At 10 pm, Monday night, we headed to the ER at Mayo after Will found me lying on the bathroom floor where he placed a cozy throw under me (given to me by my sister, Lauren, in the hospital when five straight days of Chemo proved too much for me in Dec. of 2019), and when I couldn’t pick up my head, much less sit up or stand, last night, Will took my blood pressure, which was very low, and when he couldn’t find my pulse—David got the wheel chair, and they both lifted me into it to get me to the car, which Will had backed out of the garage to ease transferring me from transport chair to front passenger seat without dizzying me too much to hold up my head and sit up during our 20 minute ride to Mayo.
Once there, while sitting in Mayo’s wheel chair, my head hanging down against my chest. my blood pressure had dropped, again, to 70/45. Had I stood up, it would have dropped, even more as per my history in my cardiologist’s office.
Blood tests showed great drops in my platelets and white blood cells, as well.
Normally, platelets are at 220,000. Last night mine were at 10,000. Cause to be concerned about a bleed. My white blood cells, normally at 80,000 were at 1000. The fact that I was dehydrated, saw my blood pressure, respond well to two liters of fluid that had been absorbed via IV, closing in on normal, and by 2am I was able to hold my head up while sitting on the edge of the ER bed. So the ER doctor discharged me, and upon arriving home at about 3:30, David brought the wheelchair curbside in readiness to wheel me into our bedroom, where I was seen wearing the plush red robe that my grandsons, Tony and Ray, had chosen for my birthday (with pj’s and slippers to match for Chanukah)—all under Barry’s perceptive guidance.
Having worn the robe to the ER and then on the ride home, I slept in it through the rest of the night, and none of us arose until 10am, when Will texted our housekeeper to Pls come another day, because I was too sick for any activity to swirl around the house until my brain stops swirling each time I stand up, even with help.
As quiet is all I craved, today, this afternoon’s Shakespeare class saw me absent, regardless of how much the lively banter in which we engage is enjoyed while zooming for an hour and a half, each week.
What would I do without the vigilance, born of Will’s love and David’s readiness to help ease our way whenever this thorny briar patch feels far too prickly for me to envision each next sunny pasture, awaiting our arrival, directly ahead—again and again.
I’d cautiously felt less physical miseries, today, though my energy is still non existent. And even with my walker, next to my bed, I ask for Will’s help or David’s so as to make my dizzied way to our bathroom without sinking to the floor as happened, last evening, preceding our drive to the ER.
I’m not at all sure that I can keep doing chemo—it really takes a toll, and this is the same protocol that I was able to tolerate, last spring, without lying on the tile floor with everything spinning around inside my head, like a child’s fully wound top ...
I can’t imagine feeling like this over the next two months or more, depending upon how often chemo must be delayed until my blood test numbers increase.
Right now, I’m grateful to be in my own bed where a sense of inner peace suggests that my power of intuition will speak up, guiding my spirit toward whatever insight-based decision will, ultimately, provide my on-going recovery with the wisdom to heal—completely.
🙋🏻♀️Annie
