The ER - Part Deux
On the Evening of Monday, March 28th, I ran the highest temperature of my adult life - 104. I was feeling strange all day, and had a hard time getting out of bed for my chemo appointment at the crack of 2:30. I made myself breakfast around 1pm after watching "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom". I was feeling especially weak and tired, but felt that I needed to eat. I heated up some leftover ham and biscuits from Easter dinner and took a few bites while sitting on the kitchen counter. Boom - my tummy rumbled and my head got light - I was going to be sick. Rushing to the bathroom, I abandoned the remainder of my breakfast guessing that meow meow would finish it for me. Once I got the hurl-safe toilet zone, I sat down on my hurl-throne and felt a little better for a second, then a lot worse. Instead of being sick, I was having an anxiety attack, McDaniel style.
I'm coming to understand that what I keep calling an anxiety attack is a little worse than what most people call an anxiety attack. My blood-pressure dropped - I only know this from having one in the doctors office and being privied to the monitor. My pulse rises to around the 130's. I'm gasping for breath, probably hyperventilating. My temperature rises, and I sweat profusely - and I mean really sweat from every pore in my head and chest. Once damp, I start shivering, and then my vision gets patchy - like half the pixels on the TV all of a sudden turn black in a random succession. My hearing gets very sensitive and it also echoes. I have to lay down. I had the sink on full blast and was splashing my head and chest with water trying to cool down and regain control of my breathing. I doused the hand towel and draped it over my head. I had thrown my bathrobe onto the floor between the bathroom and the foyer, and then I fell/lowered myself onto my robe and laid there, focusing only on staying awake and breathing deep and steady breaths. I asked God to help me keep from passing out. I eventually decided that I needed to either call the paramedics, as I was home alone, or make it upstairs to lay in bed with my precious gatorade. Gatorade being a wonder-elixer. It made sense at the time. I had the good sense to unlock and crack the front door - just in case I needed someone to come in and help me. Then I pulled myself up, grabbed my robe, and crawled on all fours up the stairs - ran into the office, grabbed the phone and the gatorade at my desk, turned around and darted into the bedroom. My vision went out and I was very very dizzy - really about to crack my skull open - but I felt my way to the bed and fell into it! In hindsight, it was very dangerous, but I made it without injury this time. I was freezing and curled up in my bathrobe and blanket, still with the cold wet towel over my head and face. Stacy called just then and I told her what was going on - she rushed home to help.
Stacy managed to motivate me to show up for my chemo appointment that afternoon, even though we were an hour late - you just don't feel like getting back in the ring after getting knocked out. I went and they took my blood counts - very very low - my white count was effectively zero - that's really bad. Normal white blood cell counts are between 4,000 and 10,000. I got my bleomycin injection and they sent me packing. I was craving chicken fingers for dinner, so we stopped at publix and got some - it had gotten very cold and windy since we had gone out and I wasn't dressed right - I had a light sweater and light jacket and needed my peacoat for this kind of cold - didn't think much of it, since we were just ducking in to the store and back out. On the way back to the car I started shivering though - not normal for me - I shook it off and we got back home and ate.
But I kept shivering and it became more involuntary and pronounced. I couldn't stop and had to lay down on the couch. I was freezing cold, even though it was warm in the house and I had plenty of clothes on. We decided to move to the bed. Off with my over-clothes and into bed with all the blankets on top of me, I was still shaking like a leaf. Stacy held me trying to warm me up but it was no use. My temp was at 102 at that point, and it was only going to get worse.
Stacy called a few Mothers, mine included, to ask about high temperatures. It's gotta be hard to see a kid go through one, but it's normal for an occational high temp to happen. What none of us thought about was that I don't have any white blood cells, which means no primary immune defense system, which means fever=possible infection=possible death. I honestly don't know why we didn't go to the ER Monday night - we should have - but none of us thought about it. I maxed out at 104 and held it there for a good hour or so, then started cooling back down. I was popping ibuprofin and acedemedaphin at 2 hour intervals, downing pints of gatorade and water like crazy. I was shaking or convulsing or whatever for at least 4 hours. Stacy kept telling me it would be OK while rocking me back and forth. I remember repeating her words outloud and I remember her sobbing.
I woke up Tuesday weak, tired, nauseous, feeling about as bad as a man can feel - but my temp was down to 100. I had a hard time eating, but I forced down an omelet knowing that my body needed fuel. I stayed in bed for most of the day, sleeping here and there. Around dinner time, my fever spiked again and by 10pm and 102 degrees, we were on our way to Piedmont ER.
