It appears I was a bit too optimistic about that storm being over after all. Last night was probably one of the worst nights of my life, in terms of physical pain and discomfort, anyway. While most patients still experience "mild fevers" after the first round of chemotherapy, there are apparently a rare few patients whose donor cells just get really pissed off that the chemo is trying to kill them and so they get together to wage one last all-out war. That was my night. My fever started off mild, but when I laid down for bed, it kicked in to high gear. It did not matter what the nurse did, nothing could keep the fever under control. Tylenol wasn't putting a dent in it, so she switched to I.V. Tylenol, which also had no impact. They put me on pain killers to help with the rigors, but they wore off before I was allowed to have them again. I spent the night curled into the fetal position to try and gain any small amount of warmth while nurses placed ice packs all over me. I cried a lot. I hurt. I prayed.
And around 5:00 this morning, when I had finally managed to doze off from sheer exhaustion, my nurse came in to take my vitals and inform me that I was going to have an EKG in ten minutes, and be taken down for a chest x-ray right after that because my breathing had been poor throughout the night and my heart rate was incredibly fast, and the doctors were just slightly concerned with how high my fever was. The results all came back fine. I was just really sick. And the fever remained out of control all morning until the chemotherapy started and then it instantly started breaking. But I felt all my transplant nightmares come to life. Infections the doctors missed or can't control, fevers that go out of control and the cause is unknown, all of these can mean death in a transplant. I've had my fill. I am ready to go home now.
But I don't have a home to go home to anymore. I have an apartment that we didn't like, run by management who say one thing and then put something else on paper. And our dogs are going crazy due to all the stress and back and forth of the past few months and have started attacking each other at random times. And we don't even know what we are going to do or where we will be 6 months from now. I feel like everything is broken. I just want out of this stupid hospital room, I want to go back with my family to our house, get all of our animals back on a routine and happy, and be done with all this stupid cancer crap. It's been 12 years. It's time. I just want to go home.
I haven't slept more than five or six hours total over the past three nights, so I hope a decent night's rest will give me a better spirit to combat the day with tomorrow. But I am terrified to go to bed. My nurse assured me the fevers have passed, but I am scared. Every time I feel a little chilled, I run to check my temperature. I pray for sleep tonight. For sleep, and for peace.