Hey Ma, Look What I Can Do!

My very lovable, very overprotective, very Type A mom and I had housekeeping plans this past Saturday.  By "housekeeping plans", I of course mean a good mommy cleaning, ninja rearranging of my drawers (she moves like a Cheetah when your back is turned) followed by a subtle game of "Mom thinks your couch would look better here".  Lou was working locally, Dad was home nursing a cold and I was excited to have some quality mother-daughter time.

It was a "fatigue" day for me so I spent the better part of the morning enjoying the inside of my eyelids. As I got up to administer my 9am shot, I noticed I had sweat through my pajamas and sheets.  I took my temperature, which was just under normal, and figured I would check the chemo side effects handouts to see if "cold sweats" were listed.  Within an hour I was on the phone with my treating facility's weekend on-call doctor, as now I was starting to feel pressure in my ears and the glands in my throat were swelling.  I went back to bed to relax for a while, guessing at some point over the weekend, I'd end up at my treatment facility's urgent care center. 

Within a couple of hours, I heard Mom at the door.  She was having a problem with one of the locks.  I remember jumping out of bed, walking down the stairs and I do remember turning the knob on the front door thinking "this is not going to end well". 

FADE TO BLACK.

It's surprisingly very much like the movies - coming to after passing out.  My eyes opened slowly, and I could feel part of the cold, wood floor on my face.  I felt most of my body on the living room area rug.  I didn't immediately hear anything.  I felt a calm, almost eerie relaxation throughout my body.  "What am I doing on the floor?" I thought.  I blinked a bit and took in the light reflecting from the window.  My ears were slow to translate noise, but I eventually heard my mother's terrified screams as she hovered over me. 

"Mom, I'm OK" I said softly.  "I'm OK".  I told her not to call 911.  I had been trained in First Aid before, my fingers and toes were moving and I could move my neck.  I was quick to blame the blood thinner.

Mom called my brother and Lou.  Within a short time my husband, my hero, burst through the door, dropped on the floor and in the most tender, controlled manner (this is kinda his area of expertise) began asking me a list of questions as he checked my body.  As much as I detested the thought of it, I knew we had to go to the local Emergency Room.  Lou eventually helped me get up and onto the couch.  When I felt comfortable and confident to walk outside with their help, off to the ER we went. 

The intake nurse was kind enough to tell me she was a 10 year endometrial and cervical cancer survivor. I started to tear up and thanked her for sharing that with me.  Don't take this the wrong way, cancer sucks period, but I don't have a "glitzy" cancer - no one's running around promoting a "free uterus shaped coffee mug with beverage purchase" for women like me.  I appreciate hearing an endometrial cancer survivor's story and her caring for me at that moment wasn't accidental.

Because I had started chemo, they placed me in a private ER room with a door and toilet for my own safety.  "Hey, there's a plus" Lou said.  I was told I would be placed on 24 hour observation and released.  They knew right away I had a throat infection, my blood work was good and they wanted to treat me for dehydration.  Thank God my CT scan was normal.  I wish I could say I was my bubbly, upbeat self, cracking jokes with the nurses and staff, but I really wasn't.  As I laid on the uncomfortable ER gurney, looking at my emotionally spent mother and husband hunched forward in their chairs, I felt broken and weak, guilty for what my body was putting them through.  I didn't feel much like talking to God and apologized to Him for feeling that way.  While I'm sure at some point this story will help someone, I was in no mood to experience it.

Sunday turned to Monday.  The Dr. P posse strolled into my room.  "Dr. P, I have chemo tomorrow.  I have to get out of here".  "Well, you need to see the physical therapist, cardiologist and neurologist before I can clear you to go home."  By now I was experiencing full on neck and upper body pain from the fall, my arms were severely swollen from all of the IV fluid  (and impact of slamming against the floor) and I was just overall exhausted.  I was of course cordial, but barely spoke to anyone.  I didn't care to even turn on the TV.  The only encouragement I could find came from the first verse of the beautiful hymn, "It Is Well With My Soul":

When peace, like a river, attendeth my way,
When sorrows like sea billows roll;
Whatever my lot, Thou has taught me to say,
It is well, it is well, with my soul.

 

We were home on Tuesday by 5pm.  My poor mother spent the night with me on the couch to make sure I was OK and I know I must have driven her nuts - there was just no getting comfortable.  Chemo was only delayed a day and I got my Taxol last night, which wasn't without its challenges (honestly I'm usually not the problem child). 

 

I was concerned I somehow damaged my port in the fall and sure enough, it wasn't working right.  Three very experienced, very determined nurses got that sucker returning fluid.  As a precaution they did administer the chemo through an IV in my hand, just so they were assured regardless of the issue, I would have my treatment.

 

I had my first good night's rest last night in several days and I was excited to see my wrists and knuckles come back to life this morning.  I'll be over the moon when we find my left elbow.   

Psalm 147:4 - He heals the brokenhearted and binds their wounds.