S.O.B. (shortness of breath)
Appologies for the delay - it's been quite a weekend.
On Saturday, I started to have mild chest pains and shortness of breath. Being a rational and logical person, I ignored these so-called "warning signs" as coincidental and meaningless. By Sunday afternoon, however, I was sure that my body was trying to tell me something besides... well besides nothing, and I called my Oncologist to ask his opinion. The most logical explaination was an upper GI disruption caused by one of the 27 anti-nauseua meds I've had in the past week - IE, take some over the counter heartburn tabs and some anti-anxiety head meds and go to sleep. This worked for me Sunday night - I slept very well.
On Monday, Stacy took me in for my "easy" chemo day - every Monday on my 2 off-weeks I get a short infusion of Bleomycin only - should take under an hour to administer. I was feeling very tired and fatigued when I got there, much like a chemo patient should, and my chest was feeling very heavy once again. They took some blood and checked my counts - good news: my counts are as high as they were before I started chemo - that's really great because it means my immune system is still very strong. With my breathing complaints, they decided to draw more blood to test for a few other things.
So as I sit in the infusing chair I have one IV in my right arm for the chemo which is being used to draw blood, and a second IV in my left arm to draw some more blood - Stacy is sitting in a chair in front or me and there are Nurses on either side of me and people are talking and all of a sudden everything get's loud and hot and BOOM! I'm lightheaded and seeing spots, my blood pressure drops through the floor, my pulse shoots for the sky and every ounce of water in my body comes out through the pores in my forehead. I'm going down! I manage to gasp something like "dizzy!" to Nurse Stephanie, and that was all she needed to hear. Her training took over like an instinct - and her reactions were so fluid, they seemed involuntary. Before I knew that I had cried "dizzy!", my feet were up and I was resting on my back, I had a blood-pressure monitor on my arm, a pulse and oxygen monitor on my finger, and even a cold and damp washcloth on my brow to make me a little more comfortable. Later I learned that she had also armed herself with amonia package, the likes of which can wake a Man from the darkest of woozy-induced faint spells, but it was not needed this time. Once my pulse rested and my vision returned, I saw Stacy sitting calmly by my side with her hand on my elevated foot comforting me as the saline rehydrated my shocked system. She knew exactly what had happened and exactly what I needed from her then. After I had drained the equivelant of a wine bottle of saline, I had my Bleomycin infusion, thanked Nurse Stephanie, and headed home to rest.
But Monday night, rest would be little. Funny how something can sound so good one minute and repulse you the next - my red wine met it's fate in the already overcrowded Atlanta sewer system. The "Buchter Lasagna" enjoyed the grace of my stomach. My chest was still weighted and my breathing was increasingly labored. I took meds that counteract the nauseua, and some extra anti-anxiety meds too - just to make sure I slept well during my discomfort. The drugs worked, and I slept - but not as well as I had hoped.
Tuesday - I was in pain. My lung capacity was around 60% of what it normally is. Nurse Stephanie worked with me all day to find a resolution. We ordered a chest x-ray to check for fluids, but found nothing. A chest exam showed no sign of problems again. Toward the end of the day, with the pressure in my chest increasing still, Nurse Stephanie recommended that we go to the ER.
Truthfully, we would have been there anyway in the next few hours - like it or not.
I wanted to eat before making the hike in to the ER ; knowing that it would be a long time before we would get out. I was in pain, but still hungry, and Lisa's Turkey Meatloaf Cordon Blue with Garlic Mashed Potatos was the comfort food that God would eat if he had to go to the ER. In fact, that dinner came close to fixing me right up, but we went on to the ER just to be sure.
Mom had kept up to date with the situation all day, and couldn't stay away any longer. She drove me and Stacy to the ER and settled in for the wait - I was glad to have her there. Amazingly, if you tell the charge nurses that you're having trouble breathing, you get to go ahead of other people with less life-threatening injuries - EVEN THOUGH they were there before you! The drugged up rave crowd didn't look amused, but I winked at them on the way back anyway, just to rile them up a little.
