#needed fluids after chemo but they admitted me

[filet-o-feelings]

One of my nurses left me this tiny capybara on my tray 😊

Nurses love me and love to give me little trinkets apparently lol

[livingandthriving]

A year ago today I went to see my doctor, hoping to get some answers (and treatment) for my increasingly severe respiratory issues. She ruled out asthma and sent me to the ER to get some tests done. Little did I know I'd end up hospitalized for 3.5 weeks.

(This is going to be long, sorry.)

They tested me for Covid and allergies, and when those came back negative they did a CT scan, and that was when they saw I probably had some type of lymphoma. They did not tell me this right away, just that there was a lot of fluid build-up around my lungs, among other things. Getting that drained was Not Fun (I almost passed out). I was admitted to the hospital proper after that, and spent 10 days in the Pneumology ward hooked up to O2 and getting the pleural effusion drained every few days while waiting on an official diagnosis. They did tell me on day 2 that they'd found what might be tumor and needed to do a biopsy to confirm, so when the diagnosis turned out to be Hodgkins lymphoma I was not completely surprised, but it still felt unreal. (Mind you, when the hospital psychologist came in with the doctor to break the news, I had a feeling it wasn't going to be good.)

The doctor was quick to reassure me that my prognosis was good, but there was clearly no time to lose since I was promptly transferred to Lyon to start chemo. I got my first helicopter ride out of the deal: they were concerned about potential traffic jams on the highway and didn't want to risk it while I was still on oxygen. My best friend's response when I messaged her to tell her this was to suggest I hum the Mission: Impossible theme while in the air. I didn't, but the crew found her suggestion hilarious. 😂

I made it to Lyon without incident, and my parents arrived shortly after I did (traffic was fine after all) to find that I was already something of a celebrity: apparently they don't get many patients come in by helicopter. Upon learning this, Best Friend's sister requested my autograph. (There's a reason I'm good friends with this family.) 😆

The next day was a blur of procedures, culminating in getting hooked up to my first round of chemo that evening. I was a little concerned about potential nausea, but thankfully the anti-nausea meds they gave me beforehand worked beautifully. I was still exhausted afterwards, though. That would be my default state for the next few months.

A few days in, it was determined that poking a new hole in me every 3-4 days to drain the pleural effusion was highly impractical, especially since it was going to take a while to go away, so I got a drainage tube put in. It was Supremely Uncomfortable (I was on morphine for several days), but within a few hours they were finally able to take me off oxygen! Being able to breathe normally never felt so good.

I got to go home in between rounds of chemo, which was very nice, even if I wasn't back in my own room (I had twice-daily nurse visits and it was easier for me to be in the guest room downstairs).

Going back for the second round was definitely different: no helicopter, I was able to walk in, and I knew what to expect this time - well, mostly. I didn't anticipate having to stay a couple of extra days because getting a new Picc line put in proved challenging. It's always something, isn't it? 😅

Thankfully that was the last time I had to stay at the hospital for more than a few hours: the PET scan I got a few weeks later showed that I was in remission, and I was able to do the rest of my chemo as an outpatient at my local hospital. Aside from two sessions getting postponed due to illness/low white blood cell count, that all went smoothly and I had my final session in January.

Early February I got another PET scan which confirmed that I was in complete remission, at which point I could focus on recovery. This is definitely going to be the longest part; I was told it can take up to 2 years to get back to normal. The fact that I'm already back at work, albeit part-time, is pretty good, all things considered.

So, how did all this affect me emotionally? The first few days in the hospital were probably the hardest, because something was obviously very wrong, but I didn't know what. In spite of that, I had a sense of peace and that God was in control (the song The Goodness of God was stuck in my head for days). That peace persisted even with the diagnosis, which is definitely a miracle because I'm generally prone to anxiety and jumping to the worst-case scenario. Instead, my reaction was, "Welp, this is gonna suck, but I'm going to make it." It helped that I had lots of people praying for me.

Even so, there were some rough moments. Losing my hair a few weeks in was especially difficult. I knew it was going to grow back, but I think that was when everything really started to sink in. Having to cancel my travel plans for the fall was another hard pill to swallow. Not being able to go to church was probably the hardest.

How am I doing now? Well, I'm still processing everything (hence this post), and likely will be for some time. It still feels a little unreal to tell people I had cancer. It's not one of those things you ever think you'll have to deal with, at least I didn't think I would. But here we are. I will say the fact that I'm starting to really process it all now is a good sign since it means my brain is no longer in survival mode. Hopefully that will continue.

I could go on, but this is already very long (kudos to you if you made it this far) and it's late, so for now I'll just say I'm grateful to still be here. Oh, and if you start having weird symptoms, don't wait to see a doctor.

[highwaydiamonds]

Um. Excuse me. You had cancer??

Yeah... I mean I guess I really haven't discussed it much on tumblr. I have a little bit, but only in vague ways, or rarely made veiled references in tags.

SO, get a drink, get a snack, because this is a bit of a saga, and you already know I am longwinded at the best of times. I'm going to do like Vizzini said, and go back to the beginning. I hope you're ok I'm making this public Shells, it seems easier to? And I'll put this behind a cut because I really do wax on ( and on).

It's the end of August 2018 and i appear to have gotten some kind cold/respiratory infection. I'm at work the first day of it and it feels like a cold. No big deal. (Also this is all pre-COVID so no I didn't have COVID). The next day I feel really awful, so I call off work, and figure all I need to do is rest and I'll be ok. Turns out, NOPE. The next day I feel worse- now I can tell I have a bit of a fever, my appetite was basically, " eat one baby carrot and my appetite is exhausted." Finally, I get to the point that I am having trouble lying down - as in I am becoming short of breath when I try to lie flat (sorry if I am using the wrong word - lay/lie was always a grammar issue that eluded me.) So, I decide, ok, i will be sensible girl and go get medical attention. But I am stubborn and feel the ER is overreacting, so I go to urgent care. i park in the front row of urgent car parking, but by the time I reach the intake desk I have to put my head down because I am so winded and a bit lightheaded.

They take one look at me and tell me, point blank, "we're getting a squad for you to take you to the ER." I say, " what? no, I don't need that, this is not that big a deal." They counter, " you could barely walk in the door and you you are having significant trouble breathing. We don't have the ability to see you here." So, for the first time in my life I have to go via ambulance from urgent care to a free standing ER.

I get to the ER - where they decide, OK, lady, you're a mess. Let's get some chest x-rays and we're gonna slap some IV fluids and I can't even recall if they immediately put me on IV antibiotics or not. But after two hours there they informed me, " hey.... So, we think you need to go to the hospital-hospital not the freestanding ER." I tell them well you better hand me my laptop ( I'm that bitch who takes the laptop with her juuuuust in case I am stuck in the hospital. you never know.) Because i am not going to a hospital until I figure out if they're in my health plan. I do so and then for the second time in my life, all in one night because sometimes I am an over achiever i guess, I go via ambulance to the hospital.

They admitted me and over the next few/couple/ hours ( it was hard to tell) I progressively felt worse. I had trouble breathing if I didn't sit absolutely straight up, and at that point I hadn't gotten good sleep for around 60 hours or so. Me being me I started to get teary and panicky, because I was so tired and wasn't sure what to do. I called for the nurse and she came in and then within the next half hour your girl got taken down to the ICU. By the time we arrived down in the ICU I was really getting panicky. My mom died in the ICU ( different hospital but still) and I knew the fact they took me down there was no laughing matter. I started to think about, " ok is this what death is like? this isn't what i thought it was going to be - this is panicky and scary and not all white lights and peace."

The next thing I knew - it was two days later, and I woke up intubated. Did you know that you can be conscious and intubated? I did not. I'll speed things up a bit here. I spent a total of 8 days in the ICU - I had one hell of a case of pneumonia, and there were a couple of other diagnoses thrown in ( nope, not cancer. promise, we will get there.) . The nurses I had were AMAZING. I was intubated for about 6 of those 8 days. Then I got weaned off of it. Funniest moment on the ventilator: Physical therapist comes around and says, " Hey let's get you up and walking, you think you can?" I nodded and shrugged my shoulders to try and communicate, " sure, ok!" It went totally fine, but there were nursing students, residents, other doctors and who knows who else looking out of rooms and over desks at the two of us just y'know... *walking down the hall*. I gestured to the people because it was just flipping weird. I had an audience at the exact time NOBODY wants an audience and it confused the hell out of me. PT advised me, " there aren't too many times ventilated patients are ambulatory. You're a bit of a curiosity so people want to see."

Once I got out of the ICU and was put back on a regular floor, I got to meet with other doctors re those other diagnoses I mentioned ( chronic things I just have to manage) I also mentioned that it had been a really long time since I had been to a GYN and as had been noted in the ICU I spotted quite frequently ( I have never, ever in my life been regular period-wise and it just got weirder over time, but I just didn't really consider it. So I asked while they were setting me up with new practitioners ( my previous doctor had retired) too please set me top with a gynecologist.

So I'm out of the hospital by September 10th, 2018. The gyro appointment occurs i want to say by mid- to late September. I go in and meet her and she's lovely. While I'm up on the table she says, " hey let's do all the things and get a uterine biopsy!" I say, " excellent, do the things!" We agree it's likely going to be nothing but hey we're smart people and we will play it safe. Huzzah Gyno visit accomplished! (if I were a gamer I'd make some kind of ladybits achievement unlocked now, but I'm not a gamer.)

Two or so weeks go by - or however long it takes to get those test results back (some of these spans are lost in the mists of time). Dr Boyle calls me and apologizes that the test results that she was sure would be nothing... they are not nothing. Turns out, it's endometrial cancer.

At that point you could have knocked me over with a feather. Shells, I wanted my mom to be there so badly, I can't even express it. She would have understood how I felt - she'd been there with her breast cancer. But at the same time, I was glad she wasn't there? I remember how heartsick my mom was to tell Grandmommy when Mom got cancer. I didn't want my mom to have to hear that news, to worry about that. Dr Boyle advised me that she would be referring me to a good oncologist and i should hear from them in a week or two.

Thus began MRIS and PET scans and ultrasounds, and blood work etc. The oncologist diagnosed that he figured I might be stage three, but it depended on my lymph involvement. It brought back memories of when Mom was diagnosed and when she told me she was stage three. I asked my Dad later, "what does that mean?" He told me, " there are only four stages, so what do you think?" This time around I knew what it meant. So, we put me down for surgery November 9th, 2018. That's two days before my birthday - so I joked that I was getting my cancer out for my birthday - hooray! My best friend actually flew in from texas for my surgery ( my best friend is a SAINT, and I love her more than pearls and rubies.)

Best surgery story from this experience: For my total hysterectomy (uterus and ovaries go sayonara and then also two signal lymph nodes in the chain of nodes on either side of the pelvis to se if there is any lymph complication.) I had to be tilted back - so with my head down to move as many organs away from the uterus etc during the laparoscopic procedure. I knew this going in, However, when I woke up back in my hospital room I looked at Bestie and said, " I hurt in places I didn't expect to hurt. Oh wait. My shoulders hurt because they're not used to being weight bearing, but the procedure was laproscopic - so why the heck does my vagina hurt?" Bestie in one of her best moments ever says, " I know why." I replied, " wait, YOU know why MY vagina hurts?!" She said, " yep. So your surgery was supposed to take 3-3.5 hours ended up taking 5 hours instead. Your uterus was really big. The oncologist told us they need up having to cut it in half to pull it out of you." bestie admitted she joked with the oncologist that it was like I had just birthed a baby, he looked back at her (NOT laughing) and said, " yes, that's basically what she did." I laughed so much at that ( i mean i was also well medicated, but still) I told Bestie, " I had a Uterus! Let's call it George!" ( In retrospect I am disappointed in myself that I misgendered my own uterus, I should have called it Georgina.)

