At midnight, the ER doc asks me if I’m ready to go home. I did not have neutropenic fever. With no infections found, white cell count good enough to fight whatever is causing my fever, and after consulting Dr. DeGreen Jr. the ER doctor says when my IV fluid bag is empty, I can go home. Jay and I glance at the half full bag and simultaneously stifle a groan, both instantly calculating the hours it took for the first half to go in. Then, Jack bounces back into my room to crank up the speed. We smile with relief as the slow whir turns into a staccato drill, like a determined woodpecker. Before long, I’m dragging my IV line down the hall to the bathroom.
By 2am, I’m gratefully home, in my own sweet bed. I spend the weekend recovering from whatever caused the fever, from lost sleep, and enduring yet more side effects from the antibiotic Levaquin; it’s powerful stuff!
Today, I’m finally feeling more like myself. The fever is gone, and my energy is slowing improving. What is the grace in all this? I’m not sure, I’m still learning. I have an ongoing appreciation for the skill of doctors and nurses, for their kindness and compassion, for a deeper understanding of discouragement, depression and loneliness, and a developing trust in my own body wisdom. I am learning to what I know about my body, while also trusting the medical way of making sure. Perhaps that is enough.
Perhaps I have more to discover. I do know God graciously answered ‘yes’ to two prayers from last week. I asked to be well enough to celebrate my Dad’s 86th birthday with my family. And, I prayed to be able to teach Centering Prayer at my church on Sunday. Once again, an unwanted inconvenience sharpens my awareness of what truly gives me life.