Radio Silence

It's hard to believe that I have not posted for nearly two weeks. My last post was before my last round of chemo. My next round starts this Wednesday.

The silence can be attributed to both good things and bad. My last round of chemo started off fine. I had my session at the office, four hours of poison pumped into my bloodstream, but I felt good. Perhaps too good. About the same time I was handling a crisis with one of our largest clients, Intel. They had a media campaign, TV, millions of advertising dollars all pointing people to a website that, sad to say, was having intermittent failures. I'm on my chemo pump, on the phone, trying to get our people, who are leaving on Thanksgiving vacation, to talk to Intel's people, who are leaving on Thanksgiving vacation. I'm a tad stressed, and in the end, we could not solve the problem. Intel had to go with plan B. It was good to be working. Good to feel I could contribute.

The bad part begins as I'm trying to get to bed, I feel a bit of a headache. Like a fever headache. I take my temperature with the new "high end" B&D digital oral thermometer (reads in under 10 seconds). 100.2F; at 100.5F we've been instructed to get in touch with the doctor. Too bad for us, it is 10:30PM the night before Thanksgiving, and just like my Intel problem, no one seems to be available. 100.4. I'm trying to contact the Home Visit nurses who have 24 hour support. I'm on hold for 20 minutes. 100.5. Kimberly, my cherished wife, is now beginning to show signs of imminent melting. I tell her, "Honey, they're just going to send us to the ER, so let's go now." No argument. I don't change out of my pajamas. I put on warm socks and gloves (cold neuropathy), pack up my medical records and a pillow, and we're off.

I hate the ER. It sucks. Of all the waiting rooms, it is the worst. You feel urgency. You or your loved ones are hurting or ill, and you're surrounded by people who are either coughing up something terribly contagious and unpleasant. But the staff seems to feel all the urgency of a Italian Busdriver on a stike day. Kimi has to remind the staff three times that a chemo patient with a fever is an acute condition. Could be life threatening. After 30 minutes, we are seen and put in a bed. Blood tests, Xrays, IV rehydration. I top out a 100.9. IV antibiotics, levaquin. At 3AM, Thanksgiving Day, I get the news that all is well enough. It's probably a virus. I'm on oral levaquin for another 10 days, but I just have to keep track of things.

It's a relief that I'm not admitted, that everyone can be together for dinner. But, I think I've been tired since then.