So, after healing from the surgery, by about January of 2019 I started two courses (each with a few rounds) of chemo. First came what the doctors and I called "low-pro" chemo - that we did along with radiation. Honestly, though i was making a heck of a lot more bathroom trips, you wouldn't have generally known I was sick. Most of my coworkers had no idea. I just was a bit more tired than usual. After the low pro rounds - then we moved to the bigger guns. Radiation was done but I moved to more significant chemo drugs, This wasn't because things were bad - this was the plan all along :) But I knew the "high-pro" chemo was going to make me lose my hair. THAT was a psychic struggle. I cried so much knowing that was going to happen. I got hats and caps and I even got a very nice wig. I mean, I planned as much as a girl can plan when she hears that news. I even preemptively cut my long hair. It was about half way down my back at that point. So I went in and asked the stylist please braid it and put it in between two hair ties - and then cut it - so i could keep my braid. I couldn't do locks of love anyway as it was colored, and I know it's selfish, but I wanted my hair. So, the hair went from half down my back to a face framing bob. then I just waited. And then in a few weeks it happened. I could put my hands through my hair and easily, painlessly pull it out. I am not a cute bald girl. That's when people KNOW you have something going on.

I was very lucky though, there ended up NOT being lymph involvement, and even the high pro chemo didn't make me nauseous or lose appetite. I did have HORRIBLE bone pain usually the first week after chemo ( i'd get it every three weeks). I learned a hell of a lot from that. I also was able to get some meds to help alleviate it a bit, and I took time from work when the pain was at its worst. But I have never experienced pain like that - where no matter what I did - no position changes helped. Even ice packs or heat pads didn't help or do much. It was just a waiting game, a painful waiting game. Oh also - I learned that IV benadryl is nothing like oral benadryl. IV benadryl is like walking right into a brick wall made of sleep. That stuff knocked me the hell out right quick - amazing.

Right before COVID started and the world shut down I got the flu because my immune system was in the toilet- and so I spent another week in the hospital and except for the bone pain that comes with chemo, you know what is worse than chemo injections? POTASSIUM injections. Among other things, my potassium levels were low and so I got those injections with other meds. Those suckers HURT. they BURN, and so i spent a week in the hospital only to eventually come out and find out the world was starting to shut down from COVID. Not my job at that point, but my oncologist told me, " GO HOME - YOU KNOW YOU ARE IMMUNO COMPROMISED - DON'T STAY AT WORK." So, I went home until about a month after I finished chemo.

Since finishing chemo it's been about scans, which have gone ok so far... I'm not willing to talk about the R word. I just think I'll have to be careful the rest of my life - My mom always said, "once you've gotten cancer, you always have cancer." So, maybe it's the anxiety talking, but it's kind of like waiting for the other cancer shoe to drop. In the mean time though, it's business as usual - try to find good stuff in the midst of the hot mess. Cancer has been a crisis but not a reason to lose my sense of humor. I've needed it more than ever :)

So, sorry for the SERIOUSLY LONG ASS answer, but sometimes it's just better to lay it bare. I'm not ashamed of this stuff. It's been a lot. It's been a journey... It still is... it's part of the rest of my journey, which i hope isn't over by a long shot yet. I don't believe things happen for reasons - the world is WAY too absurd for that in my opinion, BUT good gravy have i been able to learn so much from this whole three ring circus. I'm not grateful for cancer, but I am grateful for the lessons.

Thanks for checking in, Shells. You're a complete sweetheart.

[unichrome]

I’ve been wanting to write down as much as I can remember from the month at the hospital in April, and this tumblr blog is the only thing I have that even remotely resembles a journal. So here it is, feel free to read and comment if you’d like, but please don’t reblog.

I was living in Copenhagen when this happened.

A few weeks prior, I started a new medication, an antipsychotic so the usual side effect was to be expected: tiredness. But I’ve been in this carousel before, I know the worst is over after a week or so. I did indeed become extremely tired, and this was during working-from-home corona days so most shifts I ended up napping in the couch at any chance I got. Easily slept 12+ hours per night. It kept getting worse, I couldn’t stay awake during the days, became extremely lethargic. And it didn’t get better after a week, it just kept getting worse. So I called my psychiatrist and told her the medication wasn’t working and I felt so very bad and tired.

I got a new appointment with her, which I can’t even remember really. She got worried and sent me off to the psychiatric ward, where they did the standard blood test. Then sent me off to a room. Luckily I had anticipated for something like this to happen, so I had brought the work phone as well as chargers, so I could call in sick to work. A while later, three people suddenly entered and told me I had to go to the hospital right now, two of them were from the hospital transport. They took me to Amager hospital, I was so confused and not really present at all. I don’t know what they told me, but I needed a blood transfusion immediately. I stayed there for a night, the only thing I can remember is going to the bathroom once.

The Amager hospital apparently wasn’t capable of providing the care I needed, I was transported yet again, to Rigshospitalet. The memories from here on are very blurry and sporadic. Eventually I heard that both of my kidneys were failing, when I was admitted on April 22nd, my kidney functionality was around 18%. If it drops under 20% it becomes lethal. Kidneys are also responsible for the production of blood, which wasn’t happening anymore and I had a very dangerously low count of red blood cells.

I’m super difficult to get blood from if the first attempt isn’t successful, as the poor nurses became painfully aware of after failing on the first try. During one of the first days there, when the daily blood test was to be taken, they didn’t succeed. Three nurses tried, eventually they called for a narcosis doctor to try with a ultrasound machine to find my veins, but it didn’t work very well either. They stung me all around the body, down to my feet and it took at least an hour to get the sample and my body had pretty much gone into shock since medical procedures and needles of any kind are one of my worst fears. Because of this it was decided to install a port for draining blood so this wouldn’t have to be repeated every day.

A kidney biopsy was ordered as well as more detailed blood tests to figure out why this kidney failure was happening. I would also have to call my parents in Sweden and tell them what was happening, and the fact that they couldn’t come and visit me, at all. I was in a quarantined zone of the hospital where no visitors were allowed, not even family. But also Denmark had closed its borders at the time, so they couldn’t even enter the country in the first place.

My only contact with the outside world was my phone that I treated as the most precious thing in the entire world, it was also pretty much the only thing I had with me. I would have long calls with my family talking about the most mundane and boring things but it was such a blessing to hear about, I would drag out the subjects as much as I could and so would they. I’d often cry after having to stop the calls.

The biopsy and tests revealed that I had antibodies that shouldn’t be there. My immune system was attacking the body, pretty much. This autoimmune disease is very rare, Microscopic Polyangiitis, and will cause kidney failure (and other organ failures) if not discovered and treated in time. Since I barely had any prior symtoms, it wasn’t discovered in time. My lungs were also examined as the disease usually targets kidneys and/or lungs, but no significant damage was found there luckily.

I was put on steroids (prednisone 60 mg) that would support the kidneys and dampen the damage from the antibodies as well as chemotherapy (Sendoxan 100 mg) that would shut down the immune system almost completely. Synthetic hormone injections every week to stimulate the production of red blood cells.

Every morning a blood test was done a 6:00, as well as checking the temperature and blood pressure. I was forced to drink 3 liters of fluid every day (which I logged on a paper meticulously - every ml counted) and I could only pick between water, disgusting orange juice or disgusting apple juice. Except during lunch, when I got a small package of milk - this became pretty much the highlight of my day. One glass of milk. That was like pure joy, it tasted so divine. In just a few days your entire world shifts in such a way that this package of milk is what you look forward to the next day.

All day I was bedbound and in a haze, time was entirely dependent on medicine, meal and test times like a work schedule, from the 6:00 tests to the final 23:00 medications, that left 7 hours of rest that was robbed from me because prednisone makes you unable to sleep well, even with the sleep aids I got. Despite being in bed almost all day every day, I was constantly sleepy and tired but I would never get any rest. Couldn’t even pee normally either, had to collect everything in a bottle for them to log.

But of course it would get worse. After about 6 days, my doctor came in and told me that the treatment didn’t seem to be working fast enough. My kidney functionality kept dropping, now at 13%, creatinine levels above 400 (it should never be above 80 for women, around 200 is kidney failure). They had one more weapon to combat this - plasmapheresis. This would mean connecting me to a machine that would take out my blood, clean it from the harmful antibodies, and put it back in again. Hopefully this would buy me time for the treatment to win. To do this, they had to cut up my throat to insert two tubes that would take in and out the blood. I had to be awake during the whole procedure to control the breathing as instructed.

I wasn’t connected to the machine all the time. A few hours every other day. It was noisy, sounded like a miniature washing machine, and I hated it so much. The tubes in my throat, blood going in and out of me, it was just pure terror even if the procedure itself didn’t hurt. I got some mild sedatives but they were way too mild and didn’t do shit. The fact that I didn’t have to be connected to the machine every other day became yet another highlight like the milk. I’d talk about how today was such a good day because it was a no machine day, like a holiday.

Showering was horrible too. Because of the tubes I had to avoid getting them wet as much as possible while still somehow washing the hair. Then the tape around the tubes had to be changed and I hated anyone touching that area. I went for as long as I could between the showers, up to 9 days.

I was quickly becoming very weak, as the medications and chemo ate away at my bones and muscles. My legs have always been strong, I’ve had no problems doing squats with a grown man hanging on my back. But one day when I was in the bathroom, I spilled some toothpaste on the floor. I squat down to wipe it, but I couldn’t get back up again. My legs were way too weak. I ended up having to drag myself up via the toilet and sink, it felt so humiliating I refused to use the button to call for help. I bet it took several minutes to get back up standing.

It was still very unsure if I would make it, the plasmapheresis wasn’t a guaranteed help. One day a psychologist came to talk to me, but the only thing I remember is that he asked if I was afraid of death. I told him that my current biggest fear was the damn tubes in my neck, the constant needles, every day the touching and prodding of my body, but it didn’t seem like it got through to him. Maybe because my Danish was so damn shitty too, I could barely articulate myself and what I felt in Swedish, much less in English or Danish, I think I was mostly rambling incoherently.

In the meantime my parents had been writing the hospital for updates and visitation possibilities, and eventually the kind nurses and doctors there started fighting for getting my parents to visit. They got granted an exception by the hospital to visit my room once per day, but they still couldn’t get into the country. My parents contacted the Danish police asking if an exception could be made since it now was entirely possible that this could be the last time they’d see me. They were eventually granted permission and now the final hindrance remained - getting there. Since they live far up north, the transportation options are limited especially during corona. There were essentially no flights, so the second best option was train for about 2 days.

As luck would have it, the plasmapheresis did help, my kidneys were slowly recovering and once I got up to around 25% functionality, I was free from the damn machine and the medications now had the upper hand against my stupid immune system. In the final days at the hospital, my parents arrived. And we could actually be happy because it seemed like the danger was over. I begged the doctor to release me and let my parents help me at home instead. I knew how to take the medications by now and it wouldn’t be necessary for daily tests anymore. She agreed but I had to come to the hospital every few days for a checkup.

And that concluded my first chapter of this disease and kidney failure. Thank you for reading all the way to here, I appreciate it.

