2nd Hospital Trip, Part 1

Okay, today I start the hardest blog for me to write, just because a lot of the most horrible things happened to me during this second hospitalization. I am going to break the story up into at least 2, maybe even 3, posts.

After my first chemo, I did okay. The doctors told us what to look for, but we really had no idea what to expect. Marshall had to fly back to Atlanta on Sunday, and I was starting to fade. By Wednesday I had a fever that would just not break. I remember getting up in the middle of the night to go to the bathroom, and sometimes it would take me a while. Sometimes, I just did not even have the energy. One morning, not even sure of the time, it could have been the middle of the night, actually, I needed to get up, but just couldn't muster myself to get up. For some reason, and not really sure where the strength came from, but I stuck my leg in the air, hoping that someone would see me.

Not sure how long I laid there like that, but Mom came in and said Montana came to get her. (Montana is my brother's dog, he looks like a blue heeler, but is about 3-4 times bigger than a normal one, and became my saving grace many times.) I told mom I needed to go to the bathroom, so she helped me put my leg down, and stand up. Once in the bathroom, I could not get myself up, again. As I was sitting there, waiting for my mom to get my dad to help her, my legs (both of them) started falling asleep, then the worst thing possible happened. I got calf cramps in both of my legs. Normally when this happens, I put all my weight on my foot, in order to stretch the muscle. My position on the toilet did not allow for this. Not exactly sure when mom called the paramedics, but I think between her and dad being unable to help me up, and the fever that still hadn't broke, she was told to call them, probably by the on-call oncologist.

So, I am sitting on the toilet, calves still cramped up, when 2 paramedics come in and pull me off the toilet. They help me into the dining room, where I sit down, and dad gives me my daily meds. They check my vitals, bring in a gurney, and then I am loaded up and heading to Presbyterian hospital, yet again.  One of the medics tried like 3 or 4 times to start an IV on me in the ambulance, but no dice. (I can still show you the scar on the back of my right hand from one of the places he tried to stick.)

Get to the hospital, wheeled into the ER, and they start to transfer me to a bed. Someone (mom?) says, NO, she is supposed to go straight up to the 5th floor (Oncology), and so they stop trying to move me, and I am taken straight upstairs. Once I am situated in a room (which basically means, in bed, with an automatic blood pressure cuff attached) is when the fun begins. The auto-cuff is reading that my BP is 40/12. WHAT? Well, that can't be right, so they bring in another machine, still 40/12. They call in another nurse, and both begin to check my BP manually. 40/12. Mind you, I am wide awake at this time, and bitching and moaning that I HATE having my blood pressure taken, couldn't they just draw blood instead, mom, this hurts, make them stop! So the nurses are completely perplexed, because, yes, my BP is 40/12, and I am wide awake and talking. Apparently, most people with a blood pressure that low would be in a coma. Well, from that point on, I had 2 automatic cuffs hooked up to me, set to check my BP every 15 minutes, as well as 2 nurses coming in to check my BP in between the times that the auto cuff is set to go off. Did I mention I HATE having my blood pressure taken?

This is another time that my mom says of course I was talking, I had to tell them what was wrong with me, and I couldn't do that if I was in a coma.

Blood pressure finally stabilized, my theory is that I had already taken the little blue blood pressure pill, and my dad accidentally gave me a second one with my morning pills.