2001
| August 17, 2001 We are scheduled to do lumbar today - which means a spinal chemo (big needle) plus Metheldrexate - abd a porta-bag IV unit tonight to continue the flush. Metheldrexate being so toxic they put it and and whip it back out of the system in 48 hours. I dress up - because I felt like it - in my pencil thin dark brown knit pantsuit - sleeveless high mock turtle top and pants that require heels or you kill yourself walking. A Nolan Miller gold chain set. And the new sweater-dress-jacket that my younger son picked out at Giorgio's - where we went shopping after Sea World. It is dark brown with fake fur v-neck collar and fake fur trimmed sleeves and is stunning. He has good taste. It turns heads. Gets attention. I love it. Classy. We did San Diego in a blitz - checking on the house since a new tenant is coming in and then hitting Sea World for a day. We drove down Sunday, did Sea World and Fashion Valley Mall on Monday, the Chinchilla Ranch and home on Tuesday - driving in high heat. Now it is Thursday and time for chemo. We check into Clinic D and head for the Day Hospital. He is NPO so he can have the drugs during the procedure. We prep him. Goo on his back (numbs it) and labs and a flush. They get the port open. They have to flush it again to be sure it is staying open. We miss Jessica but Heather did fine. We have to have a urine sample. A recent one. They do this every time. He cannot have anything to drink for hours and then he's supposed to give them something. He has a camel bladder - they know this. It takes three hours on a bolis before we get anything to test. Actually, they had hung a second one. We discuss that next time, hang two to start. Drink water upon awakening. Anything to help speed things up. The doctor, pregnant and showing, sets up her long needles and probes and stuff. He sits up, leans on a pillow on the table, I brace it, I hold him and the nurse pumps in the drugs. They have, during this time, called engineering, because the room is at 85 degrees and I am out of my sweater and near fainting. So the Engineer is stumbling around behind the curtain to fix the valve and get the temp down. This time, my son really goes out fast. No shot after shot of drugs. Two shots - one of each of two medications - and less than last time. We get the lumbar puncture done at 1PM. He does little more than a small whimper. Great! I have appointments to make and get them done. I have to wait for the doctor to come back from lunch for me to get the new set of drugs for the week. I read. I have learned to always have a book in my purse. Always. There is a pulse monitor on his finger as usual since he is being put under, and within minutes, after the doctor leaves for lunch, the alarms sound. Low O2 sat and low pulse. His heart rate is too low. Alarms at 41, 43 53. It needs to be at least in the 60s. He is out of it. Normally, he is out of it and just curls up and sleeps, I go to work, and they flush the stuff with a Bolis all afternoon, I return at supper time and we get home by 10PM. This time, we have to wake him up, "Breathe" they say. "Deep breaths." He hears us, nods, but is groggy. We poke and poke at him. Alarms keep going off and the room fills with nurses and doctors. We make him take deep breaths. The doctor, who had gone to lunch, comes in munching a pretzel. They consult. We put him on an O2 mask on blow-by, we put the head of the bed up and sit him up to no avail. The alarms continue. His pulse rate goes up and down. They even changed the probe and did a manual check. Yep. The machine is working. It really is. They try drug-reversal. We have not done that before. First one drug, better, and then the other, a little better. Still not enough. Caffeine is good so I run for the Cafˇ and bring back two Frapachinos and a big Pepsi. I also get a big pretzel. They have salt on them. Salt raises blood pressure. I force-feed on coffee to him - I have the other. I make him sip the Pepsi. I drape him in warm blankets since the cold drinks and the IV made him cold. His lunch arrives and he munches some of the rubber chicken. They decide he needs an EKG - and a unit is sent for. We will do a Cardiologist visit before the next time. I'm waiting. Do I stay or do I go? I need to check on meetings, a luncheon, my demo, etc. My class is on-line at www.Vitalect.com/Synopsys ($1800) and so is the demo (free and still under edit). I decide it is now so late that I cannot get to work. I try to call but no luck. I'm not even sure I have the right number. I am frazzled and using my emergency use inhaler (stress asthma). They ask if I am alright. No. Not really. We get Lillie, one of his favorite nurses from the Clinic to come in and give the big a hug. The alarms go off again - 141! People come running and it is causing all kinds of laughter. Off the scale! The older nurses are mifted. If they had known hugs would help there's nothing like a mature woman, they tell me. My son has an eye on a few of the younger one. He is learning to be a flirt. Of course, he knows how to move his finger and mess up the readings. He finally admitted this to me. All the kids in here learn this trick early. Drives the nurses nuts. We are waiting for the doctors to consult about the EKG. I am using the inhaler. His counts went back low and stayed there. I had consumed a Vanilla Frapachinno on top of a hot Double Mocha that I had drunk on arrival. (On clinic days, I treat myself to a special coffee.) Real coffee. Oh yeah! I needed that! Not! I almost ate a brownie. But I also bought a dress at Georgio's and I need to drop 20 to look sexy. Hold that thought. (The salesgirls and my almost-twenty son both decided short skirts were good on me - I have good legs. Not bad for almost 60. Just too much stomach.) The EKG looks fine they all agree but he is now saying that he is lightheaded. We have him up to about 60 now and holding. I have a headache. Big time. I read about half of the novel Riptide (reaching over to silence alarms and prompt him to breathe on auto-pilot) before we can go home. He forces me to watch wrestling, again. This is a 9:30PM day - they hang a 16-hour portable IV bag at 9:30 so I can come in at 1PM for blood work and a new bag tomorrow. The alarms stay on until 7PM when we disconnect him. He has a sense of humor, a temper and is tired. Ok. He's acting normal. Tonight, he gets to sleep in my bed. I drive home on autopilot. I am zoning out. I fight to keep my eyelids open. We arrive, I haul him in and get him into my bed. He snores. He hogs the covers. He takes up 75% of the bed - I nearly fell off the mattress! I got little sleep. But he's doing fine. I need drugs. Xanax. Burbon. (Not together.) Something. But I am too tired to find it. |
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