at my Mediport Surgery, a visit to Urgent Care, AND a visit to the ER
- Mediport Surgery
- Tightness in my neck that Isaac had to crack out (yes, CRACK)
- Nausea and a 3-day nap due to chemotherapy
- Crack-addict-like behaviors from either chemotherapy or compazine (to be determined after the next chemo cycle)
- A yeast infection from the million antibiotics I've been on
- Claw-hand and spastic tongue muscles from a compazine reaction--aka: another trip to the ER
This is why we laugh.
That, and the fact that my husband and mother figured out every loophole in my insurance policy. Not only did we figure out how to work the "guest" status, we also ended up getting a refund of what we had paid for the month of June because my mom figured out I shouldn't have had to switch plans. I bet the insurance people are pissed.
They told her to quit reading the policy.
All in all, when it rains, it pours... and so long as I don't have my hair and makeup done, I'm fine with splashing in the puddles.
Oh, and Em Fedderson, if you're reading this: I had to cut a little over a 1/2" off my hair yesterday to knock it back to where it was when I first cut it. Just sayin'.
Jul 3, 2011
What a Date!
As many of you know from Facebook, I was super excited to have the chance to go on a date with my husband last night. It had been a while since we'd had time of our own that wasn't focused on chemotherapy or some other doctor's appointment, and my tweaking had toned down quite a bit--to the point Isaac thought I might be able to handle an evening out. Little did he know....
The evening started out rather well. Meg told me I should get all gussied up and do my hair and makeup (which I did) and then Isaac and I were off to see the Green Lantern at 7:45pm. We were hanging out, enjoying the movie and some hot dogs when about three-fourths of the way through the film, my right hand started to inadvertently claw up--similar to someone with rheumatoid arthritis. A little confused at what was happening, I excused myself and went to the bathroom to unwravel my hand and stretch it out. After maybe a minute or two of stretching, it was feeling much better, but by the time I got back into the movie, it was all locked and cramped again and my tongue had started involuntarily twisting into knots in my mouth.
I tried to play it cool for a couple of minutes and then rememberd that I had promised Isaac I'd tell him every little thing. Honestly, I'd like to say I told him right away, but the truth is that he noticed me acting weird before I spoke up. Needlesss to say, once I told him what was going on through my tongue cramps, he had decided it was time to leave the movie--NOW. At first, I felt bad for interrupting our first date night after chemo, but by the time we got to the car, I was glad we were leaving. My hand and tongue continued to spaz and it felt like any moment, I might start having troubles breathing.
Isaac was on the phone immediately with my oncologist, asking what he thought we should do. Dr. Knechtl told us that if we could get to Mount Clemens, that'd be preferable, but if we didn't think we could make it, Henry Ford Macomb ER should suffice. Forming words with a contorted tongue is pretty hard, let me tell you, but I managed to communicate to my husband that Henry Ford sounded best. I didn't know what was happening, and I had become a little worried that my airways were closing. Although Mount Clemens has all my medical records, it's also 15 minutes away, and I wasn't sure if I would make it.
Isaac drove like a bat out of hell the entire 2 miles to the ER while my tongue continued to tense up and my non-rheumatoid claw got even claw-ier. This is where it gets a little funny (now, it is--it wasn't then). The lady at the front desk wanted to have a nice hour-long chat while getting my information before treating me. Isaac was getting furious. After "what is your name, sweetie?", "date of birth?", and "so, what's going on tonight?" he finally blew up and told the lady I was having problems breathing so she would put the bureaucracies aside and get me in. Meanwhile, my tongue muscle was tensing to the point my head had started to arch back in order to open my airway as much as possible to get oxygen to my lungs.
Now, if you're interested in how I felt at this time, take your tongue, open your mouth, and stick it out and down as far as you can. Now push just a little bit further. Yeah--even further. You should be getting hot in the jaw and tired in your tongue. Mine was like that for probably 20 minutes by this point. Compound that with the "arthritis" in my hand, and I wasn't feeling too hot.
Once we were finally back in the ER, the doctor diagnosed me as having a dyastonic drug reaction to the compazine (one of my anti-nausea drugs) I had been taking. Apparently, its fairly common with patients taking this particular medication. He said they would get me started on an IV of Benedryl right away.
