Dan and Emily Go to the ER

Dan and Emily Go to the ER

Old Me used to leave the hospital with a piece of gauze and some tape and think, “Geez. That’s kind of overkill for a little speck of blood, isn’t it?”

But Current Me takes chemo. And chemo makes your bone marrow go on vacation. And platelets don’t get made when your bone marrow is on vacation. And platelets are kind of important for stemming bleeding.

Anyway, I got my gauze and bandage and discharge papers after spending yesterday in the ER due to some wicked dehydration. Then Dan drove me home.

I looked down at my hand while climbing out of the car, and something looked off. It took me a second to catch on.

“Gah!” I shrieked. The gauze was soaked and oozing red. I lifted the back of my left hand to Dan’s face.

***

The ER doctors are always fascinated by my story. Once they find out I have a brain tumor, they check All the Things™.

So I go in asking for IV fluids and they’re all, “Well, just to be safe…”

It’s like asking for an oil change and being talked into adding on the 27-point inspection. The doctor this time ordered a chest x-ray, 6 blood tests, urinalysis, an EKG, and conducted the standard physical examination.

“You dizzy? Have vertigo?” he asked, shining a light in my eyes and watching my pupils.

When I answered affirmatively, he wondered if I knew what he meant by vertigo.

“I have nystagmus,” I replied. “Me and vertigo are like this.” I crossed my index and middle finger.

That piqued his interest. So he had me track his finger with my eyes, and when they fluttered like I promised they would he seemed satisfied.

“Yep. That confirms there’s something wrong in central processing.”

Dan and I thought him a little quirky compared to today’s colder, more aloof doctors. A country doctor in a college town ER.

He was good. I told Dan, “I always prepare to fight for a second bag of fluids. He just offered.”

***

At home in the recliner I asked Dan to hunt for a clean bandage. He returned with one from the linen closet.

“Let’s just clean that first,” he said noticing the blood that was caking on the back of my hand.

“Ouch.” The pain of him swabbing my hand surprised me a little.

“Sorry,” he said, and then started dabbing at it extra gently. I told him he’d never been anything but good to me but I was still shocked sometimes by how tender he could be.

“Who would keep hurting someone who says ‘ouch’?” he shrugged.

Who indeed.

Cancer Ramblings

Cancer Ramblings

I’m exhausted. The kind of exhausted where I’m too tired to get up and plug in the cannabis vape pen that needs charging because I spent all that energy an hour ago making toast with peanut butter and a cup of green tea.

So I’m lying in bed composing a blog post on my phone instead of standing up, and I’ll ask Dan to charge my V2 Pro next time he comes in to check on me.

***

My platelets are low (64 at last week’s count) and I’ve been barfing again. No idea if those two things are related. Also, though I don’t really want to admit it, I’ve been basically bed ridden for a couple of weeks.

It’s not the cancer; it’s the treatment.

After my last round of chemo, I didn’t regain much strength. I mean, it’s always hard, but it seems to be getting harder. Could be the absence of the dexamethasone now. Could be the cumulative effects of the chemo treatments. Could be the shit-ass weather and extra migraines I’ve had this month.

That’s the thing about brain cancer and its treatments. So many potential causes for the add-on problems, and no sure way to identify the cause.

So you just endure.

***

Dan just plugged in the vape for me and told me goodnight. He did Boomer’s voice for him as he pulled the door closed.

“Love you too, Ma.”

“Love you too, Boom!”

“Love you too, Ma.”

(I don’t know. We’re weird. We do voiceovers for our pets. Also I sleep in the guest bedroom. It sucks. Cancer sucks.)

I asked Dan once why Boomer always said “I love you too” over and over, and he informed me that it was because Boomer had to have the last word.

Duh.

***

Anyway, barfing.

I woke up at 11:30 last night and reached for a vomit bag. The combination smell of those vinyl bags, my PB&J, and stomach acid left me heaving long after I’d blown all my chunks.

When the spasming in my stomach stopped, I brushed my teeth for the second time and walked the bag to the garage. I had called to Dan for help, but he was snoring. Hard.

Oh well, he deserves to sleep, I thought.

Unfortunately, I had to turn the hall lights on, and he stumbled in to check on me when I returned. I was sitting on the bed pouting. The dog and cat were right on Dan’s heels, and I commented that everybody had come to console me.

If there’s a bright side to puking in this house, it’s that everyone is curious. You’re never alone.

***

Regardless, I hate throwing up. It’s the worst. And I mostly hate food now too. (I’ve lost 26 pounds since quitting dexamethasone, but don’t worry. I’m still unbelievably fat for a girl who hauls 2-pound vomit bags to the garbage a couple times a week.)

***

I have no wrap-up for this post. I’m just going to try to sleep now.

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