I pulled myself into a wheelchair in the ER - it helped at that point to have some lumbar support. The wheelchair was all metal frame grid - like a shopping cart - with no cushions - and it was on casters, not wheels, so you couldn't push yourself around, someone else had to do it for you. The nurses told me that this was because people would steal wheelchairs out of the ER! I only cared about the utility, and after a few minutes I explained to the nurses that I felt a little better from the support the rigid chair had brought. They exploded into laughter, saying that was the first positive thing they had ever heard about the uncomfortable metal chairs.
After a few admissions questions and signing over my first born to some company called evil-med-co, inc. , we were brought to a quite pleasent and private ER bay with a bed, a TV, and a few chairs for Mom and Stacy. There was even a dimmer on the lights - my bedroom doesn't even have that. With the help of a few Doctors, Nurses, and Technicians, I eventually went through yet another chest CT scan ( aka CAT Scan, evidentally CAT was one letter too long of an acronym ), and EKG, a few chest exams, and, yes, more blood tests - all of which showed negative for any fluid in any bad places, any blood clots, or any abnormality at all. In fact I might have the most normal looking chest, lungs, and heart that anyone has ever seen in that ER - and they would know - they looked at everything!
The remedy came in the form of IV drugs - one for inflammation, and one for pain. The one for pain was called Morphine - and I must admit, it did it's job and nothing else. After the initial twinge of the injection - it shocked my system for some reason - I was almost immediately pain-free and able to breathe at about 90% again. The Doc warned against feeling spacy, but I didn't feel anything but relief. We made it home around 1 AM and I fell asleep breathing deeply and soundly.
The cause of all this is still unknown, although it's suspected by the keen ER Doc's that I somehow hyperventilated / hyperextended my lungs by involuntarily gasping for air, maybe even in my sleep, most likely a stressed anxiety response due to my chemo treatment! I think that's an amazing theory, but in all honesty I don't have a better one. All I know is that they helped me to be able to breath much easier again, and for that I'm very, very grateful. It sucks to not be able to breathe - so do me a favor and take a good long deep breath right now after reading this. I know it's silly, but just enjoy it and appreciate it for a second - it's a good feeling...
On Saturday, I started to have mild chest pains and shortness of breath. Being a rational and logical person, I ignored these so-called "warning signs" as coincidental and meaningless. By Sunday afternoon, however, I was sure that my body was trying to tell me something besides... well besides nothing, and I called my Oncologist to ask his opinion. The most logical explaination was an upper GI disruption caused by one of the 27 anti-nauseua meds I've had in the past week - IE, take some over the counter heartburn tabs and some anti-anxiety head meds and go to sleep. This worked for me Sunday night - I slept very well.
On Monday, Stacy took me in for my "easy" chemo day - every Monday on my 2 off-weeks I get a short infusion of Bleomycin only - should take under an hour to administer. I was feeling very tired and fatigued when I got there, much like a chemo patient should, and my chest was feeling very heavy once again. They took some blood and checked my counts - good news: my counts are as high as they were before I started chemo - that's really great because it means my immune system is still very strong. With my breathing complaints, they decided to draw more blood to test for a few other things.
So as I sit in the infusing chair I have one IV in my right arm for the chemo which is being used to draw blood, and a second IV in my left arm to draw some more blood - Stacy is sitting in a chair in front or me and there are Nurses on either side of me and people are talking and all of a sudden everything get's loud and hot and BOOM! I'm lightheaded and seeing spots, my blood pressure drops through the floor, my pulse shoots for the sky and every ounce of water in my body comes out through the pores in my forehead. I'm going down! I manage to gasp something like "dizzy!" to Nurse Stephanie, and that was all she needed to hear. Her training took over like an instinct - and her reactions were so fluid, they seemed involuntary. Before I knew that I had cried "dizzy!", my feet were up and I was resting on my back, I had a blood-pressure monitor on my arm, a pulse and oxygen monitor on my finger, and even a cold and damp washcloth on my brow to make me a little more comfortable. Later I learned that she had also armed herself with amonia package, the likes of which can wake a Man from the darkest of woozy-induced faint spells, but it was not needed this time. Once my pulse rested and my vision returned, I saw Stacy sitting calmly by my side with her hand on my elevated foot comforting me as the saline rehydrated my shocked system. She knew exactly what had happened and exactly what I needed from her then. After I had drained the equivelant of a wine bottle of saline, I had my Bleomycin infusion, thanked Nurse Stephanie, and headed home to rest.
