After a rough Treatment Cycle 2, I was ready for Cycle 3 to get back on track. After all it was outpatient, meaning just one day of drugs, and my parents would be in town for it. I was ready to show them that I was fine and there was nothing to worry about.
The couple days before treatment, I was improving after the last mess. A little more energy to get through days with fewer moments like this:

For Cycle 3 Treatment, the plan was daytime at the clinic for the main treatment. There would be two quick trips back for some follow-up meds. My Mom joined me for the main treatment. I felt great! They give you some anti-nausea meds with steroids that really provide a lot of energy. Aside from the IV inserted into the chest, this is the day you can’t believe you’re fighting an illness. The day after, I was still doing okay. The tired was setting in, but I think I managed through the day.
Then there was Day 3…the day of sleep. I honestly don’t recall anything else from that day. I slept. On Day 4, I slept more. I could barely get myself vertical to eat (which was nauseating, so who cares) or drink to stay hydrated. But, hey, I’d done this treatment before. I knew that Monday (Day 5) was going to be different. The energy comes back. So Monday I dragged myself out of bed (twice, three times?) to get dressed for work. When I got to my desk late morning, I was deciding to find a way to make my purse lighter weight while I caught my breath from the 1 block walk from my car to the office. I think I worked about 1.5 hours before I realized my brain was ahead of my body.  I went home, which took a while, because, you know: Gather stuff to take home. Sit/rest. Walk to car. Rest. Drive home. That’s when you walk straight to the bed, kick off the shoes and climb in fully clothed. It’d be more dramatic if I’d bothered to make the bed before I left — I could have done one of those flop right on top of the bed things.
The next morning was meltdown morning. I think that’s when the last blog update happened. I did make it in for one good day at work this week and thought I was on track for 3 of them.  My energy was high (relatively speaking) and I was feeling like a productive member of society.  Then Thursday happened.
After a night of little sleep due to strange aches and panic over “it happening again,” i found myself at 9am sleep-deprived, dehydrated, dealing with an unusual ache, and scared because something doesn’t feel right. I have a doctor’s appointment at 1pm.  After some ibuprofen and a little nap on the sofa, we’re off to the doctor. I feel like crap. In the waiting room: I’m cold. Goosebumps? Oh no. I’m too cold. All I want is to lay down (or is lie down?). So much so, that I ask Kathy to ask the staff to find a place for me to do that. They’ve got me wrapped in warm blankets in the waiting room while they look. In my head I rotate the following:

• Please don’t admit me again.
• Holy crap, now I look like people think a cancer patient looks like.
• I bet the other waiting patients are all, “whew, at least that’s not me” (so I’m actually performing a public service, you know.
• Please,please,please, I just need to be horizontal.

While they check on a “comfort room,” I’m called in to see the docs. I nearly faint on the way to the room. We’re at the scale and the nice CNA/CAP is writing down vitals while I lean heavily on her counter. Everything gets a little weird looking and I blurt out, “I need to sit.” I hope it sounded as desperate as I felt. It’s possible I only got out “SIT!”. I saw a chair a few feet away and got to it. Head to my knees. When I was recovered, we move a room or two down to my exam room. Where, for the first time ever I just lay down on the exam table thingy. More warm blankets. Shivering. So much shivering. I can’t explain shivering. It just happens. Furniture shakes as a result of it. It’s like a personal earthquake, but you can’t get to a protective doorway to wait it out.
Sometime during the shivering I’m moved to a room with a real hospital bed. Blood is drawn. Tests are done. We learn I have no white blood cells (something like .23 per whatever unit they measure). My immune system has been TKO’d by the last treatment. My red blood cells are also down for the count. During what seems like a short period of time (but may be longer due delusions or fitful rest), the shivering stopped, my fever spiked to 103, and I threw up cranberry juice on my mom (Sorry, Mom).  By this point I am so tired, I don’t care if they admit me. That’s how I know I’m actually sick. Doctor says “we need to admit you,” and I’m like, “okay, cool.”
I’m home again now, after 4 days & 3 nights there. I was discharged yesterday (2:30pm order, left the room at 6:30, meds to fill for nighttime doses on a Sunday evening after most pharmacies closed….yes, that’s a crappy system, we have words for tomorrow’s appointment).  I still have an infection that is… uncomfortable… but I’m not fever spiking.  While incarerat– err, um.. while being cared for by the health system, I had two blood transfusions to improve my red blood cells. They are improved based on my observations that I can sit up (even stand up!) for longer periods of time without needing to lean. I still get fatigued and that won’t go away ’til this is done, but the goal is to have more vertical time than horizontal time. My blood cells will continue to build ’til the next treatment cycle. Word is my white blood cells are rejoining the party. And, overall, the doctor has determined that the level of treatments I’m getting are too much. We don’t want to compromise “cure,” but we need the healthy parts of my body to survive treatment. So, we’ll be dialing back on dosages.
There have been lessons this week:

• Expectations. We/I need to rewrite my expectations. I can’t do what I could do 3 months ago. Body 2015 is not Body 2014. It won’t operate the same, and expecting it to do so is a fool’s game.  I’m working on not being that fool. It’s hard, but I’m trying.
• Speaking of expectations… inability to predict the future.  I’m not sure I succeeded in convincing my visiting parents that I’m doing just fine and they shouldn’t worry.  They visited me in the hospital on their way to the airport at the end of their stay. So I think, at best, I was able to show that I’m okay some of the time and not to worry all of the time. That’s something, right?
• Accepting help. During their visit, I learned to be okay with my Mom doing my laundry. I’ve always been okay with someone else doing the dishes, so I’ve got that one down already. I’m keeping my eyes open for things that can be handled by other people.
• Gratitude for what I have.  During my hospital stay, at least one person in a room near mine this weekend did not go home to their family. Someone else (the same person?) arrived in much more dire circumstances than mine. It’s sobering and horrifying and so many things that I can’t put into words. But I walked out, and I will make it through this current setback. Not everyone – not everyone’s family – can say the same.

Three down, Fourteen to go.