Starting on Friday the 6th the nauseousness really picked up which eventually lead to an almighty puke-athon. The only difference this time vs. other times when my stomach has been upset is that once I started throwing up, I couldn't stop. Every 10-15 minutes I was running to the bathroom or using the bucket I eventually just started leaving on the floor next to my side of the bed. My legs were starting to feel like jell-o, and I could just tell I was becoming weaker by the minute and becoming slightly light-headed. It was time to take action and head to the ER. Food wasn't staying down nor were the anti-nausea meds that I was prescribed. I have to tell you, I felt like a million bucks when we left the ER that evening. All my body needed was some fluids to rehydrate, and Zofran via IV to calm down the upset stomach. Thankfully this works because I've made 2 additional trips since - Friday the 13th, and just yesterday. Can I just say, not only am I tired of throwing my guts up, but I'm tired of hanging out in hospitals!! It's sad when you actually become comfortable though being in a hospital as if it's a second home.
These last 2 times I've ended up in the ER have been quite bad - worse than the first time even. These times included stomach cramping/muscle spasms that wrapped around my sides and back. It was like my muscles were trying to squeeze the life right out of me. It really did take my breath away, and I had to really concentrate on taking over-exaggerated deep breaths just to force myself to calm down the best I could. The second time around (on the 13th) we ended up needing to drive to the U so I could be admitted into the hospital. I had to have 2 peripheral lines put into my hand (can we say OUCH!?), and all sorts of testing was done on me to see if they could figure out what was causing these terrible GI issues. Of course all the tests came back negative for this, that, and the other, but it didn't stop them from keeping me until Sunday for observation. Fun weekend, right? Since I was already admitted, and they already knew about this bacterial infection I was being treated for, they decided it was time to say, "bye bye" to my port that I've had since last August. Any and all plastic "hardware" needed to come out as the infection has a tendency to attach itself to plastic, which is what my line and port are made out of.
In the beginning I absolutely hated this port, and I was sort of sad in a way to see it go because it has become a part of me, and has been with me through this whole Lymphoma journey. It was my main line for receiving all the healing juices that have been pumped into my body up until the central line, and has saved me from dozens of needle pokes to the arm for which I'm grateful. It was very bittersweet to say the least, but now I'm glad it's gone. I no longer have things sticking out of my chest, and am starting to feel like a normal person again! I must have had some good conversations while being slightly sedated in the OR because I left the room with a hand-written Zumba schedule in my hand from one of the male physician assistants for a couple places in Minneapolis, along with class prices. I do even remember fist pumping to a song that came on the radio, and saying "I'm liking the song!". I'm going to guess that this is how the Zumba conversation originated.
Yesterday I could just tell it was all starting up again, and no amount of anti-nausea medication was going to stop this train. Just like the time before I went from 0 to awful in a matter of 20 minutes. It was about 4 pm, and I knew it was going to be a later evening for Josh at work so my game plan was to call my mom to see if she'd swing by after work to hang with me, or bring me to the ER if needed. After puking my guts out every 5 minutes I grabbed my phone and realized I missed a call from her. It was like she knew something was up. I called her right back and she offered to come right over. I'm so glad she did because I needed to get to the ER, and was in no shape to drive myself. In just the hour and a half (the time it started to leaving for the hospital) of toilet hugging my legs were already wobbly, my arm muscles shaking uncontrollably, and by this point I wasn't even throwing up bile anymore - It was foam. We didn't wait as long to head to the ER as the times before because I knew how this all rolled out, and I knew the sooner I could get in, the sooner there'd be relief. This was after all round 3 of this nonsense.
When we got to the emergency room, all the rooms were occupied so we waited. And waited. And waited some more. I'm sure we weren't in the waiting room that long, but to me it felt like an eternity. It was torture. Josh eventually made his way over to the hospital so the 3 amigos were reunited to battle the beast also known as my gut. Even though I felt terrible, I had both Josh and my mom there every step of the way to ease a little of the anxiety of the whole ordeal. My mom even sat in the hospital rest room with me every time I did my "business" as we waited for a bed to open up while Josh sat in the waiting room watching our purses. She was so afraid that I'd faint in the bathroom, or fall and hit my head that she wanted to be in there. Sorry you had to experience that mom! I'm glad she was with me though because the last time we were walking back to the waiting room from the bathroom I almost passed out. If she wasn't there holding my arm I would have taken a digger without a doubt. Between the wobbly legs and everything going black who knows what I would have smashed into! My guess is the couple of wheelchairs that were sitting against the window. I'm guessing that would have hurt just a tad.
When Josh saw what almost happened he ran over and grabbed my other arm and between the 2 of them they were able to get me over to the corner spot where we were sitting, and at this point I decided I was going to lay on the floor. It was carpeted so I wasn't too concerned. It just felt so much better than sitting upright in an uncomfortable chair and eased my stomach a bit. Whatever it was - my mom yelling at the check-in nurse that they were "about to have a real medical emergency on their hands" due to me almost face-planting it in the waiting room, me laying on the ground, or them just not wanting to hear us complain any longer, we were able to get set up with a bed in one of the triage rooms where both the fluids and zofran started while we continued to wait for a room to open up. I was already starting to come around within the first 5 minutes, and after an hour or so was feeling pretty darn good besides being thirsty and starving.
I've been going into the clinic every single day for these IV meds, so I was able to get squeezed into one of the providers schedules so that we could discuss these issues. What he recommended for me was to get one round of Dexamethasone (I received today) which is a steroid and anti-nausea medication that lasts around 5 days in the system, along with taking one dose of disolvable zofran (unable to throw up) daily for 7-10 days whether I'm feeling sick or not. He also took away one of my meds and cut down another one from 5 times a day to 3 as I guess this particular medication can cause some GI issues as well. I'm hopeful that these changes will be my ticket to a (cross my fingers) puke-free future.
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