[appalachianwiine]

Swim - Chapter 6 - Soon You’ll Get Better

The buttons of my coat were tangled in my hair

In doctor's-office-lighting, I didn't tell you I was scared

That was the first time we were there

Holy orange bottles, each night I pray to you

Desperate people find faith, so now I pray to Jesus too

And I say to you

Ooh-ah, soon you'll get better

“Soon You’ll Get Better” by Taylor Swift

It’s another restless night for the both of them. The nurses are in and out a half dozen times, leaving little more then two hours stretches in which they can sleep. Lydia doesn’t seem terribly fussed by this, waking rather grumpily for vitals and then drifting back off to sleep as the nurse exited the room. Daryl on the other hand manages less than four hours of broken sleep. 

By the time 7:30 rolls around Lydia is wide awake and asking for breakfast. Daryl, who had only gotten to dozing again a half hour before, sits up with a groan. He runs a hand over his face and rubs the sleep from his eyes, looking over at Lydia, who’s moved from the hospital bed to sit at the foot of the hide-away. 

“Alrigh’.” He mutters. “I’ll go down an’ get us some breakfast.” 

“Can I have pancakes?” Lydia asks eagerly. “And juice?” 

“Sure kiddo.” Daryl sighs, swinging his legs off the side of the hide-away and into his boots. “Then you gotta take a bath okay?” 

“A shower.” Lydia frowns. 

“I don’ know ‘bout that.” He mutters, bending over to lace up the boots. “You ain supposed t’ get that PICC line wet, but I’ll ask the nurse.” Lord knew a shower would be easier on him. It would give him a good 15 minutes to think.

“Okay.” 

“Good girl.” He yawns. “I’ll be back in 10 minutes. Behave.” He leans over to kiss the top of her head. 

“I will.” Lydia promises. 

When Daryl gets to the elevator he finds Ezekiel waiting. Yesterday’s buoyant, playful man was gone. The Ezekiel who stood next to him looked twice as tired as Daryl felt and as though all the joy had been sucked out of him. 

“Daryl.” Ezekiel forces a strained smile. “You and Lydia sleep well?” 

“Not really.” Daryl mutters. “Not that Lydia seems t’ have noticed. You an’ Henry?” 

“No.” Ezekiel frowns, stepping into the elevator as the doors open. “Henry got his round of chemo yesterday evening. He was up most of the night being sick. I’m going to get him something to eat. I want him to at least try.” 

“Sorry man.” Daryl follows him into the elevator, a knot settling in his stomach. Lydia’s first chemotherapy treatment was today.

“Oh he’ll get through it.” Ezekiel sighs. “I just hate seeing him like this. This is not my little boy.” 

“Yeah.” Daryl licks his lips. He doesn’t much want to make conversation, but he’s stuck in the elevator with the other man and they’re going to the same place. “So uh, how y’all likin’ Atlanta?” 

Ezekiel raises his eyebrows. “Given the circumstances it’s not my favorite city.”

“Ah.” Daryl mutters, he hadn’t thought of the reason they were in Atlanta. Stupid given Ezekiel had told him just yesterday. “Sorry.” 

“It’s fine.” Ezekiel shakes his head, stepping out of the elevator. “Lydia starts treatment today yes?” 

“Yeah.” Daryl nods. 

“I’m sorry.” Ezekiel whispers. “It’s… it’s not something I would wish on the worst of us.” 

The air between them lingers heavily as they enter the cafeteria, it’s quiet this early in the morning, the staff shuffling about quietly, one or two tired parents clutching pagers and looking around nervously. Daryl follows Ezekiel to the counter, ordering after him and taking the number given to him. He finds himself once again standing next to Ezekiel, waiting for their orders to be ready. 

“I uh - I saw Henry the other night.” Daryl says finally. “The night we were admitted.” 

“You did?” Ezekiel frowns. 

“Yeah um - he was hiding behind the nursing station and uh - you picked him up and he -” 

“Was laughing.” Ezekiel finishes. 

“Yeah.” Daryl nods. “It was ten o’clock at night on the cancer floor and he was laughing.” 

“That’s Henry.” Ezekiel smiles. “He’s always made the best of the worst situations.” 

“He's done this before?” Daryl asks. 

“No - not this exactly.” Ezekiel says. “But um - when he was four he was in a very bad car accident.” 

“Oh.” Daryl frowns. “Was he uh - was he -”

“Mine then?” Ezekiel finishes. Daryl feels his face grow hot. “No, he wasn’t. I was a newly licensed foster parent in Prince William County, and he was my first foster child. His brother and both parents were killed in the accident. The parents instantly, the brother after a few days.” 

“Shit man.” Daryl mutters. “That’s rough.”

“Yeah.” Ezekiel says. “He’s had it harder then most, but he still laughs. He still makes the best of what he’s given. It’s a gift from God.” 

“God.” Daryl monotones. 

“You don’t believe in God?” Ezekiel offers a half smile. 

“I do.” Daryl says. “But I don’ think he’s worth worshippin’.” 

“Hm.” Ezekiel frowns. 

“No speech?” Daryl chuckles. 

“No speech.” Ezekiel says. “Your relationship with God is not my business, and mine is not yours. But God has helped my son. He’s given us this clinical trial. He’s given me a place at the zoo. He’s shown me Carol.” 

“‘S a little preachy.” 

“You asked.” Ezekiel smiles. 

“Fair.” They linger in silence until Ezekiel’s number is called and Daryl’s shortly there after. As they’re walking back towards the elevator Ezekiel speaks again. “I hope Lydia handles her chemotherapy well.” 

“Thanks.” Daryl nods, stepping into the elevator. “How - when will we know?” 

“Well every child reacts differently.” Ezekiel says. “Henry handles some better then others. He does fine with the cisplatin but the vincristine is pretty hard on him. Thats the one he got last night, I expect we’ll be here for at least a week with the side effects.” 

“Shit man.” Daryl mutters. Will it be like that for Lydia? She had a different kind of cancer, surely the treatment would be different? 

“He’s a strong boy.” Ezekiel says. “He’ll get through it.”

“Yeah.” 

They  linger in silence until they get out of the elevator and make their way to their separate rooms. Lydia takes the pancakes and juice with glee, someone’s turned on the television for her while he was gone and the grating sound of Disney Channel ran through they room. Daryl took his coffee over to the pull out bed and sat down, sipping it gingerly. The disney jingle pierced his brain as one of the many formulaic shows started up. He needed sleep, but coffee would help for now. 

The door pushes open, reminding Daryl for the millionth time that their world is completely different then it was two days ago. 

“Hey Lydia.” Dr. Rhee says. “Sleep good?” “I guess.” Lydia nods, not really paying attention, her eyes focused on the TV as she ate.

“Good” Maggie grins. “Mind if I borrow daddy for a bit?” 

“Okay.” Lydia shrugs,. 

“Come with me Mr. Dixon?” Dr. Rhee motions him out of the room. 

“Yeah.” Daryl nods, picking up his coffee and following her into the hall. His stomach twists into more knots. “Are her biopsy results bad or something?” 

“They’re not back yet.” Dr. Rhee assures. “I just wanted to talk to you about the chemo she’ll be starting today and get the consent forms signed.” 

“Oh.” Daryl nods. “ Yeah um, sure.” 

Dr. Rhee leads him to the nurses station and picks up a clipboard and pen, holding them out to Daryl. He takes them. The form is thick, at least ten pages long and on the top page alone he see’s a bold heading ‘Vincristine effects and side effects.” The foreign word floats in front of his eyes, 

V I N C R I S T I N E. 

It sounds almost as bad as ‘Leukemia’ does. 

“Just in here.” Daryl blinks, Dr. Rhee is standing across the room. He nods, and hurries to the door she indicates. The room is small, a little more personal then the other rooms. There’s a low table with a few toys, and a hot water heater and packets of tea and instant coffee by the wall. A couple of arm chairs sit against one wall and there’s a table with three chairs - one to one side, and the other two opposite - in the middle of the room. “Would you like a minute to go over the form?” 

“Nah.” Daryl shakes his head. “Jus’ - tell me ‘bout the chemo yerself.” He figures she’ll be able to explain it better then the consent form can. That will be full of legal jargon and confusing terminology. Daryl wasn’t stupid, but he wasn’t going to attempt the consent form until he had a bit more time. 

“Right.” Dr. Rhee smiles, taking a seat in one chair and motioning Daryl to the two opposite. He sits heavily in one, setting the clipboard down with a soft thud! “Today we’re going to give her a round of vincristine. It’s a type of chemotherapy, the most common used in treating most pediatric cancers but particularly leukemia’s. We’ll be using her PICC line to administer the drug, but because of the effects of vincristine on the kidneys we’re going to push fluids first. She’ll get fluids for 4 hours and then a half hour of chemotherapy followed by four more hours of fluids.” 

Eight and a half hours of stuff going in her and only a half hour of it the medicine she’d need. Good lord what did that mean it would do to his little girl? He swallows hard and nods. “What um - what - when will stuff start happenin’?” 

“Side effects or when will it start killing the cancer?” Dr. Rhee asks. 

“Both I guess.” 

“Well, it will start killing the cancer almost immediately, but right now there’s so much in her body we’re going to have to do quite a bit of it in conjunction with other therapies to get ahead of it.” Dr. Rhee explains. “Now the good thing is that vincristine is predictable. We’ve been using it for decades, so we know what to expect and how to balance it. Some effects take longer than others but she's probably going to be pretty nauseous not long after she gets the dose and we should expect this to increase. We can give zofran if things get too bad, but she probably won't be very interested in food. She might throw up, and diarrhea isn’t uncommon either. After about a week of treatments her blood counts will be at their lowest, that’s when we really need to be careful about infection. It’s likely she’ll get mouth sores and they’ll be pretty painful but we can manage them with morphine.” 

“A - a week.” He mutters. “She’ll uh - won’t we have a treatment plan by then?” 

“Yeah, we will, but vincristine is a staple in all leukemia treatment. It’s what we combine it with that changes.” Dr. Rhee says. 

“And we - her hair?” Daryl mutters. 

“It depends.” Dr. Rhee says. “Some kids want theirs shaved as soon as it starts falling out, but others want to wait until it falls out on its own. Child life came and talked to you?” 

“Yeah.” He nods. “Gave her a Barbie with uh - with wigs an’ hats an’ stuff. Seemed t’ like that.” 

“Good.” Dr. Rhee sounds far away now, the knot in his stomach growing steadily as the words fill his mind. Her hair. A week. Vincristine. Leukemia. Cancer. The words run across his mind in bright flashing colors, filling the whole space and leaving room for little else. Words he’d never thought about before and feared were now front and center in his mind. “Mr. Dixon?” 

“Huh?” His eyes snap up to hers. “Sorry did - can you repeat that?” 

“I asked if you had any other questions.” Dr. Rhee frowns. “Do you need a minute?” 

“No.” He says hurriedly. “But uh - are we gonna be here the whole week?” 

“Probably more like 2 or 3.” Dr. Rhee says. “First admissions are usually long.”

“Oh.” Daryl mutters. “I uh - I didn’t really… prepare for that.” 

He didn’t have another set of clothes and all of Lydia’s were mismatched, haphazardly grabbed out of the dryer in a panic. Then there was the dog. He couldn’t be left with Rick and Michonne indefinitely. And work. He’d have to talk to his captain about a leave of absence. It was something he hated to do, Dwight had already been so understanding of the situation with Lydia’s adoption. 