It was hell getting out of bed - I didn't want to go. What could the ER do for me? My temp had to come down on it's own, and the fever reducer meds were the same as I was already taking. The risk of contracting something at the ER was much higher than in my bedroom, and with my weak immune system, that was really the primary concern. Still, another night of 104 temps wasn't an option for us - so that sealed the deal. Once there, they immediately put a surgical mask on me and isolated us from the general ER crowd. They put us in a very small room called the "family council room" - it had a desk and chair, loveseat, and two other arm chairs, but the room was about 10 by 5 feet - quite cramped. The love seat wasn't long enough to lay on, but I tried with an assist from one of the chairs for my feet. Stacy made due with the remaining two chairs. Piedmont ER was swamped - they were triaging people in the halls outside our door. One woman was screaming bloody murder at the top of her lungs "take me now, lawd!". She complained of lung pain and was demanding pain meds. What I can't figure out is how she was able to scream so much if her lungs were hurting her. We were in the family conference cell for 3 hours with no interaction from the staff - fever still going strong.
Finally, someone came and apologized and took me into a room. She explained that they couldn't put me in with anyone else because of my cell counts, they had to keep me isolated. I was put into the ER's Operating Room. It's a larger than normal ER room with all the OR equipment including x-ray stuff and a huge supply store for the ER - big cabinents with everything the ER needs in them. This presented a problem, because every 20 minutes or so, someone would come crashing in on us grabbing something or testing some equipment - it was bad. I didn't see a doctor until 5am. They took tons of blood from me for cultures and count tests. On Wednesday early morning, my WBC was at 60. Remember that 4,000 is low.
Stacy left the ER OR at 7, exhausted, she had been trying to sleep folded up between two chairs. She had class that morning and I made her promise me that she would skip it and sleep - she had been up for 24 hours now and driving was a very bad idea. I would later find out that she slept for a few hours, then went to class anyway. The Girl has dedication. While she was gone, I dozed back to sleep and was woken up by a nurse who explained that she was sorry, but she had to test the crash cart which was set up behind my bed. I asked " on me?! " and instead of the a-material chuckle I should have gotten, she said "no.". Moving right along... The next time I woke up it was to my Mother's face! What a great surprise - and she brought me a chick-fil-a biscuit and some fruit punch! I was starving and nauseous, so I had to eat like a little bird, and I only finished half of the biscuit but the fruit punch saved me. Boy that was some good fruit punch. The doctor admitted me to the hospital some time around 8am, but there was a wait for beds - and I had to be on the oncology ward because of my need for a more sterile environment - so it was around 1pm on Wednesday when I finally got a room and a bed - about 15 hours after getting to the ER.
I'm coming to understand that what I keep calling an anxiety attack is a little worse than what most people call an anxiety attack. My blood-pressure dropped - I only know this from having one in the doctors office and being privied to the monitor. My pulse rises to around the 130's. I'm gasping for breath, probably hyperventilating. My temperature rises, and I sweat profusely - and I mean really sweat from every pore in my head and chest. Once damp, I start shivering, and then my vision gets patchy - like half the pixels on the TV all of a sudden turn black in a random succession. My hearing gets very sensitive and it also echoes. I have to lay down. I had the sink on full blast and was splashing my head and chest with water trying to cool down and regain control of my breathing. I doused the hand towel and draped it over my head. I had thrown my bathrobe onto the floor between the bathroom and the foyer, and then I fell/lowered myself onto my robe and laid there, focusing only on staying awake and breathing deep and steady breaths. I asked God to help me keep from passing out. I eventually decided that I needed to either call the paramedics, as I was home alone, or make it upstairs to lay in bed with my precious gatorade. Gatorade being a wonder-elixer. It made sense at the time. I had the good sense to unlock and crack the front door - just in case I needed someone to come in and help me. Then I pulled myself up, grabbed my robe, and crawled on all fours up the stairs - ran into the office, grabbed the phone and the gatorade at my desk, turned around and darted into the bedroom. My vision went out and I was very very dizzy - really about to crack my skull open - but I felt my way to the bed and fell into it! In hindsight, it was very dangerous, but I made it without injury this time. I was freezing and curled up in my bathrobe and blanket, still with the cold wet towel over my head and face. Stacy called just then and I told her what was going on - she rushed home to help.
