Mexico and Me

The international flight to Mexico left without me last Sunday. Yeah, at the time the plane was airborne I was connected to an I.V. with antibiotics flushing through my body via my port. Here’s what happened. Friday after having some breakfast I got the worst indigestion ever. I didn't know what was going on but feared that if it wasn't indigestion it might be a heart attack or blood clots. I prayed hard for indigestion. The pain wrapped around my chest to my upper back. I tried to walk it off. Nothing. I tried to lay on my back with my feet up against the wall (my kid’s grandmother on their father’s side once told me that the best way to relieve yourself of gas was to lay down on the floor with your butt close to the wall and legs up). Nada. After about an hour of misery I decided it might be best to get into my car and hit the freeway for the 25-30 mile drive to Virginia Mason Hospital in Seattle. Crap. I didn’t want to make that drive but going to emergency in Tacoma just wouldn't do. They did not have access to any of my records and the doctor’s there would just end up poking and prodding without any background information on me and that would only frustrate them and piss me off. So I drove to Seattle.

Once in the E.R. at Virginia Mason, I was immediately taken into a room and examined. They did a couple of CT scans – upper and lower body – in order to rule out heart attack and blood clots and at first decided it might be girds. I had missed taking my Omeprazole for a couple of days so it wasn't unlikely. Omeprazole is an acid reducer I’ve been taking since the Whipple procedure last July on doctor’s orders. All tests came back negative for anything bad. The nurse gave me a Vicodin for the pain and was getting ready to send me on my way (I actually argued with them to keep me for at least 45 minutes so the pain meds could wear off before I got back into my car but the nurse was adamant they had no reason to keep me), however, before I could get dressed she decided to take my temperature and low and behold it was a whopping 104 degrees. Yikes! Other than the pain in my chest I hadn’t even felt bad, which I believe is a prerequisite for walking around with a temperature of 104. They feared there was an infection. So I got admitted into the hospital. By this time I was still hopeful they could find the source of the infection, and administer some oral antibiotics so I could still catch my flight to Mexico on Sunday. In my fantasy world, by Monday, I'd be hanging out by the pool with an alcohol free margarita in one hand. Not to be. After two CT scans, several blood draws for cultures, lots of fluids and some Tylenol to bring the fever down, I was moved from the E.R. to a room on the 15th floor where I could immerse myself in self pity. If the Tylenol hadn’t worked the nurse on my new floor threatened to take away my blankets and stuff ice packs around me. Hell no. The stank eye I threw her way must have spoke volumes about my mood because none of that happened.

I was in the hospital until Monday. They were thinking the infection may have been in my port but the doctor explained that the ER doctor messed up on the order to take a culture of the port and by the time they’d realized the mistake they’d already given me a butt-load of antibiotics so any tests they did would be inconclusive. In short, they released me because they were able to get my temperature down and my red and white blood counts where they should be, but they still hadn't found the source of the infection in my body. Also one of the CT scans indicated the cancer in my liver was spreading. Translation: chemo treatments were not as effective as my oncologist first thought. Damn.

As a consolation to Mexico, I planned, while in the hospital, a trip to Seaside, Oregon for 4 days of walking along the beach, shopping at Seaside’s quaint little gift shops and just enjoying a bit of solitude and peace so I could wrap my mind around some things. But then I got a call from my oncologists nurse. I told her about my impending trip to the ocean and her surprise that the doctor had approved such a trip was palpable and my heart dropped. I told her I'd mentioned it to the doctor in the hospital and she said it wasn't a problem since the ocean was only a car ride away. But by the time the nurse ran down the list of things I needed to watch for, and gave me the 800 number to call in the event some of the things on the list did happen, I got scared. I’m ashamed to say I let that fear keep me from jumping into my car and heading south toward the ocean.

So physically I'm a mess, and emotionally...really bummed. What messes with my head though is how suddenly I can go from feeling just fine to ending up in the Emergency Room. WTF! But it is what it is and now I have to make some serious mind adjustments. Easier said than done I know. Fear is seriously working hard to wrap itself around my psyche and I just can't allow that man. It will prevent me from living my life. So what to do, what to do?

I need a new plan. I have my Hawaii trip coming up on May 8. Hopefully my doctor will have me in good shape by then.  My son is graduating from college in May and I just can not miss his graduation.  So I'm going to be a good gal and follow doctor's orders so I can get better.  And soon, I will have my moment on the beach, where I will enjoy a Shirley Temple or two (when I was in the hospital one of the doctors told me cancer cells don't like alcohol), and watch while my granddaughter romps in the water.  And you know what?  I can't swim but I just may get a little wild and crazy and find myself romping in the waves too.  Can't wait. 

Being positive doesn't necessarily come naturally. We have to make that decision daily.

Joel Olsteen