“You met Carol?” Dr. Rhee asks. Daryl nods. “Well she can help you with some of that. She has a network of people that can help. You have her number?” 

“Yeah. But I don’t want to be a bother.” Daryl says. 

“You won’t be.” Dr. Rhee insists. “Even if it’s just coming to sit with Lydia for an hour so you can get your stuff she’ll be happy to help.” 

“Yeah.” Daryl mutters. “I’ll give her a call I guess.” He won’t have much choice. It’s the start of the work week, everyone else will be working crazy hours but a teacher was predictable. “And uh - can Lydia have a shower?” 

“A bath.” Dr. Rhee says. “She needs to keep her PICC line dry, but I can get her a cast cover so she can bathe more comfortably.” 

Well he wasn’t going to get his few minutes of peace then.

“Thanks.” Daryl mutters. “Uh is there anything else I should know?” 

“No.” Maggie shakes her head. “Just the consent forms. I’ll give you a minute to go over them.” 

“No need.” Daryl mutters, reaching for the pen and signing his name at the back of the forms.  “I ain’ got much choice if I wan’ her t’ be okay.” 

“I understand.” Dr. Rhee nods, taking the form from his outstretched hands. “I’ll send the nurse in to start her fluids in a half an hour so you’ll have time for that bath.” 

“Thanks.” Daryl mutters. 

As predicted Lydia was not thrilled about the bath and not being able to use her arm. Daryl has to wash her hair himself, scooping water over her head with a cup in a fashion he hadn’t done since she was six year s old. It was something she clearly wasn’t thrilled about, fat crocodile tears rolling down her face and her voice a high pitched whine the entire time. Daryl does his best not to look at the bruises lacing her torso and legs as he washes, dries, and helps her dress. They’re turning yellow-green today, and he hates the sight of them, they make him angry. 

The fluids go in surprisingly well, once the nurse explains to Lydia that it’s just like water she doesn’t have to drink she’s surprisingly compliant to them being attached. Within a half an hour however she’s up for the toilet. It’s a bit of an ordeal to drag the infection pump to the bathroom and back and it’s one they repeat every half an hour or forty five minutes. Dr. Rhee hadn’t been kidding about keeping her hydrated. He hadn’t seen her potty dance this much since she was much smaller, and it seems to frustrate her too. He expects relief for them when the fluids finally stop, but then Dr. Rhee enters the room holding a small yellow bag with a biohazard sticker on the front. 

Jesus Christ he’d take her to the toilet a thousand more times to avoid that. 

“Okay Lydia.” Dr. Rhee smiles. “Are you ready for your medicine?” 

Lydia frowns warily at Dr. Rhee, and her eyes fix on the bag in her hands. “I have to take all of that? Does it taste bad?” 

“Well you don’t swallow it.” Dr. Rhee says. “It goes in your PICC line just like your fluids, but some people say they taste it anyway but it just tastes like metal.” 

“Does it taste a lot?” Lydia’s even more wary, he wishes Dr. Rhee hadn’t told her that.

“No.” Dr. Rhee promises.

“Can daddy sit with me?” Lydia asks, looking back over at Daryl as Dr. Rhee approaches the infusion pole and disconnects the fluids. 

“Of course he can.” Dr. Rhee smiles, handing the empty bag of fluids to the nurse. 

“Daddy.” Lydia whimpers, holding out her arms. Daryl climbs onto the bed and lets her crawl into his lap. 

“‘s okay.” Daryl whispers, running a hand over Lydia’s hair and settling back against the pillows. She’s shaking in his arms, her face turned pointedly to the infusion pole. He kisses her hair and looks over at Dr. Rhee, the medication is connected now and he watches a thin stream of yellow fluid move down the line, into Lydia’s arm and up towards her heart. It makes him feel sick. 

“There.” Dr. Rhee says. “All connected.” 

Lydia doesn’t answer, and Daryl pulls away slightly to glance at her. Her eyes are glazed over and she's whispering very softly. “Lydia oh Lydia, oh have you seen Lydia.” 

“Hey, hey,” Daryl whispers, holding her tighter and trying to get her to snap out of it. “”S okay.” 

“She was singing that in the OR yesterday.” Dr. .Rhee says.

“Lydia oh Lydia, that encyclo-pidia” 

“She did?” Daryl’s heart sinks. She had to have been utterly terrified to sing that. 

4 years she’d worked her ass off to get to a place where she could express her emotion. Countless hours of therapies and difficult conversations and the constant reinforcing that it was safe to express herself, to not disappear like with her mother, and here she was regressing before his eyes. He wanted something different. He wanted better. She deserved better.

“Shh.” He whispers, kissing her hair. “It’s okay to cry. Jus’ cry.” 

Lydia never does though, but she doesn’t let go either. 

Towards the end of the infusion she drifts off to sleep, having been utterly worn out by the episode. He doesn’t move or put her down, in his arms she’s safe. In his arms he can protect her. 

Please, he begs silently Please let her be okay.

[cyclicallife]

3rd Anniversary

This summer will mark the 3rd anniversary of my stem cell transplant! It is hard to believe that so much time has passed since that long and very trying period, from June to August 2017. So much has come to pass: so much growth on a personal level, so much understanding and acceptance, so much physical and emotional healing. 

Even if I look back to just half a year ago, I am left scratching my head, asking, 'Who was that?' I suppose this is normal, but I am hyper-vigilant about the passage of time, as I'm sure every cancer survivor is. It isn't so much that I'm counting every second and rejoicing at every tiny gulp of fresh air I am graced with. No, it isn't like that. Naturally, I am fortunate; however, I am graced with, if that's still the most suitable term I want to use here, with the awareness and shifts within myself. Call it "soul" or "spirit"… whatever word you'd like, I won't label it so as not to taint one's vision of how I perceive this "inner" part. 

Several months ago, I was experiencing a nervous breakdown and was admitted to a hospital in France. Really, who was that? I needed that, of course. I needed to bottom out. My body was already working on slowly repairing itself, but I hadn't yet allowed myself to crash on an emotional and psychological level. My inability to hold on slipped and I did… I crashed hard - very hard. As difficult as it might have been, this was when the shifts began to occur.  

3 years ago, I was watching fireworks from Massachusetts General Hospital's cancer ward. I tried to sweet-talk one of the nurses into getting me a beer so I could, like a lot of my fellow Americans, sit and sip a beer while watching the display, all the while exclaiming, "Ohh!" and "Wow!" She said no and gave me another anti-nausea med and an ice cream. The fireworks didn't live up to their hype. I heard good things: a lovely display of colorful explosions from the 10th floor of a building overlooking the Charles River. It sounded amazing. However, various buildings obstructed our view, and we couldn't see The Charles.

There were perhaps ½ a dozen patients and nurses. It was an exciting and also eerie sight, all of us in masks and gowns; the patients seemed quiet, in that middle ground of toxicity-induced psychedelia and being fully present. I shouldn't generalize, but I often found myself in this state, always ready for what I am unsure. All of us were tethered to our IV poles, which pumped an alarming amount of chemo agents into each of our bodies or flooded us with other various fluids. The nurses talked amongst themselves, texted, and did things ordinary people do. I don't remember the grand finale. The other patients and I left the room with the promised vista of fireworks overlooking the Charles, wheeling their IV poles alongside us. I heard the muffled explosions from my sealed-off room, just a gentle murmur that was barely audible underneath the continuous hum of the air filtration system. 

I remember this every 4th of July. I remember that room on the 10th floor of Mass General's cancer ward and the patients wheeling about IV poles, hoping to see a clear view of fireworks but, in the end, not caring. Or maybe I cared in that way cancer patients care about things that, though they would be nice, weren't of the highest priority at the moment. Or perhaps, like me, we all wanted to enjoy the goddamn fireworks while drinking some shitty beers and be normal, feel normal… whatever that was at the time. But alas, we all returned to our rooms to resume our treatment or our sleepless nights of nausea and delirium, or the darkness-induced existential terrors, fears, and tears, to everything (everything!) else that takes precedence over fireworks. 

I don't look back on it now, every summer, every 4th of July, and feel a sort of unease or anger, etc. I think this reaction to other things is natural. Other dates are inescapable; those, too, have lost their bite. The day after Mother's Day 2017, I had a stroke, which paralyzed my left arm, postponed my transplant, and sent me to the hospital for brain surgery. I watched the solstice sun (image attached) lazily creep across the sky from my room at Mass General. 

These are there and solidified in my journey and my personal history. They're not so many pitfalls anymore in the yearly cycle, so much as pitstops that allow me to recess my place within all this and the growth within myself. 

[ashtheshortstack]

take my scars & make them stars - ch 1

Rating: M Ship: Kristoff/Anna Chapter One

Tags: Hurt/Comfort, Angst, Sick Fic, Cancer Fic, Chronic Illness, Chemotherapy, Modern AU, Coffee Shop AU, Fluff and Angst, Fluff, Eventual Smut, Angst with a happy ending, Mutual Pining, Mentions of Character Death

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Anna was aware of the changes coming her way. And there were many. It was rare to be diagnosed with breast cancer under the age of forty to begin with, let alone having to be treated for it in her twenties.  

Of course, they had money. Elsa could afford to give Anna the highest quality care possible. She was lucky for that, she knew. And she was grateful for Dr. Mattias. He was really great, and she was glad that if this had to happen to her, this kind man was the one looking out for her. He told her she was his youngest breast cancer patient. Well, he’d remember her for something at least.

Dr. Mattias made the decision for surgery a bit easier.

Anna sighed, sitting in the chair as she fiddled with her thumbs. “You can’t tell me what to do?”

“I can’t exactly tell you what to do, no, since this is your body and you’re young. It’s ultimately up to you,” he explained as he leaned back against his own chair.

That wasn’t what she wanted to hear. She understood it wasn’t technically within his right to make this decision for her, but he needed to give her more advice.

“Dr. Mattias…” she began, “i-if I was your daughter, sister… e-even your mother, would you tell me to remove them?”

Pursing his lips, she could tell he was debating his answer. “Considering this is more on the aggressive side… if I had a family member in your position I would tell them to do it.”

That was it. That was her answer.

“Then we’re removing them.”

And so, the plan was set in motion. Chemotherapy would come after the breast removal. It was… terrifying to think about. Just how quickly her life could change. What her body was about to endure. She was afraid, sure. But… this could be the beginning of a new chapter.

Besides, Anna knew her breasts weren’t even that big. She wouldn’t look that much different without them. On the outside, at least. She could always buy a bra to stuff when she went out. Under her clothes would be much, much different. Still, she was unable to care. This was going to save her life. She didn’t think anyone else would be looking beneath her clothes ever again anyway.

Hans ruined that for her, she thought bitterly.

She’d never had a surgery before. Elsa and Gerda were both there by her side as she was wheeled away on the table. Anna gave a tiny wave with her fingers, giving them what she hoped was a reassuring smile to calm those worried gazes. Her nurses were nice enough. The surgery was supposed to take two to three hours then they’d stitch and bandage her up.

It was weird to think… she wouldn’t have nipples anymore. She giggled aloud at that, making the nurse give her a concerned look. Pursing her lips, Anna quickly shot her gaze to her lap. The pinch of the I.V. made her wince just a bit. It was something she’d have to get used to for chemo, she knew.

Dr. Mattias walked in the door, giving her a bright smile. “You ready?”

Nodding, she sighed. “As ready as I can be.”