Ten minutes later, I had witnessed two entire conversations between the nurses who should have been starting my IV about a weekend event they'd been to. Ten MORE minutes later and I'd also heard about so-and-so's dress and "Oh, can you hand me that chart?"
Seriously?
This had to have been the SLOWEST ER EVER! Finally, about 20 minutes after I'd been told I'd get an IV "right away", the nurse finally came over to start it while still maintaining conversation with another nurse. On top of that, the poor guy must have been new because he kept pulling the temp IV out of my arm, creating a mess of bloody saline that I tried to keep off my white shirt.
Meanwhile, in the background, a 70-something psych patient was trying to escape her gurney while showing off her booty and a 40-something woman was admitted for a dislocated elbow from trying to do a cartwheel. The friend who admitted her was flabbergasted to learn that once they fixed her up and put a cast on it, she wouldn't be able to go jet-skiiing on the lake.
Who would have thought?
By this time, the Benedryl was kicking in, and the seizing in my arms and mouth immediately let up. It was amazing how much more comfortable I was in a matter of mere seconds! However, Benedryl has a sleep-effect on me, so I knocked out for a few minutes. After the doctor had re-vistited us and declared me good to go, we waited for another 20 minutes for someone to remove my IV out so we could head home. You can't win them all, I guess.
I'm happy to also report that the doctor believes the compazine is also the likely culprit for my "crackhead" like behaviors. As it turns out, that might have been my body's less-immediate reaction to the drug because I was metabolizing it so quickly. The cumulative effect, however, was the seizures in my face and arm.
The happy part of this story: I no longer feel like a crackhead. The bad part: it was a little scary to figure out!
The evening started out rather well. Meg told me I should get all gussied up and do my hair and makeup (which I did) and then Isaac and I were off to see the Green Lantern at 7:45pm. We were hanging out, enjoying the movie and some hot dogs when about three-fourths of the way through the film, my right hand started to inadvertently claw up--similar to someone with rheumatoid arthritis. A little confused at what was happening, I excused myself and went to the bathroom to unwravel my hand and stretch it out. After maybe a minute or two of stretching, it was feeling much better, but by the time I got back into the movie, it was all locked and cramped again and my tongue had started involuntarily twisting into knots in my mouth.
I tried to play it cool for a couple of minutes and then rememberd that I had promised Isaac I'd tell him every little thing. Honestly, I'd like to say I told him right away, but the truth is that he noticed me acting weird before I spoke up. Needlesss to say, once I told him what was going on through my tongue cramps, he had decided it was time to leave the movie--NOW. At first, I felt bad for interrupting our first date night after chemo, but by the time we got to the car, I was glad we were leaving. My hand and tongue continued to spaz and it felt like any moment, I might start having troubles breathing.
Isaac was on the phone immediately with my oncologist, asking what he thought we should do. Dr. Knechtl told us that if we could get to Mount Clemens, that'd be preferable, but if we didn't think we could make it, Henry Ford Macomb ER should suffice. Forming words with a contorted tongue is pretty hard, let me tell you, but I managed to communicate to my husband that Henry Ford sounded best. I didn't know what was happening, and I had become a little worried that my airways were closing. Although Mount Clemens has all my medical records, it's also 15 minutes away, and I wasn't sure if I would make it.
Isaac drove like a bat out of hell the entire 2 miles to the ER while my tongue continued to tense up and my non-rheumatoid claw got even claw-ier. This is where it gets a little funny (now, it is--it wasn't then). The lady at the front desk wanted to have a nice hour-long chat while getting my information before treating me. Isaac was getting furious. After "what is your name, sweetie?", "date of birth?", and "so, what's going on tonight?" he finally blew up and told the lady I was having problems breathing so she would put the bureaucracies aside and get me in. Meanwhile, my tongue muscle was tensing to the point my head had started to arch back in order to open my airway as much as possible to get oxygen to my lungs.
Now, if you're interested in how I felt at this time, take your tongue, open your mouth, and stick it out and down as far as you can. Now push just a little bit further. Yeah--even further. You should be getting hot in the jaw and tired in your tongue. Mine was like that for probably 20 minutes by this point. Compound that with the "arthritis" in my hand, and I wasn't feeling too hot.
