Waiting, waiting, waiting.  I just keep waiting to feel human again.  It has been 10-11 days since the last chemo and I’m still not feeling human.  I thought I had this chemo bit down: chemo on Tuesday and start feeling better on the following Sunday night. Even better on Monday, then human on Tuesday.

So that is what I expected this time, but no.  It has been one thing after another.  Chemo on Tuesday. Neulasta injection on Wednesday. Back to the doctor a week after chemo.  On the Tuesday after chemo my WBC count was low – Neupogen injection. Saw the doc again on Wednesday, and my WBC count was normal.

Thursday I broke out with the worst poison ivy ever, and also had an allergic reaction to hand sanitizers. My hands were itchy, hot, and swollen.  On Friday I started having severe pains under my right rib cage and now, at 12:32 am Saturday morning, I’m in the ER, waiting to find out what the hell is happening with me.  I have my two faithful friends Sylvia and Lorene here with me.  I know they are ready to kill me but they sit here patiently, giving me care and comfort.

I am not one to cry with physical pain, but this time I was in tears.  I am sure some of it was fear but a lot of it was just from the pain.  I finally decided around 10 p.m. Friday that I just could not take it anymore.  I had tried Tums, Rolaids, and Maalox.  Each time it would help for a bit but then the pain would come back worse than before.  When you have chemo you have no idea what those drugs might be doing to your body, so just to be safe, off to the emergency room the three of us went.

They dropped me off at the emergency room and went to park the cars. I walked in and thought, Well, we will be here all night. The place was packed. But since I was having chest pains they took me right back.  I was back and in a room before Sylvia and Lorene even made it back from parking.  I felt a little guilty for being taken back before the other people, but not really that guilty.

I had the usual EKG, which came back normal.  I really did not think it was my heart but I guess it is best to rule that out first.  Next came the blood work and urine sample followed by a chest x-ray.  Chest x-ray was good – no pneumonia.  Questions came up with the blood work.  The blood test indicated that the heart was okay but one test came back high so the doctor was concerned about a blood clot in the lungs.  He said that is one thing that concerns him when someone is on chemo.  He left and I looked at Lorene and Sylvia and said, “Did he just say blood clot?”  I could tell Sylvia was concerned but the voice of reason (which is Lorene) said, “It is not a blood clot; we know that it is your esophagus.”  Okay – so she settled us all down, but I know it is something all of us are concerned about now.

So between the fear and the pain, I finally decided to let them give me some morphine.  I have no idea why I kept resisting.  The doctor had ordered it but I like to pretend I am tough, so I resisted.  The nurse came in to give me the morphine and asked, “What is your pain level on a scale of 0-10?” Again trying to be tough, I said, “about 7.”  She gave me the injection, then asked again about my pain level. I said, “What pain?”

Sylvia asked me a question and all I could say was, “Your hair looks really pretty.” Even though I was out of it I could hear Sylvia and Lorene laughing because now I was smiling.  Damn straight I’m smiling – this is some good stuff.  And they are laughing again because I am mumbling something about taking some of it home.

So next I am off for a CAT scan to check for blood clots. Guess what? It was clear also. Okay, now we are narrowing it down.  Maybe the gall bladder – so an ultrasound is done and we rule out the gall bladder. So now it is 5 or 6 a.m. on Saturday morning.  The doctor says it is the esophagus or stomach, probably inflamed and irritated from all the chemo.  Drugs prescribed and another injection of morphine given, we are finally able to go home.

I am relieved to know it is something that can be controlled with medication and even more relieved not to be in pain.  A little embarrassed that I dragged Sylvia and Lorene to the ER with me, but very grateful for their kindness and support.

It is getting to be time now to prepare for the next battle.  The last battle with chemo is just a little over a week away.  I am writing the last of this post on July 21st.  My next chemo is on July 30th.  I know it seems like a long time, but it is not.  It will be the last and the hardest battle.  The fatigue from chemo is not the same after each treatment; it is cumulative.  But I will be ready.  Dressed in the armor that all of you have polished and shined for me.  I will be ready.  I have to be ready.

You see, this time I might be someone else’s chemo hero.  Just like the one I needed to see during my first chemo.  So on that day, I will walk in with my head held high, like I own the place.  My armor will be fitted perfectly and I will smile while facing this enemy on this battlefield for the last time.