“You’ll make it through this, Anna, you’re young and healthy.”

She laughed at that. “Besides the cancer, right?”

Dr. Mattias had gotten used to her horrible jokes to lighten the mood at that point. So, in response, he gave a throaty chuckle. “Yeah, besides that.”

“Thank you for checking in, Dr. Mattias.”

He smirked with a curt nod. “Anything for my favorite patient.”

“I’m sure you say that to all of your patients.”

Dr. Mattias hummed before heading towards the door. “Maybe, I do.”

It wasn’t long after he left the room that Anna felt her breathing slow. Her head lulled to the side, letting her body relax. She’d never experienced anesthesia before… but her limbs suddenly felt like lead, and she let her eyes droop closed. There were vague memories of nurses walking in and out of the room. She remembered hearing more commotion around her until everything finally fell silent. For the first time in forever… Anna felt at peace.

                                                        o~o~o~o

The weeks following her surgery were hellish, to say the least. She was sore with her skin black and blue. Elsa giving her sponge baths was more embarrassing than she’d like to admit. It was instinct to want to cover her chest before she’d remember—oh—there wasn’t anything there to cover. Draining the fluids from her incision, having Elsa help change her bandages, trying to get clean enough to not stink but not get her stitches wet.

She was so relieved when it was time for her follow-up. Anna was so ready to know. She wanted to know what she was going to look like the rest of her life. Elsa had questioned her about getting implants, but Anna just laughed. No way she was putting something synthetic in her body after dealing with this. There was no predicting how her body would react.

Dr. Mattias gave her the all clear to function as normal again. She could drive again, take showers again, even go swimming if she wanted to. Anna wasn’t quite sure if she was ready to figure out the whole… bathing suit situation yet.

“It looks like everything is healing up nicely, Anna. We’ll see you back here in a month to start chemotherapy,” he said as he made notes on a clipboard.

Anna had so many questions, but she just didn’t know how to ask them. “What…” her voice was weak, but loud enough that it caught her doctor’s attention. “What really happens with chemo?”

Sighing, Dr. Mattias dropped down to his chair, sitting eye level with her. “It really depends on the person. There’s a lot of side effects that could occur. Obviously, hair loss is usually a given. The rest could be really anything. Fatigue, bruising, numbness in limbs, loss of taste, short-term memory loss are side-effects I’ve seen in my patients.”

“So, chemo really sucks, huh?” she asked while forcing a weak smile.

“Yes, it really does.”

                                                       o~o~o~o

 Elsa is there for her first round of chemo. Her sister sits in the chair beside her, taking her hand gently as they pinch the I.V. into Anna’s arm.

She can’t see Elsa’s face since it’s covered by a mask. It was still too dangerous for her sister to be exposed to any serious illnesses in the hospital, but there was a sympathetic glint in her crystal eyes. “Are you okay?”

 Anna can’t help but stare at the drip as it drains slowly into her skin. Knocked out of her thoughts, she does a double take towards her sister. “What? Oh! Y-Yeah, I’m fine.”

“It’s okay to be afraid, Anna, I understand.”

She knew she did. Elsa went through turmoil herself growing up, despite how bitter it made Anna, she knew it wasn’t her sister’s fault. Elsa wasn’t responsible for her parents’ choices. Sometimes she worried Elsa felt guilty. But she made up for it being by her side during this battle. That’s what exactly Anna needed. Her only living family left being there for her, despite the risk of her own health just walking into a hospital… it meant a lot.

It was nice to have their relationship slowly building again. It was nice living Elsa and Gerda… that was home. Truly.

“Thank you, Elsa… for being here.”

Even though Anna couldn’t see her mouth, she could see the movement of her cheeks and the twinkle in Elsa’s eyes. “Of course. There’s nowhere I’d rather be than here for you.”

“I love you,” she told her. Truly and sincerely. Just these last two months of Elsa’s support meant everything to her. It was nice to finally have her sister back.

Elsa squeezed her fingers. “I love you, too, Anna.”

                                                       o~o~o~o

 It was happening. Anna knew it would. Just… not so soon. She gaped down at her hairbrush, seeing the chunks of ginger hair matted into bristles. Quickly, she dropped the brush and gazed at the mirror. She threaded her fingers through her locks, gazing down at her hands in horror as whole handfuls of her hair covered her palms.

Heaving a breath, Anna grabbed the counter for leverage, feeling as though she could collapse any moment. She gave in, letting out a shrieking sob. Falling to her knees on the porcelain tiles, Anna wept. The hairbrush fell to the floor with a clatter. She curled into herself, hugging her torso tightly as hot tears streaked down her flushed cheeks.

“Anna?!” Elsa called before bursting into the door.

Sniffling, she wiped her nose on her sleeve, waving her sister off. “I-I’m fine.”

Her sister was on the ground next to her quickly, hands gripping her shoulders. “Hey, don’t lie to me what’s wron—” she saw it then. The hairbrush and the locks of hair scattered on the floor. “Oh, Anna…”

Elsa tugged Anna into her, winding her arms around her shoulders. The dam broke loose as Anna gripped her tightly in return. Cries echoed through the bathroom as she buried her face into her sister’s shoulder. There was a silence as Elsa rubbed soothing circles along Anna’s back. As her sobbing and sniffles eventually died down, Anna struggled to catch her breath.

Helping her to a stand, Elsa smoothed her hands over Anna’s upper arms. “It’s okay.”

“I-I just…” Anna took in a breath, finally calming herself enough to speak. “I just didn’t know it’d happen this fast.”

Her sister smiled. “You know what?” Elsa passed her before dipping down and opening their father’s old drawer, much to Anna’s confusion. She emerged with their father’s electric razor.

Gaping at her, Anna flicked her gaze between her sister’s grinning face and the razor. “Elsa, you’re not serious.”

“I’m dead serious. We’re taking your power back. Cancer may be making you lose your hair, well, screw it. You’re going to be bald on your own terms, not when cancer tells you.”

Anna let out a laugh of disbelief but smiled, nonetheless. “You’re crazy.”

Elsa simply cocked a brow, hitting the button and the shaver began buzzing.

Sighing, she caved. She pulled the stool out from the vanity and took a seat. “Okay, fine. But if we’re going bald, we’re doing the eyebrows too.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Tongue poking out between her lips, Elsa leaned over Anna’s head before pressing the razor lightly to her scalp and shaving a stripe down the middle of her hairline. Anna’s jaw dropped at the sight of a bald line going down the center of her head. Reaching up, she touched it, feeling the hairless skin.

“Oh my god.”

“Well, it’s done now. Might as well finish.”

“Elsa, oh my god.”

                                                       o~o~o~o

Anna had learned the “poor you” stare long ago. Any time Elsa went out in public with her gloves and mask, it was the look she got. Those over sympathetic stares of people wanting to say “aww, poor thing” but the words never come out. But then they realize they’re gawking and quickly turn away as if they hadn’t noticed at all.

But never had Anna had the “poor you” directed at her. She had made a point to still dress feminine… She was bald without boobs. It was all she had left, really. She made a point to wear frilly tops, short high waisted shorts, and hoop earrings. Things that screamed: “I’m a girl!!” Any beanie she wore was a bright pink. For breast cancer? Sure. But it was also her favorite color, so why not? It added to her overly girly assemble.

Thinking about how she hated Elsa having all the attention… boy, didn’t she wish Elsa was still getting the attention for wearing satin gloves in the grocery store. She’d given anything to blend in. Dr. Mattias had given her places to find reasonably priced wigs, but when Anna tried them on… it felt odd. They irritated her scalp, made her itch. She much preferred soft beanies to cover her pale head.

Elsa showed her different ways to apply makeup. It helped, Anna thought. Anything to make her feel more comfortable in this new body. In this new normal that she was steadily being forced to adjust to. It was weird to rub her eyes and lose a few eyelashes. It was weird not having to shave anything anymore. Her body that was once covered in fair ginger hair was suddenly bare, with only her freckled covered skin to vouch for her hair color.

Anna hadn’t meant to shelter away into their home. It just—happened. She had come to dread leaving the mansion just because of the looks. People pretended like they weren’t pitying her, weren’t staring at her. But she knew they were. It was okay. She understood. Seeing someone bald with no eyebrows or eyelashes? She kind of looked like an alien. Felt like one too…

She’d grown accustom to going to the hospital for chemo treatments, staying a few days, then heading back home. No pit stops. Nowhere needed to go in between. It wasn’t like she could go hang out at the coffee shop like she did when she was taking college courses. Besides, what if she ran into—him. That was the last thing she wanted. Letting that grimy man see her at her lowest would be mortifying. Especially since she’d come to feel better after group therapy at the hospital. Hans hadn’t traumatized her, by any means. Anna was mostly pissed off at herself for staying with the jerkwad so long… but she wasn’t going to dwell on him!

Besides, coffee was off the menu. Doc said it caffeine was a no go. She had to stick to the healthy meal-plan they’d given her. A healthy diet meant a healthier body to fight whatever cancer and chemo both would try to do to her.

But apparently, Elsa was growing tired of her hermit activities. She was one to talk! She never went anywhere!

Anna was curled on the couch, a book her hands as she noticed Elsa coming down the curved staircase dressed in a casual but cute summer assemble. Eyeing her sister, she squinted. “Elsa? Why are you dressed like that?”

Elsa wasn’t one to wear shorts, by any means. Unless she was going somewhere. Her sister tended to lounge around their home in leggings or gowns.

“We’re going to the coffee shop.”

Smacking her book closed (she forgot to save her place!), she shook her head. “Oh ho, ho, no. I’m not. What if I see some old classmates? I can’t even get any coffee.”

“Okay, but will one chocolate chip muffin kill you?”

Anna blinked. “Um, yes. Quite possibly, Elsa.”

“I won’t tell Dr. Mattias if you don’t.”

She glowered at her. “I can’t lie to my doctor. That’d be stupid. I know it may not be that big of a deal, b-but… can you imagine? He’ll hit me with that ‘disappointed dad’ look so quick!”

Elsa came over, taking her book from her hand. “Dr. Mattias said to be careful, but he wants you to live your life, Anna. Isn’t that why you came back home to begin with? To get away from the toxicity so you could live happily?”

“Yes,” she muttered under her breath. She hated it when Elsa was right.

“Look, sis, if anyone knows about not living a life, it’s me. But you’ve inspired me to stop being afraid of living. In fact, I’m going out without a mask today.”

“But still the gloves?”

“I’ll breathe the air, but I’m not touching people.”

Anna laughed at that. She sighed with a bob of her head. “Okay, fine. I’ll go with you. Let me get ready to go.”

“Do you want false lashes today? I bought extras.”

She paused on the steps, pursing her lips to think about it. “You know what? I will today. If I’m going out and could possibly see people I know, I may as well look hot doing it.”

Elsa beamed. “That’s the spirit.”

                                                    o~o~o~o

 Ah, yes. There it was. The stare. Many patrons of the store flicked glances in Anna’s direction. She just chose to ignore them. Elsa ordered for them, much to Anna’s delight, and brought back a chocolate chip muffin to the table with her.

Anna groaned. “Elsa, I told you not to.”

“It’s one muffin, Anna. I’ll take the heat at your next appointment, okay?”

“Fine,” she huffed. She couldn’t argue too much. Anna really did want to eat the muffin. She took the paper wrapping off, glancing around. She tried to ignore the unwanted audience. It was fine. She was fine. But when Anna took a bite and chewed, she grimaced and sat the muffin back on the wrapper.

