Whadda Ya KnowAbout That in The Common Room

Well, here I am. If a couple of doctors are right, I may eventually recover. If the othrr is right, not so much. .I've just (yesterday) had my fourth infusion, so today is pretty inactive. The process,including the triiip there and back and getting in and out with the walker and the oxygen tanks is quite tirring.

Since some people have expressed curriosity, let's see if I can (just this once) give a synopsis of what happened.

After seversl years of feeling progressively worse and accepting it as age, I had a fall. It was painful and took time to recover, but wasn't particularly damaging. However, in the x-rays for broken bones (just cracked) a shadow was found on my left lung. The technitian thought pneumonia, but my PCP couldn't find any and said to find a pulmonologist, which I did, after some time in trying to find one and get an appointment.

Over the next months, I had many tests: x-rays, CT scan (where the technician pushed on the shoulder I said wouldn't move any farther and damaged something so that I could not turn my head or tip it back for 5 months), a broncoscopy (in hospital and under anesthesia), a needle guided biopsy.

On the 31st of January, I called elsest daughter to ask her to come and rub my neck (she's a physical therapist), but reallly just wanted her to be with her father, because I felt I was dying, and truly welcomed that event. She took me to the doctor and he sent me to the hospital

On the 2nd of February, a needle aspiration was perfomed by the idiot doctor who was in charge of the floor, without asking my doctor. He did a bad job, finding nothing to aspirate. Two hours afterward, I collapsed and the crash team came. I reminded youngest daughter that she was the one appointed to see that I was left alone. Then I started down the passageway to the light, feeling welcomed and with great eagerness.

I was not conscious and was put on a ventilator by the same fool doctor, named Austin.. He told youngest daughter to call hospice. I was told later that she began to demand Dr.Gilby be called - my pulmonologist - and he came running, with my cardiologist Dr. Teng. Their offices adjoin the hospital.

The next thing I knew, just as I was about to enter that welcoing place, I heard youngest daughter calling me, saying, "Come back Momma, come back. I need you.." I turned back toward her voice.Some time passed, while I tried to make contact, to move or to speak. Then I heard her say "Breathe Mom, deep Breath." Then I felt something leave my throat (the ventillator tube) took a deep breath and heard cheering. Someone wiped some gell off my eyes and I opened them.

The first thing I saw was little Dr. Gilby, with a big smile. Because of the light refraction on the rest of the gel, things were odd colored. So I said "Hello, Dr. Gilby. You're green." He gave me a peculial look and I slept for a while. I've been on oxygen since then.

The crash put my heart in arterial fibrulation. That means that part of it is beating at a high rate and part isn't. It can't pump properly and so oxygen has trouble being delivered.

Somewhere along abut this time, we finally has a diagnosis - or rather, several of them. The infection wasn't in my lung (why the biopsys didn't find it) but all around it. It was called empyema and is a real tough one, which I may have been fighting for several years, until my body gave up.This explained the wild chills and fevers I'd had for months. I also had a stomach full of h-Pylori,,, a virus that goes with or causes ulcers - I had many of them. It also accompanies/ causes MALT lymphoma, which I also have.

For 21 days I was given massive doses of three antibiotics, intravenously. This was to kill the empyema and the H-pylori. Acctually that and the MALT lymphoma also are treated with Peto Bismol. of which I had to drink a large bottle each day. What fun. What horrid food. I could write a book about those 21 days. I assure you that I won't, though.

My daughters stood watch turn in turn and never left me alone. Youngest is an RN and several times she spotted something that needed immmediate attention before the hospital people did, although they were very good. I was so sick and so miserable and so disparing that I often was angry and felt betrayed that the person I had counted on to see that my wishes were carried out was the one to "betray" me into turning back. A most difficult time for all. I tried not to say that, because I could see in her eyes that she knew how I might feel, and we all knew that it could all be for nothing. I was sure of it.

On February 19, I had thorasic surgery, to wash out and scrape the inside and outside of my lungs, as I was loosing the "fight". That turned the corner and the fevers began to abate. I could breath a little easier, although not much.

On February 14, the cardiologist shocked my heart back into sinus rhythm. What a relief. No more feeling like I was running for my life all the time. Fewer panic attacks. (My brain's reaction to the 144 and up heart rate. No more clutching feeling in my chest all they time. The next day I received my first chemo infusion and on the 18 of February I was sent home - and glad to go, although I could not dress myself or get to the bathroom alone. Daughters continued to stay , changing off every second day or so.

Two days out of the hospital, my heart lapsed back into a-fib. Here it stays. Dr. Teng tries one medication after another to slow the heart rate Some of them have bad side effects. If the side effects are worse than having the two chambers of one's heart try to pull esch other apart, we drop that one. We'r getting pretty near the end of the line one this. No more meds to try. When the rate goes up and down (as meds work or give out) it feels like being nailed in a Whack-a-Mole (as the mole) that 's strapped to a roller coaster. Not at all pleasant. Better than being dead? Maybe. Especially since I feel a little like I'd spit on the invitation and won't be invited back to that welcoming place. Who knows? I'm stuck with what is-- no matter what it is.

Did I mention the swelling. My body swelled. I gained 35 pounds in two weeks. My skin split, especially y legs, so I look as though I'd tangled with a weed-whacker. No infections from thsat (How, with all those anti-biotics?) I take enough diuretic to keep me in the bathroom a lot -A LOT. I've lost those 35 and more. My legs and feet are still swollen, but the part that was shutting off my diaphram is gone and I no longer have a J-Lo butt.

Dr Teng is letting me rest, without change of medication for three weeks. Then he'll be back to a different type of meds, which he says "are a litle rough, but set up the heart for another conversion" -- that's check into the hospital, be sedated and shocked again.

Seem to have run out of space. Will make second entry

There are some pretty good days, when the meds are working and mhy rate is down. Of course, I'm tethered to the oxygen -- those small portable units are not for Medicare people - and that's a problem. I have gone, with husband, to the grocery once and to the pharmacy oncwe. Totally wiped out afterwward. Twice we've had enough exygen after a doctor's visit to eat out at the salad bar between his offic and home. Glorious that.

Willing or unwilling, I am here and doing the best I can with what I have. Daughters returned to their own lives (although they drop by each week) sometime near the end of April, when I could dress and shower by myself. I can cook a little and put things into the washer and dryer. I don't really look sick any more. See. Here I am a month or so ago.