Chapter 37, 2010, Too much information?
May 2010, Dr. Bud has decided to take me off one of my current chemo drugs, Avastin, it is very expensive and the insurance company has refused to pay for it, not to mention that it leaves me with a general feeling of death warmed over. There will be no love lost with this drug. It has been the albatross around my neck for the last four months making this news the light at the end of a very long tunnel. Sometimes you just have to try to hold on until a new chemo comes along or your physician realizes a different course of action or you gain a new sense of hope, anything that can lift you up emotionally and or physically. This is another shot in the arm for me. Just like the Race for the Cure gift from my loved ones, it has given me a renewed sense of optimism.
I continue to take the Ixabipalone chemo which was administered a little less than a week ago. One of the many side effects for me from this drug is constipation for at least a week. I've tried many antidotes over the years for this problem because it has happened with every single therapy I've had the pleasure of taking. Prune juice mixed with Maalox worked for awhile but not my favorite, Metamucil, yuk, Senna, gave me a stomach ache, but my current answer to this annoying problem is fiber bars. They taste like a candy bar and I eat at least two a day for a week until things get back to normal, this helps a little but by no means is it the end all, be all of cures for the problem.
After this particular chemo I seem to have acquired some sort of infection for which I've been prescribed an anti biotic. Did you know that some anti biotic drugs can cause the runs? Unfortunately I didn't, which brings me to my next dilemma. I get up, take my shower, eat my fiber bars, take my anti biotic and run out the door to meet with a brand new personal training client.
This is his first day which means he is filling out forms and answering a lot of questions about his past workout history and his goals for the future. Toward the end of the interview I start to get massive pains in my belly. It may be gas but I try to ignore it because I want to be polite and not take off running to the bathroom, and of course my week of constipation isn't up so I don't take the pain too seriously, couldn't be anything more than gas. Unfortunately my symptoms keep getting more severe forcing me to excuse myself for just a moment. Apparently the process of standing up motivated my bodily reaction to lightening speed. I found it difficult to make it to the locker room, partially because my backside became a vice grip making my legs turn into toy soldier sticks just barely inching my way to the locker room. As soon as I opened the locker room door the flood gates opened. Yeah that's right, I shit my pants. At this point I was far too shocked to know my soon to come absolute mortification. Gradually, because this is the only speed I could move, I made it into a stall and just stood there for a moment in my downright deer in the headlights mode.
This is what I call my "What the F? moment" What was I going to do? First, I thought, thank God no one is in here. Then the thought occurred to me, how the hell do I get out of here and what about my poor client just sitting there waiting for me? I couldn't go back out there. I don't have a phone and there isn't anyone in the locker room. Finally after what seemed like an eternity I heard someone come into the locker room. I asked them if they could get my coworker Kristie to come in. She immediately followed and took charge of informing my client that I could not return to the interview. She then set out to help me in any way she could. Another coworker, Mary Jo also came to offer assistance. It was just one big pity party in there.
I refused to come out of the stall until I and everything else was cleaned up. This took some time. Good thing I grew up in the ERA of the cloth diaper so I knew what to do with my clothes. My coworkers called Mike to bring me fresh clothes and towels. When he got there we just sat in the women's locker room for a moment in silence, he looked so sad and worried for me. After bagging up my sink laundered wet clothes he took them home to wash.
I spent the next half hour showering and mentally preparing myself to walk out the door of the locker room and fitness center. I then realized I didn't have the keys to my car. Mike had taken them along with my clothes and had already left for work. Alex and Katie were both still sleeping but after several tries I woke them up to come and get me. They wanted to know what was going on, when I told them I pooped my pants they both burst into hysterical laughter, partly because I told them in a funny way. They laughed out loud the entire way home which made me laugh and of course this prompted me to make the story as funny as I possibly could. This reaction helped put the entire incident into perspective. I could handle what happened to me in a much more positive way if I put a funny spin on it.
