From the ashes of hell as the walls burn down around her...
It’s incredible how much and how little happens in 7 days. Days are fine. Days go by. Then they’re not and still the day goes back—fine for some, maybe not others.
In suit with the last two Valentine’s Day’s, I celebrate my “cancerversary” by being admitted to the ER followed by a weeks hospital stay.
This might be a surprise to some of you consider I just did a 5 day voluntary admission to the Cancer Casino to have my port installed and have my fancy nutritional supplement (TPN) built so I could get additional nutrition via an IV tube during the night. This would supposedly help me gain weight and be healthier overall, as I struggle to eat anything of quality or quantity these days. So, five days came and went. My port itched and ached.
After only a few days my normal swollen ankles became swollen calves and swollen thighs and swollen pelvis. The doctors told us it was normal and keep watch. That was 10 days prior to my latest admission to the cancer casino.
It got worse. My appetite got worse. I felt weak, tired and weepy. But I always do. I figured it was me, trying to fight my ever knocking depression. Recently starting with a new therapist probably didn’t help. She makes me do hard work and it’s a long walk to her office from the parking garage when your feet and legs are too swollen to wear anything but pajamas and house slippers.
As I mentioned in my last blog, I literally was absolutely mortified when. I became stuck on the toilet in the middle of the night and had to have John lift me off. My legs were so weak.
After I wrote that blog, things did get worse. I was too weak to even pull my legs into bed with me. My thighs were frozen, unable to hold even my skeletal frame.
I was terrified. Terrified what was happening...Terrified at the weakness growing inside of me. Terrified to admit the problem. Terrified of the independence being ripped away from me.
And the doctors said...”it’s normal, it’ll subside, no worries”.
When I checked into the ER on Friday afternoon, they immediately admitted me. My blood sugar was at 27...which is enough for the doctor to say “you should be dead”. Apparently, anything below 70 is low, and below 54, it’s hypoglycemic shock level. So, although I was asymptomatic, I was the walking dead all over again.
It took them 24 hours pumping me full of sugar to stabilize my blood sugar. During that time, three doctors told me I should enter hospice.
The walking dead. That’s what cancer patients are to doctors now. Just another walking dead.
Once my sugar was stabilized, they started pumping me full of drugs to attempt to take the water weight off the lower half of my body, as it sloshed about bruising my interior cavity every which way, making every breath a painful reminder of what my life is life now. A big painful mess.
Then they started reformulating my TPN while restarting it back up slowly, attaching me to a metal pole and a bag, 24 hours a day, like a dog never off its leash.
We won’t even talk about the Physical Therapist who literally came every day and walked me around like a dog.
And seven days later, most of the water inside me was gone. Most of the swelling had subsided. A new formula to run had been created. Every gross hospital menu item had been ordered. Every offer from religious leaders to visit me had been denied. Every doctor berated by my mother to ensure I got the proper care. Every mention of hospice met with tears and misunderstanding.
I’m not ready for hospice. I just need doctors to get rid of these issues with the TPN...just like anyone else who needs TPN for a chronic illness. So why me? Why tell me to give? Why crush the tiny flame if any spirit I have left?
I’m home now. Seven days later. Still weak, bruised internally, bruised emotionally and barely able to get myself off a raised old people’s toilet. Orders to connect TPN 18 hours a day now, instead of 12 hours. Orders to take the medication that makes you pee pee ever 5 minutes literally. Good thing we have that old people’s handicap toilet around.
So, now I rebuild. Herman and I together 18 hours a day. Ace bandage wrapped legs to be sure the swelling keeps off. Having to ask for help to do the smallest thing like get off the couch or step into the shower—my independence threatened at ever moment.
Seven days later.
Looking for a way to show us you care, take some stress off or just be amazing? While we so appreciate it, please don’t send gifts...We would love a hot meal or Lush skincare products though!
Send a gift card through UberEats or Lush Skincare to Nicole.a.dillon@gmail.com.
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