Once Again

Once again, I write. It’s been a long, tiring week, so if this blog ends abruptly I may have simply nodded off.

I feel cheated out of a few good days. I got used to ten good days each chemo cycle. My peevishness makes me want my regular life back. I’m torn by conflicting desires: accepting what I can’t change and needing to gripe. I can take my lumps, the crap that comes with chemo, but needless suffering infuriates me. The doctor keeps weaning me off prednisone fast when I need a slow taper! I spoke up last time, but I must have used my nice Lancaster county voice instead of the one I use to train my cattle dogs. The cattle dog voice is calm, but clear and direct: ‘if you nip the back of Jay’s boot ….if you bite that sheep…..you will deeply regret it!” That voice is spoken like it will be followed with action. When I speak to the doctor and am later disappointed my words weren’t heard or understood, I assume doctors know best and don’t act.

Why is it so hard for me to simply tell the doctor, ‘prescribe what you did the first cycle and STOP MESSING with my body or I’ll phone you all hours of the day and night’? I will learn to be calm and clearly direct with people as well as cow dogs. Talented and kind as Dr. DeGreen is, he can’t read my mind or know my body as I know my body.

Monday through Wednesday, I felt miserable: exhausted, prednisone crashing-sweating-mood swinging, Nuelasta-induced bone aching. Thursday I woke up with a fever. It made me mad at God too. I said to God, ‘what, I need more practice rolling over and playing dead?” Doctors may not get my directness, but God often does. I’m glad God is big enough. I’m not stupid though, I know God will show emotion in return. That’s the way it is with relationships. God may tell me to grow up. God may just listen and love me anyway. When I get over myself, I am profoundly grateful for God’s grace.

The cancer center has a policy that frustrates me completely. If a patient has a fever over 100.5, said patient must call the doctor immediately. Any one with body sense knows a fever is probably not going to reach 100 on a thermometer until 4pm. And, of course the center closes at 4pm. All a feverish patient needs is a simple blood test to rule out neutropenic fever (low white cell count w/fever - very dangerous), which the cancer center easily handles. After 4pm most business and labs are closed, so the patient begins dreading fevers and hospitals around 3pm.

My temperature hit 100.5 at precisely 4:10pm, Thursday. I argued with 'the policy' for 30 minutes which only raised my temp .2 points. Reflecting back, I remember my afternoon promise by phone to nurse sister, Laverne, that I would call the doctor if needed. I begin inventing clever lies to deceive Laverne, Jay, myself. At 4:15pm, I feel really sick, and waffle. By 4:17pm, I grab my cell phone, punch in Jay’s number. I’ll ask him what to do. Not taking responsibility seems smart, as I can always blame him if I end up in the hospital. I hear Jay’s phone ringing on his desk. Sigh. I call the doctor, telling myself I'm only reporting in. The medical bureau tells me to call back if the doctor doesn’t reach me in 20 minutes. Three hours pass; I relax into the evening. I did my part.

At 7:30pm the phone rings; Dr. DeGreen Jr. is on call. He hears my story and then gives me three options: go to the ER and suffer all the waiting and tests, be admitted directly to the hospital, be willing to take a strong antibiotic at home while promising to go to ER if my condition worsens. I leap for option three. He doesn’t like option three but, I persuade him. I feel direct and powerful for ten minutes. The phone rings, Dr Jr says he really thinks option 3 is too big a gamble and he really wants me to go to the ER immediately after first swinging by the drugstore and taking that antibiotic ASAP. He says he knows he’s torturing me by asking me to go to the ER. He calls me sweetheart. I deflate, noticing I haven’t bristled at the endearment. He is appealing to my better judgment, saying but not saying all. This time the doctor is being Lancaster County nice. I forgive both of us for our indirectness. He honors me by allowing me to make the final decision. I agree to go to the ER.

Jay comes in then, dusty, muddy, exhausted. I tell him what the doctor said, that I’m gathering stuff for the ER and he needs to go to CVS to pick up antibiotic awhile. I smell the fires of denial and frustration lighting in his belly. I know what it will take for him to get where I am. I pray as he takes his turn figuring out some principles aren’t worth dying for.

I’m too tired to finish the story. Perhaps, tomorrow…

Joyfully,
Sharon