Once we were finally back in the ER, the doctor diagnosed me as having a dyastonic drug reaction to the compazine (one of my anti-nausea drugs) I had been taking. Apparently, its fairly common with patients taking this particular medication. He said they would get me started on an IV of Benedryl right away.
Ten minutes later, I had witnessed two entire conversations between the nurses who should have been starting my IV about a weekend event they'd been to. Ten MORE minutes later and I'd also heard about so-and-so's dress and "Oh, can you hand me that chart?"
Seriously?
This had to have been the SLOWEST ER EVER! Finally, about 20 minutes after I'd been told I'd get an IV "right away", the nurse finally came over to start it while still maintaining conversation with another nurse. On top of that, the poor guy must have been new because he kept pulling the temp IV out of my arm, creating a mess of bloody saline that I tried to keep off my white shirt.
Meanwhile, in the background, a 70-something psych patient was trying to escape her gurney while showing off her booty and a 40-something woman was admitted for a dislocated elbow from trying to do a cartwheel. The friend who admitted her was flabbergasted to learn that once they fixed her up and put a cast on it, she wouldn't be able to go jet-skiiing on the lake.
Who would have thought?
By this time, the Benedryl was kicking in, and the seizing in my arms and mouth immediately let up. It was amazing how much more comfortable I was in a matter of mere seconds! However, Benedryl has a sleep-effect on me, so I knocked out for a few minutes. After the doctor had re-vistited us and declared me good to go, we waited for another 20 minutes for someone to remove my IV out so we could head home. You can't win them all, I guess.
I'm happy to also report that the doctor believes the compazine is also the likely culprit for my "crackhead" like behaviors. As it turns out, that might have been my body's less-immediate reaction to the drug because I was metabolizing it so quickly. The cumulative effect, however, was the seizures in my face and arm.
The happy part of this story: I no longer feel like a crackhead. The bad part: it was a little scary to figure out!
Jun 24, 2011
Listening.... Who Knew It Was So Helpful?
Well... I promised I would keep you posted on what's going on with the ear situation. I am happy to say that it is 1:32am here and it is officially under control.
So.
I believe when I left you last, my ear was draining more toward the clear-ish, yellow-ish end of the spectrum and I don't think the pain was unbearable. However, that soon changed. Bad news bears. Probably a couple hours later my ear started draining more on the reddish side again and the pain intensified. Immensely.
We headed out to the urgent care doctor, who, I will do my best to objectively describe. I will warn you, not everything here is probably said out of love, because this man was an idiot. I first talked to his nurse, who did a fantastic job listening to what was going on. I was incredibly impressed by her and took that as a good indicator that he would probably be attentive as well. Turns out I was VERY wrong.
This ding dong walked in the door, looked in both ears, and declared that I had an ear infection (which, duh, I could have diagnosed myself with that) and that my infection was focused in the anterior part of my eardrum (aka, the front). Now, first off, neither the ENT in surgery yesterday or my husband could see to my eardrum because of the wax in the way, so how did he? Easy. He didn't. He assumed.
He then also assumed that I was a completely uninformed drug-addict, which, I'll admit, I might have looked like one at that point. However, the point of urgent care is to get quick care for people who would normally go to the ER, but don't feel like they're quite at that point yet. You would think he'd be used to seeing a lot of not-so-good looking people. Anyway, after he wrote me a script for a couple of useless drugs, he proceeded to tell me that even though I'd just had surgery less than 12 hours ago, I shouldn't be taking the pain killers they prescribed until I was in extreme pain; otherwise, Tylenol should be good enough. And the nasal spray that my allergist recommended that has been working fantastically for me--yeah, quit taking that too. Claratin or Benedryl should suffice.
It was at this point I couldn't help but open my mouth and inform the ding dong that I thought it was entirely appropriate to engage in pain PREVENTION rather than waiting until I was miserable to try and control it and that I'd already tried Claratin and Benedryl alongside the other OTC drugs for allergies for YEARS before I realized that the constant drainage in the back of my throat was due to allergies and not a mystical year-round disease that plagued only me.
Now, on TOP of all his baloney, he also was very intentionally inching toward the door the entire 7 minutes we talked. Can I mention that I was the only person in the clinic? Literally. The. only. person. How do I know this for sure you ask? Well, considering we were the only car in the parking lot and I didn't see a soul while in there, I'm just making an educated guess. I don't know what in the world he felt he had to rush off for, but it was sure irritating.