But Monday night, rest would be little. Funny how something can sound so good one minute and repulse you the next - my red wine met it's fate in the already overcrowded Atlanta sewer system. The "Buchter Lasagna" enjoyed the grace of my stomach. My chest was still weighted and my breathing was increasingly labored. I took meds that counteract the nauseua, and some extra anti-anxiety meds too - just to make sure I slept well during my discomfort. The drugs worked, and I slept - but not as well as I had hoped.
Tuesday - I was in pain. My lung capacity was around 60% of what it normally is. Nurse Stephanie worked with me all day to find a resolution. We ordered a chest x-ray to check for fluids, but found nothing. A chest exam showed no sign of problems again. Toward the end of the day, with the pressure in my chest increasing still, Nurse Stephanie recommended that we go to the ER.
Truthfully, we would have been there anyway in the next few hours - like it or not.
I wanted to eat before making the hike in to the ER ; knowing that it would be a long time before we would get out. I was in pain, but still hungry, and Lisa's Turkey Meatloaf Cordon Blue with Garlic Mashed Potatos was the comfort food that God would eat if he had to go to the ER. In fact, that dinner came close to fixing me right up, but we went on to the ER just to be sure.
Mom had kept up to date with the situation all day, and couldn't stay away any longer. She drove me and Stacy to the ER and settled in for the wait - I was glad to have her there. Amazingly, if you tell the charge nurses that you're having trouble breathing, you get to go ahead of other people with less life-threatening injuries - EVEN THOUGH they were there before you! The drugged up rave crowd didn't look amused, but I winked at them on the way back anyway, just to rile them up a little.
I pulled myself into a wheelchair in the ER - it helped at that point to have some lumbar support. The wheelchair was all metal frame grid - like a shopping cart - with no cushions - and it was on casters, not wheels, so you couldn't push yourself around, someone else had to do it for you. The nurses told me that this was because people would steal wheelchairs out of the ER! I only cared about the utility, and after a few minutes I explained to the nurses that I felt a little better from the support the rigid chair had brought. They exploded into laughter, saying that was the first positive thing they had ever heard about the uncomfortable metal chairs.
After a few admissions questions and signing over my first born to some company called evil-med-co, inc. , we were brought to a quite pleasent and private ER bay with a bed, a TV, and a few chairs for Mom and Stacy. There was even a dimmer on the lights - my bedroom doesn't even have that. With the help of a few Doctors, Nurses, and Technicians, I eventually went through yet another chest CT scan ( aka CAT Scan, evidentally CAT was one letter too long of an acronym ), and EKG, a few chest exams, and, yes, more blood tests - all of which showed negative for any fluid in any bad places, any blood clots, or any abnormality at all. In fact I might have the most normal looking chest, lungs, and heart that anyone has ever seen in that ER - and they would know - they looked at everything!
The remedy came in the form of IV drugs - one for inflammation, and one for pain. The one for pain was called Morphine - and I must admit, it did it's job and nothing else. After the initial twinge of the injection - it shocked my system for some reason - I was almost immediately pain-free and able to breathe at about 90% again. The Doc warned against feeling spacy, but I didn't feel anything but relief. We made it home around 1 AM and I fell asleep breathing deeply and soundly.
The cause of all this is still unknown, although it's suspected by the keen ER Doc's that I somehow hyperventilated / hyperextended my lungs by involuntarily gasping for air, maybe even in my sleep, most likely a stressed anxiety response due to my chemo treatment! I think that's an amazing theory, but in all honesty I don't have a better one. All I know is that they helped me to be able to breath much easier again, and for that I'm very, very grateful. It sucks to not be able to breathe - so do me a favor and take a good long deep breath right now after reading this. I know it's silly, but just enjoy it and appreciate it for a second - it's a good feeling...
posted by Bill McDaniel at 12:24 PM
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