Münchausen mania

Took a little unplanned trip to the hospital and cancer clinic on Friday. After a month of barking like a seal and checking my temperature religiously, I finally registered the dreaded threshold number this morning. I was sitting all pathetic-like in my living room, reading and drinking sencha tea, dreading the hot dog day festivities I had promised to lend my time to at Stella's school, when I felt my temp spike and my eyes droop. After a quick check under my tongue, I confirmed the magic number at 38.4.

The cancer clinic told me to come to the hospital for blood and urine cultures and a chest x-ray, then set up an appointment with an onc for a follow-up this afternoon. Lovely Pete came home from work to drive me and I shivered my way through the trip, feeling like a cancer patient. The x-ray was uneventful, except for the six (!) layers of clothes I had to remove to reveal my chest to the machine.

The blood culture was a new thing. Two different pokes, many, many vials and then mixing even more of my blood in four special mini-Tabasco bottles filled with some kind of sludge to tell whether I had an infection.

When I arrived at the cancer clinic I was treated like royalty. Special room away from the chemo riff raff, favourite Chilean nurse, even favourite onc (not my usual Dr. A.). While we all waited for the preliminary results of my bloodwork and x-rays, I had a million more tests, questions and temp checks, which did not produce the 38 degrees. I was beginning to feel like Baron Münchausen, but Dr. B. made me feel like I was a little less sociopathic.

He told me about three potential scenarios: I wasn't tolerating the Docetaxel well and may have to skip treatment #8; I may have a lung infection that has to be treated with antibiotics (he doubted this one because he said he saw nothing on the prelim x-rays); or, I could have a viral infection that my body is too damaged by chemo to fight off. He said if my white blood cell count turned out to be too low, I may have to stay in the hospital to be pumped full of fluids. Woot woot!

Finally the official x-ray and blood results came back. My white blood cell count was fine and my neutrophils were at 9 (normal range is 5-7), so my body was doing a good job of fighting whatever was going on. The radiologist's report showed something small in my right lung that they couldn't rule out as an infection. So Dr. B prescribed a hardcore, normal person's antibiotic to kill it (which will again kill the good stuff in me, too) and recommended I get some acidophilus to repair the good bacteria in my system. No hospital. No cancellation (yet) of round #8. He also ordered me a CT scan for next week to get a better look at the infection in my lung to rule out any other nasty stuff before next Friday. The last time I had a CT I sneezed through the whole scan, so let's hope I can keep it together next time.

I'm still coughing like an idiot and muddling through the hours with a blazing headache, but my chills have subsided for now. I swear I didn't make up the 38.4, even if it was nice to finally get a bit of attention for what ails me.  Just don't get me started on what that other "nasty stuff" could be. For once I don't wanna know.