When I got home I called my mom and dad to relate the story. Dad commented that it wasn't a big deal and he poops his pants at least twice a year. My reply to him was, "the difference is, you are 83 years old and I'm only 53. Old people and babies shit their pants, not 50 year olds. That's why they make depends and diapers." We laughed our big belly laughs and everything was all better. Instead of an embarrassing story this can now be an amusing bump in the road. Laughter and a good sense of humor saves the day once again.
June 2010 Back to the hospital
I keep going into these bouts of chills where I can't get warm. It's like a chill you get when running a fever but I don't have a fever so I don't know what's up. Michele, who is a Nurse Practitioner at the clinic, and fabulous at her job by the way, as well as the rest of Dr. Bud's staff, asks me to come in and get lab work done along with an exam to see if there are any physical symptoms. Initial blood results were fine, the exam showed nothing, but there were a few blood tests that would take longer to get back so I was sent home. Over the weekend I continued to go in and out of chills and finally did have a fever by Sunday evening.
By Monday I felt good enough to teach my early morning classes. My phone is turned off while working of course to avoid distractions. When it was turned on again there were three, count them, three voicemails or messages from Dr. Bud. This must be serious, I thought. Apparently the other blood tests were indicating a staph infection was present. Dr. Bud urged me to get to the clinic right away. By the time I listened to the messages I was on my way to another doctor appointment for Katie and Frankie. I opted to go to their appointment first before I went into the clinic. I didn't think it would hurt. What's another hour, right?
As soon as I made it to the clinic I was admitted. My port was infected. This is the device that was put in July of 2003 to make access to my veins much easier for chemo and blood draws. An IV anti biotic was administered immediately. Surgery to remove the port would follow but would have to wait until I was in stable condition, no fevers, etc. Within a few days the old port was out and a new one was installed. This hospital stay would last just shy of a week taking me into my 7th anniversary of life. We celebrated this momentous occasion in the hospital. No chicken and beer this time, just the family, excluding Alex, because she is working and living in Columbus this summer, Cindy and her husband Bruce were also in attendance. Even though I was in the hospital I was grateful to be here once again for this special anniversary.
When the weekend strolled around I was released from the hospital along with my IV anti biotic and a portable pump which would have to stay attached for another six weeks. That evening a home health care worker came out to instruct me on how to change the tubing and the medication bag on a daily basis. The nurse would then come out just once a week to change the needle in the port. The portable pump is small and encased in a fanny pack so I can have mobility. They did request that I not work for six weeks while wearing the pump. That wasn't going to happen.
I stayed home from work for one week. That is all I could handle. It seemed ridiculous to miss work because I felt fine. There was just this needle sticking in me and a fanny pack attached to my side. Working turned out to be fine. The pack didn't get in the way other than one day toward the end of the six weeks I was talking to a fitness center user and I looked down to find the entire front of my shirt covered in blood. All I said was, "Holy crap, I'm bleeding." I walked swiftly over to my coworker Matt informing him of my situation. I told him not to worry, it wasn't a big deal, I knew what the problem was! Matt took one look at my shirt and I thought it was his turn to shit his pants. He looked a little shocked and proceeded to tell me that he would work for me if it turned into a bigger problem. What a nice young man this guy is.
I ran home, switched out my tubing, gave my port a heparin flush and ran back to work all within a half hour I might add. It was one of my proudest moments, soon I was on the phone to my sister Kim, the nurse, to tell her that I'd become a healthcare professional. Recapping my morning to her made me feel like I was wearing a badge of honor.
Advice
Know the side effects of all of your medications, this may keep you from an embarrasing situation.
Don't be afraid to be abrupt if you feel you have a physical emergency.
I can't say enough about having a good sense of humor. Laughter has been a lifesaving gift in this journey of mine. Isn't life all about how you look at it? A less than desirable moment can bring you down momentarily or it can lift your spirits to more understanding heights.
Don't be foolish about taking chances with your health. My delay of an hour to be admitted to the hospital, or going back to work earlier than advised was carefully thought out. I would never do anything to jeopardize my wellbeing. Know your own body and what it is capable of.