After taking one dose of the crap he prescribed, I felt sick to my stomach. This was my own fault. He had mentioned that I would need to eat with one of them, but I had been so focused on how furious I was that he wasn't even listening or asking questions to figure out what was wrong with me, I had completely forgotten. So, while I was on the floor in the bathroom, shaking from somewhat self-induced nausea, my husband kept track of time for me. The drugs were supposed to kick in after 30 minutes.
Thirty minutes later, I was still shaking--although now more from cold--and in severe pain. It was at this point we started debating which ER to go to. We had two options: Henry Ford or Mount Clemens. Henry Ford is only about 3 minutes away while Mount Clemens is about 15; however, Mount Clemens had all my information already because I'd been there the day before for my Mediport placement. I told Isaac not to worry about my time in the car because I was going to be uncomfortable either way, and really, what is 12 more minutes after I've already been enduring hours of pain.
He dropped me off at the ER door and I felt like death. I could barely keep my eyes open. I'm not sure why, but for some reason, they really wanted to stay shut. I was pale, my lips were SO dry and kind of white because I was breathing shallowly through my mouth because breathing deeply hurt, and breathing through my nose was impossible. They took my blood pressure, which is normally about 90/60 and it was 130/80. WAY high for me. My pulse was also elevated--normally in the mid 60's, it was almost 90. I hadn't just run a marathon or anything either. I'd been sitting still all day because moving hurt my ear and I'd only had to walk about 15 feet to get from the car to the ER door.
They put me in a room and told me the doc would be in soon. She was a young, attentive D.O. who just so happened to be graduating from Michigan State in about a week. Her and Isaac obviously hit it off pretty well after we learned that. She checked things out and said that she couldn't see much because not only was there wax in the way, there was now also pus. Yuck. We told her about our experience in Urgent Care and you could tell she was a little disgusted with that doctor as well. Apparently whenever someone comes in with any type of ear infection, there is a pretty textbook-standard drug to give. He hadn't.
She gave me prescriptions for a heavy-duty oral antibiotic, ear numbing drops, and a liquid ear drop antibiotic as well. The numbing drops were magic from the get-go. She put those suckers in and I started to feel 50% better within five or ten minutes. I might be a little bit off on the time because I actually felt good enough to fall asleep on the table. Isaac would probably know more accurately how long I slept for, but when I woke up from my little nap, I felt tons better.
We left and headed out to get the scripts filled, which Isaac found quite entertaining. Apparently they thought he was a drug addict since we'd already been there once today and two other times so far this week. They had to call the hospital to see if he was actually supposed to be receiving any more drugs or if he was faking scripts. I was a little too delirious to find it funny when he told me, but it's pretty amusing now.
He dropped me off at the house and went to grab us some food because we really hadn't eaten all day and it was almost 8pm. When he got back, it was my turn to pray and I thanked God for good doctors and was tempted to ask Him to curse the bad ones. I ate a little bit, slept for about another hour, and then took my new, smart-doctor prescribed medications. I've felt like a walking miracle ever since. I even started to do some laundry.
So.
I believe when I left you last, my ear was draining more toward the clear-ish, yellow-ish end of the spectrum and I don't think the pain was unbearable. However, that soon changed. Bad news bears. Probably a couple hours later my ear started draining more on the reddish side again and the pain intensified. Immensely.
We headed out to the urgent care doctor, who, I will do my best to objectively describe. I will warn you, not everything here is probably said out of love, because this man was an idiot. I first talked to his nurse, who did a fantastic job listening to what was going on. I was incredibly impressed by her and took that as a good indicator that he would probably be attentive as well. Turns out I was VERY wrong.
This ding dong walked in the door, looked in both ears, and declared that I had an ear infection (which, duh, I could have diagnosed myself with that) and that my infection was focused in the anterior part of my eardrum (aka, the front). Now, first off, neither the ENT in surgery yesterday or my husband could see to my eardrum because of the wax in the way, so how did he? Easy. He didn't. He assumed.
