In the Hospital

A few days after my second chemo treatment, I was admitted to the hospital. I figured I would have to go to the hospital at some point during my cancer treatment but I didn’t think it would be so soon after chemo started.

Why I went to the emergency room and how I got admitted is a bit convoluted, related to my depressed immune system and a reaction to a drug I was taking—ironically, it was an antibiotic that my doctor prescribed to help protect me from infection while my immune system was low as a result of the chemo. I had temporarily discontinued this antibiotic for about a week on the advice of the nurse practitioner, who thought I might be allergic to it based on past symptoms. But my oncologist wanted me to start taking it again so I would have some protection and the Monday after my second chemo, I dutifully did.

I took it in the late afternoon and within 45 minutes, I felt shortness of breath and tingling in my lips. Over the next 90 minutes, I took three Benadryl in an attempt to get relief, all to no avail. The Benadryl made me sleepy but my legs were so restless that I couldn’t stop pacing the room. I tried to lie down but they protested painfully. The only relief was to keep them moving. And moving. Around and around I walked, from the bedroom to the living room and back. I couldn’t concentrate on anything but the too-slow movement of the clock and my impulsive leg muscles.

After about two hours, I called the on-call oncologist (again) and told him what was going on. He didn’t think I was in any danger but said I was evidently very uncomfortable and should go to the emergency room to get some steroids to relieve the restlessness in my legs and any other symptoms of reacting to the antibiotic. He promised to call ahead to let them know I was coming.

Dorian, a friend from church, drove me to the hospital. It was around 8:30pm and the summer sun was setting as we pulled up. While she parked the car, I checked in and clumsily explained why I’d come. It was a strange feeling to note on the intake form that I was a chemo patient.

The waiting room was packed. For some reason, it hadn’t occurred to me that other people would be there waiting and that I, too, would have to wait. My legs had settled down substantially during the car ride but still felt spasmy and achy. I took a seat and Dorian joined me a few minutes later.

After a bit, I was called back to talk to a tech in a curtained-off area. I explained what was going on as best I could, interrupted by the onset of severe full-body chills. They got me a warmed blanket, put me in a wheel chair, and pushed me to into one of the ER bays.

Contrary to the urgency implied by the word Emergency in Emergency Room, everything moved very slowly in the ER. I didn’t really have a strong sense of how much time had passed, so focused was I on the minutiae of my physical condition and the desire for relief.

Hours passed. My friend Michelle came to relieve Dorian then my sister Holly came to relieve Michelle. I shivered under a pile of blankets, IVs in my hand and elbow, sticky heart monitor nodes attached to my chest, exhausted from the Benadryl but also somehow very wired. It was difficult and painful to move, even to scratch my nose or adjust a blanket. My fever spiked and my white blood cell counts plummeted to the point of being neutropenic—meaning I had so few white blood cells that I essentially didn’t have an immune system. No white blood cells + high fever raised the alarm that I had or was very susceptible to infection, and I had to be admitted.

My heart sank to hear that I would have to be admitted to the hospital. Couldn’t we just let the Tylenol take care of the fever while I rested at home? I’d had high fevers and low white counts previously and hadn’t needed to be admitted. Then again, I’d never called the doctor to tell them how high my fevers had been. In any case, the doctors weren’t taking any chances.

More waiting ensued. By the time they found and prepared a room and I was admitted, it was somewhere north of 2:30am. They had me drink a potassium supplement disguised as a foul-tasting punch. It seems low potassium was the likely cause of my leg spasms earlier.

I was exhausted and upset at being admitted to the hospital, as well as being very uncomfortable with all the wires and IVs attached to my body, and did not want to be alone. Holly kindly agreed to stay with me, sleeping on the lumpy pull-out chair in the room, although I’m sure she would much rather have gone home to be in her own comfortable bed. She had to be up and home fairly early to get her kids off to school and I don’t think either of us slept very well for the few hours that remained until morning.

I was in the hospital for three days. I felt very low. The uncertainty of when I’d be allowed to go home, the repeated pricking and poking to take my blood for testing, the constant supply of three different antibiotics coursing through my veins that made me feel funny (on top of post-chemo malaise), the itching of my newly-bald head, the awkwardness of the hospital gown and not being able to take a shower, the fact that I was there because I had dreaded cancer, the lackluster hospital food—it was all a classic recipe for a pity party. And oh boy, did I throw myself a massive pity party during those three days.

There was also the boredom. I didn’t have the attention span to read or write in my journal. I watched hours of Olympics on TV, mostly swimming. Do you know how boring it is to watch people swim back and forth in a pool for hours in a row? I put it on mute most of the time, just something to have on in the background to make me feel less alone. The track and field events were better. Short bursts of raw athleticism, the bravado of Hussain Bolt, the muscular figures of both the men and women in peak condition, pushing their bodies to go ever faster.

Each day, I was visited by three doctors: the on-duty physician from my oncology practice; the “hospitalist,” who was responsible for overall patient care on that floor; and an infectious disease specialist. The oncologist and the hospitalist both shook my hand when they came to visit and stood close to the bed. By contrast, the infectious disease doctor never shook my hand and stood a few feet away from the foot of the bed, apparently to keep me well clear of any nasty germs he might be harboring.   

There were some bright spots in the midst of the pity party, though. All the nurses were very caring. My cousin Quinton came and worked from my hospital room whenever he could. It was nice to have company even if we didn’t talk a lot. He was a friendly and familiar human presence in the room while I dozed or watched TV or just stared off into space. My sister came to visit every day and even brought me food once or twice (which, sadly, didn’t taste any better than the hospital food thanks to the chemo). A friend from work came by for a brief visit and so did Michelle. On what would be my last full day there, my sister brought her kids to see me, though I couldn’t hug them or get too close lest I should pick up any of their germs. We gave each other “air hugs” and they brought me homemade get-well cards that went miles towards lifting my spirits.

And perhaps the biggest bright spot of all, my aunt Bev, Quinton’s mom, surprised me by flying in from Chicago to take care of me. I later learned that my sister had called her and asked if she could come for a few days and she said yes! She was on summer break from her job as an elementary school teacher so wouldn’t even have to miss work. She was on a flight the very next morning. When my sister told me Bev was coming, I was overwhelmed by her kindness in dropping everything to come to my aid, and by the knowledge of having constant company and a real adult to take care of me, that I burst into tears.

The day Bev arrived ended up being the day I was discharged from the hospital. My white cell counts were still lower than the doctors would have liked but they’d been steadily rising and I showed no other signs of infection. They gave me more prescription antibiotics to take when I got home and the hospitalist discharged me in the afternoon. I’ve never been so happy to put on days-old clothes and walk out into a hot, humid Virginia summer day.

Bev stayed for a week and was a tremendous help and comfort. She drove me to follow-up doctor appointments, made food when I felt like eating, took me to and stayed with me during my next chemo appointment, and just generally kept me company. A true godsend at that low point in my chemo experience.

Thank you, Holly, for calling Bev and being an awesome sister. Thank you, Bev, for coming to my aid and being an awesome aunt.