Hospital

I am currently admitted in the hospital. This is my first "real" hospital stay--the only other one being a one night recovery stay after my emergency gall bladder removal. I also spent countless nights as a "visitor" in the hospital, but it is quite a different experience when you are the person in the bed.

Chemotherapy--particularly the regimen I am on--can wipe out a body's white blood cells. Part of the job of WBC is to help the body fight off infection. In order to help boost WBC, I get a shot of neulesta to help my body rebuild its WBC. With the first 3 doses of AC, this was sufficient. For the fourth and final dose, apparently not.

On Sunday I started to feel pretty crappy, so I just hung out at home and took it easy. On Monday morning I had to go to see my oncologist and I started to feel increasingly sick during the drive from home to the clinic. By the time I got there I felt awful. Apparently I looked awful too because the IV nurse suggested leaving my port accessed in case the oncologist wanted to order fluids (normally I would have been deaccessed immediately because I wasn't getting treatment). I vomited twice before I was able to see the doctor, again, not a good sign. By the time I got back to see the oncologist, his face said it all and I knew before he opened his mouth that I would not be going home. My WBC were too low--near zero--and he was afraid that I had an infection. I had a fever and also had lost 6 pounds in 6 days (which would normally be cause for celebration for me, but I wasn't trying and didn't even know).

Before I knew it, I was wheeled into room 801 and put in a fashion-deficient gown. It hit me that the last time I had been in a hospital room was 9 months ago when Gessner died. Even though this was a different hospital, I couldn't stop the tears and I spent my first few minutes of my admission crying. The nurse came in and I felt compelled to explain. He was very understanding and sympathetic, which I appreciated. I pulled myself together and answered all of the questions and let the nurses get me settled in. They started IV fluids and the doctor ordered IV antibiotics. They took me down for a chest xray and drew blood for blood cultures. These are all of the same tests and procedures that Gess went through when he was admitted--although much more efficiently and competently here.

My first night in was okay--I slept intermittently and had some weird dreams, but it wasn't too bad. The first full day was mind-numbingly boring, but I didn't feel much like doing anything and couldn't even muster the energy to waste hours on the internet. I did start to get restless and found myself arranging and picking up in the hospital room. Gessner used to do this with some regularity and I really never understood his need and seemingly intense drive to do this. But now I completely understand it. At some point after sitting in the bed doing nothing you just have to get up and do something productive--anything productive, even if that means restacking reading materials and folding your socks.

All of these little reminders of Gessner and flashes of his mannerisms and routines make me feel like he is here with me. There have been times when I have been pretty angry that he is not here to go through this with me and times when the same thought makes me very, very sad. But when I have these glimpses of him I find some comfort in feeling that he IS here with me or that all of the years of hospital stays with him readied me for specifically for this. It makes me feel a little less lonely and a little less afraid.