“Anna? You alright?”

Swallowing, she forced a smile. She couldn’t taste it. The sweetness on her palette was dulled, despite how she desperately longed for her taste buds to cooperate. It sucked. Not to mention the ache from the ulcers that were developing along her gums.

Anna hadn’t confessed to her sister about how much it sucked to eat. She’d casually been eating ramen, mashed potatoes, and soups without her sister noticing. Gerda had noticed, she was sure. Since Anna would take whatever Gerda and pick at the food, and her former guardian started making much softer foods. Even offering Anna jello or pudding in the middle of the night.

Trying another bite, Anna pretended to enjoy it and not express her frustration to her sister.

Elsa kept glancing past Anna’s shoulder, and she grew more and more annoyed with her sister’s gaze flickering away. Finally, she caved. “Elsa, what are you looking at?”

“The barista. He’s checking you out, I swear.”

Anna rolled her eyes. “He’s looking at me because I’m clearly a cancer patient, Elsa.”

“No, seriously, Anna. I know the pity look and that’s not the look he’s giving you.”

Scoffing, she set her muffin down. “Watch, as soon as I look at him he’s going to look guilty and hide.”

And Anna did just that. She flung herself around in her chair. There was no line at the register at that moment, so she had a clear look at him. He was a bulky guy. Not one that’d be expected to be making coffee. He was tall, blonde… and maybe kinda cute. Not that she’d admit it aloud. His golden-brown gaze met hers. He seemed surprised that she’d spun in her seat so quickly, but he didn’t break the eye contact. The guy just… smiled at her. Then turned his attention to the countertop he was apparently supposed to be wiping.

Anna gaped, turning back in her seat, sucking in her bottom lip as she felt her cheeks heat. “H-He just…”

“He smiled at you.”

“What does that mean?” she hissed quietly.

“Go talk to him.”

“What?”

Elsa slipped her the credit card across the table. “I want another s’mores latte to take home, pretty please.”

“Someone in your condition shouldn’t drink this much coffee.”

Her sister waved a palm. “Coffee has nothing to do with respiratory problems.”

Anna squinted at her. “Uh huh. If I humiliate myself, you’re fully to blame.”

“I’m willing to take the heat.”

Sucking in a breath, she stood from her seat, making her way over to the counter. She stole a glance back at Elsa, who gave her a cheeky, apologetic wave. Anna didn’t think her sister actually felt guilty at all. She stood patiently since the blonde hadn’t seen her approach. He glanced up, noticing her, his hand slipping off the counter with the wipe.

He recovered quickly, standing up straight and clearly his throat. “Uh, hi. I-I mean… What can I get you?’

“A 12-ounce s’mores latte, please?” she asked.

He nodded. “Name?”

“Elsa.”

Nodding again, he picked up the cup, fumbling with it a moment before catching it in his hand. “Right,” he sputtered out before fleeing towards the machine. Anna watched him from the counter. He seemed to be giving himself a little pep-talk while working.

What a cute dork, she mused.

He came back, coffee in hand as she extended the card to him. Her breath hitched when his hand brushed hers. His hands were huge. She was amazed at how tiny she looked in comparison.

As he worked the register, he cleared his throat. “E-Excuse my prying, I may be completely out of line here. B-But someone in your—condition shouldn’t have coffee, should they?”

Lips parting in surprise, Anna couldn’t hide how stunned she was. It shocked her to have a total stranger ask her about her health. She couldn’t even find it in herself to be offended. It was simply elating to have someone ask and not stare.

He seemed ready to backpedal when she finally got the nerve to answer. “I-It’s not for me. It’s for my sister, Elsa.”

“Oh!” he nodded frantically as he handed the card back to her, not touching her this time. Anna didn’t want to admit she was a bit disappointed. “Right, that would—that would make sense, yes. So—So… if you’re not Elsa… what’s your name?”

Anna cracked a smile. “It’s Anna.”

“Nice to meet you, Anna,” he said quietly

She glanced at his name tag. “You too, Christopher.”

His brows furrowed then he glanced down at his name tag. “Oh! Oh, right. Yeah. It’s Kristoff, actually. My boss—well, there was a misprint.”

He was charming in his own awkward, cute way wasn’t he? Anna chose to ignore the way her heart fluttered hopelessly in her chest. She gave him a nod and a smile. “Well, then… nice to meet you too, Kristoff.”

Kristoff’s lips twitched into a smirk. “Y-Yeah.”

“See you around,” she added before retreating towards the table.

Elsa was grinning, far too proud of herself when Anna reached the table. Sliding her sister her coffee, Anna buried her face her palms.

“Anna, you did great,” she cooed.

She shook her head.

“Oh, stop being dramatic. He’s so into you.”

Anna glanced back over her shoulder at Kristoff, who was now serving a group of customers that had arrived. “No way. There’s no way,” she said and turned back to her sister. “There’s no way a guy that cute would like a bald girl with no boobs.”

“So, you admit you think he’s cute?”

Standing, her chair squeaked as it slid from the table. “I think it’s time to go, Elsa.”

Elsa gave a knowing tilt of her head, quirking her brow. She took the credit card from Anna, slipping it into her purse and pulling the bag over her shoulder. Elsa took her time picking up her coffee from the table, making Anna sigh in annoyance. She knew sure as hell that her sister was taking her sweet time on purpose.

As they headed out the door, Anna chanced one last glance at Kristoff. He waved. And she couldn’t help it… and gave a tiny wave of her fingers in return.

[anincrediblelife-blog]

A “new normal?” I don’t think so...(?)

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I remember the day like the back of my hand. I had just been admitted to the Johns Hopkins hospital, hooked up to oxygen and IV fluids. I was meeting with my new team of oncology doctors.

They went over my plan of treatment and what to expect. Naturally, as many would also probably respond as, I blacked out. I’m sure it was the lack of oxygen and the mix of pain killers, but I honestly don’t remember any of it. The room went dark, I could hear them— feel their pressence, but my mind had basically burst into a million pieces. So much information given to me in...in what, maybe 30 minutes, tops?

Chemo was a drag, as most would expect. I handled it well, quite honestly. I got sick maybe once or twice my first round, but it was smooth sailing the rest of the way. Fatigue and the emotional sobbing was my biggest problem. It would come out of nowhere. I became sensitive to everything. The sun, the moon, and the stars would pop out and I’d be sobbing. I’d watch my 600lb life... and sob. I’d sit down for morning coffee, and sob. I didn’t fight the tears anymore.

Chemo does weird things to your body and your mind— you’re literally morphing into this lifeless, non-recognizable body. My hair fell out everywhere. My beard fell out. Christmas Day I was in the shower and globs of hairs were just falling out. A few days later I said fuck it, took my clippers, and pulled a 2007 Brittney Spears.

I began to look like my pubescent 11 year old self. It was weird. Just totally taboo.

I was facing a huge challenge now. This really hadn’t hit me yet.

But in all honesty, it wasn’t until my eyelashes, my eyebrows, and the hairs on my legs and arms began to fall out. It wasn’t really until I began to puff up like a fish from all the steroids; and gain the “Freshman 15” that I never did in college. That’s when it really hit me.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

“Holy shit, I have cancer.”

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

This “new normal” mentality was brought up so many times to me by so many people in the last year that I have learned to just ignore it...or at least try to.

Uh...Yeah, of course my life is going to change. I was just diagnosed with late stage metastatic ball cancer. I’m 24 fuckin years old, are you kidding me?

I was pissed, so mad at the world. What did I do to deserve this? Everything was finally falling into place for me. My career was taking off, I began to work on my masters degree. I was eating healthy and taking numbers. I had what I wanted. I had security.

I might have struggled financially, but I had begun to get my life together one step at a time.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I tried and tried to get back to my old self after finishing chemo, going through all these surgeries and getting back to my daily work life and weekend fun.

I was fighting this “new normal” mentality.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

As of recently, I think I’m starting to get what they meant.

I was doing so well, health related. Tumor markers were returning to a normal range, lung mets were still shrinking. I wasn’t worried.

But as I look back from the last few months, I see it now. Something was wrong. My mood fluctuated, my emotions were all over the place. I emailed my urologist to ask for bloodwork for T levels. My hormones went through quite a bit over the last few months— a lot of hormonal changes. T levels came back normal. I started working out again, getting my ass into shape at kickboxing. (What a great stress relief, by the way. I highly recommend.)

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I mean, yeah, I knew I was sorta depressed, but I was back to at least a little bit of what we say ~thriving~ nowadays.

“Living my best life.”

Or so I thought I was...

But then I began to run myself into the ground. I started drinking a lot, being reckless, putting my roommate and my friends through hell. There would be times she would come home and I’d be passed out on the floor from having too much bubbly by myself on a Sunday morning. It wasn’t healthy— for me or for her. I had to get my shit together or I was out. Never did either of us even imagine I’d be struck with cancer. The tension was high. We both knew it, but, at least for myself, I’m not afraid to say I like to avoid conflict.

I was self medicating because thats what seemed what was best for me. In reality, I was self-destructing. And a steady decline I was taking.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

For the last couple days I’ve had a lot of time to think. (Maybe too much time, to be honest.)

I guess what I’m trying to say is.. I can sorta admit that I’m learning to accept these changes— this “new normal” mentality. I didn’t want to at first, but I think it’s ok. Instead of fighting to try to find the old me, maybe this “new normal” is a change that I needed.

A life style change? A new outlook? A restart button? Shut down, and reload.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Two and a half weeks ago, I had a brain tumor removed. Yeah, the cancer came back. Six months post chemo, six months post surgeries, six months getting back to work, getting healthy— a brain tumor. Surgery went well. They got it all out and I’ll meet with oncology next week for further details and a plan of more treatment if need be. (I’ll be sure to update.)

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

What...What I’m trying to say is that this brain tumor and this brain surgery and all that has opened my eyes even more to the “new normal.” The depression seems to have subsided, although I’m not afraid to admit I’m on antidepressants and anti-anxiety meds and sometimes I feel like maybe we all should just be on them. I truly feel happier. Everyone wants to be happy— and I can honestly say that I’m getting there. I’m working on it. I have my days. We all do. So I don’t let it bother me.

It’s made me wonder— this latest occurance— to think of it as a learning experience. Some higher power put me in this situation to really challenge me...again. And I’m succeeding.

I refuse to lose. I never was a loser. My competitve side really comes out sometimes, catching people off guard. I’m usually the sarcastic wise-ass in the corner cracking jokes.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

I need to start setting life goals. I want to travel more, I want to experience life like there’s no tomorrow. It’s easier said than done, I know, but it’s turning in a necessity now for me. Tomorrow is not promised. As cliches as it sounds, I want to carpe dium.

And that’s my plan. Carpe the shit out of that dium.

•••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••

Enjoy your day, my lovely friends ❤️

[tribridkissed]

Everything Afflicting Lil’ Ol’ Me…

Sleep Paralysis:

Starting off with the basics here because this has been what sort of started it all. When I was little, I was super into the whole idea of spirits. I honestly still am for different reasons, but it started when I was young and having sleep problems. The doctors still don’t know why it started, but I’ve always thought I sensed ‘presences’ so I told ghost stories…because I saw ‘ghosts’ in my sleep, some of which were terrifying and would sit on my chest and I’d still feel that feeling when I woke up, so duh it was real.