He then also assumed that I was a completely uninformed drug-addict, which, I'll admit, I might have looked like one at that point. However, the point of urgent care is to get quick care for people who would normally go to the ER, but don't feel like they're quite at that point yet. You would think he'd be used to seeing a lot of not-so-good looking people. Anyway, after he wrote me a script for a couple of useless drugs, he proceeded to tell me that even though I'd just had surgery less than 12 hours ago, I shouldn't be taking the pain killers they prescribed until I was in extreme pain; otherwise, Tylenol should be good enough. And the nasal spray that my allergist recommended that has been working fantastically for me--yeah, quit taking that too. Claratin or Benedryl should suffice.
It was at this point I couldn't help but open my mouth and inform the ding dong that I thought it was entirely appropriate to engage in pain PREVENTION rather than waiting until I was miserable to try and control it and that I'd already tried Claratin and Benedryl alongside the other OTC drugs for allergies for YEARS before I realized that the constant drainage in the back of my throat was due to allergies and not a mystical year-round disease that plagued only me.
Now, on TOP of all his baloney, he also was very intentionally inching toward the door the entire 7 minutes we talked. Can I mention that I was the only person in the clinic? Literally. The. only. person. How do I know this for sure you ask? Well, considering we were the only car in the parking lot and I didn't see a soul while in there, I'm just making an educated guess. I don't know what in the world he felt he had to rush off for, but it was sure irritating.
After taking one dose of the crap he prescribed, I felt sick to my stomach. This was my own fault. He had mentioned that I would need to eat with one of them, but I had been so focused on how furious I was that he wasn't even listening or asking questions to figure out what was wrong with me, I had completely forgotten. So, while I was on the floor in the bathroom, shaking from somewhat self-induced nausea, my husband kept track of time for me. The drugs were supposed to kick in after 30 minutes.
Thirty minutes later, I was still shaking--although now more from cold--and in severe pain. It was at this point we started debating which ER to go to. We had two options: Henry Ford or Mount Clemens. Henry Ford is only about 3 minutes away while Mount Clemens is about 15; however, Mount Clemens had all my information already because I'd been there the day before for my Mediport placement. I told Isaac not to worry about my time in the car because I was going to be uncomfortable either way, and really, what is 12 more minutes after I've already been enduring hours of pain.
He dropped me off at the ER door and I felt like death. I could barely keep my eyes open. I'm not sure why, but for some reason, they really wanted to stay shut. I was pale, my lips were SO dry and kind of white because I was breathing shallowly through my mouth because breathing deeply hurt, and breathing through my nose was impossible. They took my blood pressure, which is normally about 90/60 and it was 130/80. WAY high for me. My pulse was also elevated--normally in the mid 60's, it was almost 90. I hadn't just run a marathon or anything either. I'd been sitting still all day because moving hurt my ear and I'd only had to walk about 15 feet to get from the car to the ER door.
They put me in a room and told me the doc would be in soon. She was a young, attentive D.O. who just so happened to be graduating from Michigan State in about a week. Her and Isaac obviously hit it off pretty well after we learned that. She checked things out and said that she couldn't see much because not only was there wax in the way, there was now also pus. Yuck. We told her about our experience in Urgent Care and you could tell she was a little disgusted with that doctor as well. Apparently whenever someone comes in with any type of ear infection, there is a pretty textbook-standard drug to give. He hadn't.
She gave me prescriptions for a heavy-duty oral antibiotic, ear numbing drops, and a liquid ear drop antibiotic as well. The numbing drops were magic from the get-go. She put those suckers in and I started to feel 50% better within five or ten minutes. I might be a little bit off on the time because I actually felt good enough to fall asleep on the table. Isaac would probably know more accurately how long I slept for, but when I woke up from my little nap, I felt tons better.
We left and headed out to get the scripts filled, which Isaac found quite entertaining. Apparently they thought he was a drug addict since we'd already been there once today and two other times so far this week. They had to call the hospital to see if he was actually supposed to be receiving any more drugs or if he was faking scripts. I was a little too delirious to find it funny when he told me, but it's pretty amusing now.
He dropped me off at the house and went to grab us some food because we really hadn't eaten all day and it was almost 8pm. When he got back, it was my turn to pray and I thanked God for good doctors and was tempted to ask Him to curse the bad ones. I ate a little bit, slept for about another hour, and then took my new, smart-doctor prescribed medications. I've felt like a walking miracle ever since. I even started to do some laundry.
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