Stacy managed to motivate me to show up for my chemo appointment that afternoon, even though we were an hour late - you just don't feel like getting back in the ring after getting knocked out. I went and they took my blood counts - very very low - my white count was effectively zero - that's really bad. Normal white blood cell counts are between 4,000 and 10,000. I got my bleomycin injection and they sent me packing. I was craving chicken fingers for dinner, so we stopped at publix and got some - it had gotten very cold and windy since we had gone out and I wasn't dressed right - I had a light sweater and light jacket and needed my peacoat for this kind of cold - didn't think much of it, since we were just ducking in to the store and back out. On the way back to the car I started shivering though - not normal for me - I shook it off and we got back home and ate.
But I kept shivering and it became more involuntary and pronounced. I couldn't stop and had to lay down on the couch. I was freezing cold, even though it was warm in the house and I had plenty of clothes on. We decided to move to the bed. Off with my over-clothes and into bed with all the blankets on top of me, I was still shaking like a leaf. Stacy held me trying to warm me up but it was no use. My temp was at 102 at that point, and it was only going to get worse.
Stacy called a few Mothers, mine included, to ask about high temperatures. It's gotta be hard to see a kid go through one, but it's normal for an occational high temp to happen. What none of us thought about was that I don't have any white blood cells, which means no primary immune defense system, which means fever=possible infection=possible death. I honestly don't know why we didn't go to the ER Monday night - we should have - but none of us thought about it. I maxed out at 104 and held it there for a good hour or so, then started cooling back down. I was popping ibuprofin and acedemedaphin at 2 hour intervals, downing pints of gatorade and water like crazy. I was shaking or convulsing or whatever for at least 4 hours. Stacy kept telling me it would be OK while rocking me back and forth. I remember repeating her words outloud and I remember her sobbing.
I woke up Tuesday weak, tired, nauseous, feeling about as bad as a man can feel - but my temp was down to 100. I had a hard time eating, but I forced down an omelet knowing that my body needed fuel. I stayed in bed for most of the day, sleeping here and there. Around dinner time, my fever spiked again and by 10pm and 102 degrees, we were on our way to Piedmont ER.
It was hell getting out of bed - I didn't want to go. What could the ER do for me? My temp had to come down on it's own, and the fever reducer meds were the same as I was already taking. The risk of contracting something at the ER was much higher than in my bedroom, and with my weak immune system, that was really the primary concern. Still, another night of 104 temps wasn't an option for us - so that sealed the deal. Once there, they immediately put a surgical mask on me and isolated us from the general ER crowd. They put us in a very small room called the "family council room" - it had a desk and chair, loveseat, and two other arm chairs, but the room was about 10 by 5 feet - quite cramped. The love seat wasn't long enough to lay on, but I tried with an assist from one of the chairs for my feet. Stacy made due with the remaining two chairs. Piedmont ER was swamped - they were triaging people in the halls outside our door. One woman was screaming bloody murder at the top of her lungs "take me now, lawd!". She complained of lung pain and was demanding pain meds. What I can't figure out is how she was able to scream so much if her lungs were hurting her. We were in the family conference cell for 3 hours with no interaction from the staff - fever still going strong.
Finally, someone came and apologized and took me into a room. She explained that they couldn't put me in with anyone else because of my cell counts, they had to keep me isolated. I was put into the ER's Operating Room. It's a larger than normal ER room with all the OR equipment including x-ray stuff and a huge supply store for the ER - big cabinents with everything the ER needs in them. This presented a problem, because every 20 minutes or so, someone would come crashing in on us grabbing something or testing some equipment - it was bad. I didn't see a doctor until 5am. They took tons of blood from me for cultures and count tests. On Wednesday early morning, my WBC was at 60. Remember that 4,000 is low.
Stacy left the ER OR at 7, exhausted, she had been trying to sleep folded up between two chairs. She had class that morning and I made her promise me that she would skip it and sleep - she had been up for 24 hours now and driving was a very bad idea. I would later find out that she slept for a few hours, then went to class anyway. The Girl has dedication. While she was gone, I dozed back to sleep and was woken up by a nurse who explained that she was sorry, but she had to test the crash cart which was set up behind my bed. I asked " on me?! " and instead of the a-material chuckle I should have gotten, she said "no.". Moving right along... The next time I woke up it was to my Mother's face! What a great surprise - and she brought me a chick-fil-a biscuit and some fruit punch! I was starving and nauseous, so I had to eat like a little bird, and I only finished half of the biscuit but the fruit punch saved me. Boy that was some good fruit punch. The doctor admitted me to the hospital some time around 8am, but there was a wait for beds - and I had to be on the oncology ward because of my need for a more sterile environment - so it was around 1pm on Wednesday when I finally got a room and a bed - about 15 hours after getting to the ER.
posted by Bill McDaniel at 7:54 AM
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