When I was a teenager, I started getting these hallucinations far more vividly and the doctors started to take it a lot more seriously, especially when I was getting depressed and suicidal on top of it all. Turned out I had ‘Old Hag’s Syndrome’, or ‘Sleep Paralysis’, and there was now a logical explanation for it. Basically my brain wakes up sometimes before my body does, and I’m paralyzed but I can still see the hallucinations. Feeling pinned down and violated is honestly the worst, and it fucks me up for the rest of the day mentally when it happens. It is why I’m against lucid dreaming, and why I vehemently believe in demons and evil spirits even if doctor’s wanna just call it a hallucination induced by stress. Either way, I have insomnia sometimes too and my sleep is all over the place and that never helps one’s body.

Hormone Imbalances

My hormones have probably been all over the place my whole puberty experience? Like, my periods started out being heavy, irregular and painful. I know that’s mostly normal--we women handle cramps like a boss, okay?--but I would have to stay home from school once or twice in a row every time I got my period, because I was curled up in a ball hurling: much like I do now. Going on birth control helped for a while and then started to make it worse, so we took me off of the birth control and my period started to even out and I stopped getting so sick, unless I ovulated from both sides and not just one, which they found out was also happening. Yay for the possibility of twins naturally, but yikes to the extra hormone surges.

Paraxysmol AFib:

I went through a whole stint of my early 20′s having palpitations in my chest. I just attributed it to my anxiety, and to stress because I had just finished a whole High School career of only honor’s classes, and I had switched from Pre-Med to Early Childhood Development, and so even when the doctors from an arrhythmia, I just sort of dismissed it. I didn't have the time, I was working twelve hours days as a nanny, I was doing college, and I didn't have time...and then I had an AFib attack after exercising and ended up having chest pain.

That pain lasted a month and a half without going away or getting any better, I had a bunch of doctors tell me I was being a hypochondriac, and then I got put on a heart monitor. The heart monitor caught not one but two episodes in the span of three weeks, and it was only then that they took me seriously. So even though I was ‘too young’ and ‘healthy’, I ended up becoming a heart patient at the ripe old age of 25, and it has been part of my life ever since. I take medicine daily to keep my heart rate down, because it beats too fast on its own, and I had to cut down on coffee, which...I was a caffeine addict so that was rough, lol. I’ve had to change dosages, which stresses my body out for a week each time that happens, and it has just been who I am now. I have heart patient jewelry and everything, just in case of emergencies.

Cyclic Vomiting Syndrome

So this all brings me to the next big thing: cyclic vomiting syndrome. I have been sick for 6 months now, nauseous basically every day, vomiting stints every once in a while that land me in urgent care to get IV fluids and meds because nothing will stay in my stomach, it all comes up. This started back in August, now known actual cause, and it has been my main affliction these days. I am on antacid medications, my heart medicine still, and anti nausea I have to take every single day. My body is exhausted, and that’s not even the half of it.

The doctors aren’t even fully sure this is what is going on with me, this is just how they are treating me because they can’t find anything. I have had an MRI, CT scans, ultrasounds, blood tests of all sorts (food allergies, diabetes, etc.), and everything says I am healthy. I have had a tumor removed from my esophagus when they did the endoscopy in the beginning, and I had a history of cysts (I’ve had one in my head, in my arm pits, and now one in my right nasal cavity), and I have a second and third tumor growing in my right arm. They aren’t convinced any of this is related, they just know that my period problem from high school is happening again, so they’re convinced it is hormone induced cyclic vomiting syndrome...which has no for sure cause or cure, so, that has been nice, and has triggered my depression, but I’ve been dealing with my depression my entire life.

Depression/Abuse

Since I was a kid, I’ve had a messed up home life. My uncle did some truly horrible things before he ended up eventually in jail for four life sentences, and short story on that because I simply don’t talk about it, is he used to tape my sister and I shut in boxes, and threaten us with his pet snake. He even through a knife at my cousin once, and would put my sister and up on the top shelf of the closet and leave us there.

On top of that, my Dad was never around much, and he left for good when I was 7, the same year that my grandmother died from the chemo for her ovarian cancer. He is a whole other story in itself, but he only added to my abandonment issues when I was 21 and he showed back up ONLY to talk my sister and I out of making him pay off the back child support he owed (it was a whole thing), and having the audacity to say he stayed away because he loved us...but raised our half siblings, so...just. I don’t like talking about him either.

Then I had a mother who was constantly verbally abusing my sister and I--she still does--and calling us fat even when we were skinny. Telling us we wasted our potential, telling us we’re useless, etc., and only recently getting herself the help she needs for her own emotional issues because she too was abused. Our family is filled with abusers, and she’s much better now that we’ve all addressed we have some problems, but dealing with that on top of all the other things that I deal with now, has been rough.

I feel broken. My mother tells me not to say that, but all of my health issues, and my failed past relationships with boys that have thus kept me single the last three years, make me feel that way. I’m a demisexual person who had two boyfriends cheat because they couldn’t wait for me to be ready for sex, and one basically admit after a little while that he just wanted sex and was “putting up with my feelings until then”, and I dunno, I delved farther into writing and honestly, it has been my only constant.

I’ve been writing stories since I was 6, and this is a hobby, yes, but it is also an escape when I’m not working on my stuff to get published (I’ve actually been a published author since 2011). I’m editing my second book right now and it gets priority sometimes when I’m in a funk, but I have been so sick lately because of my stomach, and just so tired and stressed with work really only keeping me on because they can’t fire me when I have medical reasons and doctor’s notes, and I just thought you guys should know.

I try to be on because writing helps me not think about all of my issues, but sometimes I’m so tired, or so sick, that I just can’t do replies. Plus, my arm with the tumors has been hurting more and more lately, and I may have to get them removed, which will mean another two weeks of a sling and pain meds, and crying myself to sleep because recovery from arm surgery hurts.

So if I’m ever slow, something is up. I love being around to write--it’s my safe space--but I’ve been dealing with a lot lately. I really do love and appreciate all of you, and I’m so grateful that you guys are so patient with me. <3

[btamamura]

Sorry, this is a long post so you can feel free to just scroll past. I wrote this on the app since the web page hates my devices, so there is no Read More cut.

Time to open up to my followers.

If you’ve known me for a while, you’d know my battles over the last few years. For the new folks, here it is - I have been living with a chronic illness since November 1, 2014, and it has been awful.

It started out as just chronic nausea. We thought it might’ve been something I ate or a lingering case of gastro. But, that changed February the next year when the pain started.

I woke up one morning to find I was in extreme pain in my feet. I hadn’t injured myself but my feet felt like the bones had been shattered. The lightest touch made the pain even worse, so I was just lying on my back, feet in the air, crying and crying, trying not to scream and wishing it would just go away. The pain faded over the next couple of weeks, but never left completely. It was just an annoyance or painful but not excruciating. My grandfather offered for me to see a podiatrist, he would pay if not bulk-billed, because he thought maybe it was from the many years of walking on my toes.

The next day, right before my cousin’s birthday party, which I had planned on attending for at least an hour just to say hello to the family, the same horrible pains started in my hands. Dad just had to take one look at me to know I would not be going. I asked him, through my tears, in half-seriousness if he could find his axe and chop my hands off so I never had to feel that pain again.

I found a clinic to attend with my grandfather’s help. I saw a doctor about my symptoms. She focused on the nausea, even if I kept saying “I’m in worse pain today!”, so I tried seeing a different doctor in the clinic. The first doctor had ordered a gastroscopy to be done to see if there was something going on in my stomach.

The second doctor kept ordering the same blood tests - iron, b12, vitamin d. And even once those levels had been corrected, I was still sick and sore. I had since had my gastroscopy, which came up clear. The second doctor looked me in the eye and said outright that she believed I had to be faking in order to get out of looking for work. I was already upset that the gastroscopy had no answers (I’d already said I would cry if it came up clear, just as I would’ve if it found a tumour developing in my stomach), but then to hear that from someone who was meant to help?! I broke down crying and told her if everything I had missed in the time I had been sick. By this time, it was early 2016.

I told her of missing visiting my niece as a newborn. Of how I couldn’t attend my cousin’s engagement, Hen’s night and wedding. Of how I couldn’t attend my pop’s funeral. Or the missed annual dinners with Nan and Pop before his passing. (Pop is my dad’s stepfather and was a big part of my life growing up despite living far away.) How I had planned a holiday to the Gold Coast for my 30th birthday but instead spent that day in bed, struggling to down my food and avoiding the family as they ate theirs because the smell made my nausea worse. Of the Christmases I spent sick in bed and unable to visit my mother’s grave. Of not being able to hang out with my sister and spend time with my young nephew and much younger niece. I refused to see that doctor again and left feeling terrible.

New doctor at a clinic my great-uncle visited. He decided to do the usual blood test but also tested to see if I was autoimmune. Yep, so he then tested to see if I had lupus. Nope. But, he still seemed to be doing more for me than the last two doctors. A week after the autoimmune result came in, I wound up in hospital. I hadn’t been able to eat or drink for a week because I was having difficulty swallowing. I wasn’t in a dangerous condition, so I was only admitted overnight for observation, having some fluids by IV and to speak with a speech therapist the next morning as I was put on a purée diet. While being observed, the doctor in hospital noticed something - a goitre.

Eating troubles started becoming more frequent at that time. By the end of 2016, I was struggling with abdominal pains and low appetite. There were sporadic days I couldn’t eat a thing. I attended another appointment where the doctor forced me to have two jelly babies because my blood sugar was low - no, I’m not diabetic. They came to a head in late-March of 2017.

I hadn’t eaten more than a nibble here and there and only barely sipped at a drink for a week. I was very unwell and after the third time of being sick, I decided I had to go up to the emergency department because something was very wrong. I was right - they saw me right away. I was in the early stages of Refeeding Syndrome due to starvation, my blood sugar was low, my ketones had gone up and my organs were slowly starting to shut down. My blood was acidic. I was told to try sipping at apple juice, but it was no good, I couldn’t even muster that.

I was moved to short stay while waiting to transfer to a ward. My time in hospital was scary, and not in the usual “I’m afraid of hospitals” way. I was in danger. I was diagnosed with starvation ketoacidosis (similar to diabetic but I’m not diabetic), as anorexic (no appetite version, not anorexia nervosa) and even if they tried to get me to eat, I struggled even with crackers. They put me on Ondansetron (usually for chemo and radiotherapy patients) to ensure anything I did try to eat would stay down. I was put on different infusions - saline, glucose, potassium (THAT HURT SO MUCH, I THOUGHT SOMEONE WAS TRYING TO SNAP MY ARM IN HALF AND I ACTUALLY PASSED OUT FROM THE PAIN!!) and others. I had blood tests at least twice a day and tests for my blood sugar and ketones every time I was about to eat or if I looked a bit more unwell. I had to be hooked up to a portable heart monitor, but the first night of that, my heart rate reached 150bpm just slowly walking to the toilet, and a Med Call was made to make sure I did not go into cardiac arrest. The doctor who made his rounds had to outright tell me that if I failed to eat, I would need to be put on a feeding tube or else I would die. That’s how bad it was. I was in for a week before I was deemed well enough and safe enough to go home.

The third doctor started to let me down, ordering the same blood tests to make it look like he knew what might be going on. No good. Wound up feeling too ill later in the year so I missed my uncle’s funeral.

In 2018, I started going downhill. Wound up hospitalised with starvation ketoacidosis again following a bout of gastro the day before. Falls also started occurring. But, it was no good, I couldn’t find a good doctor who could help instead of just playing around with the same old blood tests. I missed more events including my other niece’s first birthday and my great-uncle’s funeral.

2019, still struggling. I’m seeing a new doctor, but she very quickly lets me down by saying EVERYTHING is just tied to my anxiety. At least she took the lump in my breast seriously - thankfully not cancer. But, as the year progresses, a good doctor is finally found. My cousin helped me find a clinic that bulk-bills and is taking on patients.

My current GP listens every time I see her. Every. Time. I go in with a new symptom or concern, she orders the right tests or refers me to someone who can help. Through her help, I’ve been able to see a speech therapist about the ongoing swallowing issues, a physiotherapist about my falls, a dietician about my dietary issues which contribute to deficiencies, a surgeon about my goitre (he put me on medicine because my thyroid was a bit overactive - suspecting hyperthyroidism or any other forms of it - in the most recent blood test through the hospital when I went up by ambulance with chest pains, ordered a CT scan and believes the best course of action may be to perform a complete thyroidectomy, meaning removal of my thyroid), had me undergo full blood tests (not just the usual), had me undergo an ECG and TTE (trans-thoracic echo, an ultrasound of the heart) just to make sure all is well there since I keep having chest pains and most recently referred me to a neurologist because she believes my symptoms line up with a rare genetic condition. She’s also looking into finding a neuropsychologist who can help with an autism assessment.

Because of the help I’ve been receiving, I’ve been a bit more hopeful of a diagnosis finally coming in the near future. Because I’ve been seeing a physio who helped me with strengthening exercises for my legs, I have been able to go out walking for a little while - never out on the streets but yes in shopping centres, that way if something goes wrong, someone is nearby to get help.

I still feel nauseous (still on Ondansetron for that). I’m still in pain every second of every day. I still feel that weakness. But, I’m starting to have those okay moments where I can go shopping or play with my niece and nephew - both occurred over the last couple of days, a water fight two nights ago where I just stood there shooting a water pistol at them as they ran around me, and an hour out shopping with my niece. Yes, those hit hard the next day and up through the next week. I do not intend to push myself so hard I’m at risk of hospitalisation. But, I also need to work at rebuilding my stamina. My father and grandfather have special birthdays next year and I want to be able to attend the dinner organised...even if I can’t eat while there, as long as I’m there is what matters.

But, for now, it’s baby steps. Sitting up and watching a movie. Washing some dishes. Carefully playing with the kids. Try to keep the shopping trips short. Eat what is possible, not what is a must.

[bopbopbeepbop]

It was my second year in medical school when I got diagnosed with cancer.

We were just reading and studying the symptoms and diseases in the textbooks and then suddenly I was the one experiencing it.

It started December 2018 as an enlarged lymph node on my neck which continuously grow and multiplied over weeks. After several workups and medications that did not work, the doctor recommended to do a biopsy. By that time, second semester at school just started. I consulted my professor in surgery and he suggested to do the biopsy himself as soon as possible. Before the procedure, they did an x-ray and they found a large tumor in my anterior mediastinum just above my heart which was surprising because my x-ray was normal just a month ago. There were also multiple nodules found on my lungs which are causing some fluid build up. I was alone that time and after talking to my doctor it was the only time I cried really really hard, knowing how serious my condition may be and that I might need to stop in medicine school.

A week after, just few days after my 24th birthday, the result of the biopsy came out. It was Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma B cell type, probably stage 3 or 4. This is a type of cancer that starts from the white blood cells affecting the lymphatic system which is an important part of our immune system..The good thing is that this is very responsive to chemotherapy and have a good prognosis. 

It was unusual, I wasn’t that surprised when my doctor told me that I have cancer. Maybe because I had expected the worse possible outcome, or maybe because I already poured it all out when I cried before.  

When I came back to my doctor for follow up I already had difficulty breathing for days but I still tried to go to school for our quiz. But when he saw me, he immediately insisted to admit me at the hospital. Apparently, I have a massive pleural effusion on my left lung (2/3 of my left lung is filled with fluid). I was scheduled for chest tube thoracostomy (CTT) insertion the next day to drain the fluid. It was a simple and quick procedure but I had complications after the operation. I was half awake in the recovery room and I could only remember that I kept on coughing and there were a lot people around me and they were in commotion. The enlarging lymph nodes on my neck started compressing my airway that I could no longer breathe. They couldn’t intubate me and they had to do an emergency tracheostomy.

I woke up in the ICU with tubes on my side and a hole on my neck. My doctor said that I went into critical state and they nearly lost me there. They started the chemotherapy immediately. Thank God, I did not experience much the side effects of chemo except for the hair loss. Doctors said it was amazing how I responded dramatically from the chemo because almost all of the enlarged lymph nodes compressing my neck are already gone just days after and I was doing good compared to other patients who have the same case. I stayed at the hospital for 22 days. I already had 2 cycles of chemo out of 8 and I’m doing well now except I already lost my hair which is difficult for me.

I had to withdraw from medicine school for the treatment. When I started in med school, I always prayed that nothing bad will happen that will make me stop from finishing it, like maybe not having enough money for my tuition but I never thought I would be sick like this because I rarely get sick before. I did asked God at one point why now? why now when I finally found something I don’t want to loose... something worth holding on to no matter how difficult it was. But none if these mattered now. God showed me that there are more things to be thankful for. I’m just thankful that I’m still alive right now. During my time at the hospital, I felt all the love and support of my family, friends, classmates, doctors who are mostly my professors also, and even the whole school of medicine. When my classmates visited, the halls of the hospital outside the ICU were filled with med students. All their support and encouragement were overwhelming and heartwarming. That’s why even if there were times that it was hard and pain is sometimes unbearable, it was not hard to see more of what I could be grateful for. I know that God have a great plan for me because I could have just died during that time in the operating room and I’m excited on what God will do in my life. 

I’m back home now just resting, recovering, and trying to gain again some weight so I decided to write again and here’s my journey on fighting lymphoma, living, surviving, and embracing whatever comes ahead.

[baronessblixen]

Hi. So I am sick rn and IMO there is a dearth of fanfic about Mulder taking care of Scully when she is sick and onscreen it was only Penny Northern who got to comfort her through chemo in one tiny scene when my little Shipper heart wanted it to be Mulder! So I guess the prompt would be the scene with Scully and Dr Scanlon 'I know the chemo's gonna make me very sick,' and Dr Scanlon says 'You're gonna feel like dying.' Scully sick and maybe hair loss like Penny? Mulder as tender caretaker TIA

This is one of my oldest prompts. I apologize to anon (and sincerely hope they’re well again!) for taking this long. This anon probably no longer follows me, but I am determined to work on my prompts. So here. Tagging @today-in-fic

They thinkthemselves safe after the first chemo, after the second. Dr. Scanlon's wordsthat she's going to feel like dying were a constant sword of Damocles over herhead, over both their heads, until it wasn't. When Scully didn't feel sick afterthe second round and assured everyone that she did indeed feel fine, the wordsdissolved into a distant memory, into mere smoke. No fire, not here. Not untilchemo number three, that is.

Before thetreatment started, Mulder prepared himself as well as he could. Hiding hisfeelings, throwing himself into work (and sometimes Scully, too) into work; anythingto distract himself from what was happening right in front of his eyes. Allthese weeks in and he is still hiding his feelings, watching Scully out of thecorner of his eye. Scully, after all, doesn't want him to hover. From time totime he is convinced she doesn't want him to care at all. If he's honest, lateat night when he's missing her, when wanting to see and touch her manifestsinto physical pain spreading through his veins like a phantom cancer, he wisheshe didn't care either. Most of all he wishes she'd never met him. Never methim, never joined him. Just never. But there is no going back, no changing thepast. They're doomed, both of them.

The chemo is onFridays. Scully chose that day so she can rest over the weekend. She leavesearly, unable to just stay away all day. Mulder contemplates wishing her goodluck, but doesn't; the sentiment too trite. Instead he helps her into her coatand startles when he realizes how tiny she is, how fragile. His hand againsther back is comically large and he draws it away.

"See youon Monday," he mumbles, his voice a vulnerable mess. Scully, alwaysstronger than he could ever be, nods and manages a smile before she leaves himalone in their office.

It's quietthere without her, feels like a grave. Mulder spends his day checking hiswatch, reiterating what Scully is going through. He knows the procedure. At 4pm he leaves, knowing it's about the same time they're taking Scully home. Bothhe and her mother offered to drop her off and take her home after. Her only answerthen a 'don't be silly'. They both kept quiet, biting their lips. So Scullytakes a taxi, every time.

The call comesat 8 pm. Mulder is half-heartedly chewing on a cold piece of pizza that he foundin the fridge when the phone rings.

"Mulder,"he answers and there is silence for a few seconds; they stretch on so that healmost hangs up again.

"It'sme," Scully says then, not sounding like herself at all.

"Ohhey," Mulder stumbles over his greeting. He swallows and sits upright onhis couch, as if that would make a difference. He turns down the volume of theTV. "How – how are you feeling?" There's more silence, graver thanbefore. Mulder expects the worst, even if he can't say what that would be rightthis moment. His throat is dry and he swallows again.

"Can you…I don't think I should be alone tonight." Even now she can't ask him. ButMulder, after all this time, can't blame her. He turns off the TV, searches forhis shoes.

"I'll beright there, Scully."

He's beenpreparing himself, or trying to do so, but when Scully opens the door he has toface the fact that he is no prepared for any of this. Her robe hand hangs offher carelessly, her skinny frame disappearing in the fluffy fabric. She leansheavily against the door, barely able to hold herself up; her face showsshadows of exhaustion and pain. Mulder doesn't say a word; he's not even surehe could say anything. He puts his arms around her and she lets go, gives in.She is way too light in his arms, her weight barely there. In tiny steps theymake it over to the couch where they slump down together, Scully against him.She's cool to his touch, yet sweaty. Her eyes are ablaze, her skin ashen.Mulder has never seen her like this and he wants to look away almost. He wantsto see Scully the way he knows her, the way he's always seen there. He can'tlook away, he never could. So he reaches out to tug a strand of hair behind herear. The long lock of fiery red hair remains between his fingers and he staresat it, tries to make it disappear before Scully sees it.

"I'msorry," she chokes as if any of this was her fault. "I didn't wantyou to see me like this." Like what, he doesn't dare to ask. She's human.She's sick. She's still his Scully, though.

"What can Ido for you?" Mulder asks her.

"Just behere," she replies with a sigh. "Be here and…" But she doesn'tfinish; she doesn't have to continue her sentence. Be here and make sure Idon't die are the words she doesn't utter, the words Mulder hears anyway.

Mulder doesn'tsleep. He urges Scully to go to bed several times (each time they return fromthe bathroom after she's been sick). Each time she says no. At 1.30 am with hermind broken, everything about her empty, she lets Mulder carry her to the bed,crying soft, desperate tears he pretends not to see or feel. He stays with herand puts another blanket over her when she shivers in her sleep. Not once doeshe take his eyes off of her.

"Goodmorning," he greets her with a smile he can't hide shortly past 9 am.She's slept for seven hours straight without being sick. If that's not good,then what is? Scully blinks at him and her complexion is a bit rosier, a littlemore like herself. "How are you feeling?"

"Better."

"You sure?"She nods, but doesn't attempt to get up. It takes her a moment to realize whereshe is;  Mulder sees the thought processin her eyes. She blushes briefly when she puts the pieces together. "Youalways tell me it's not good for the back to sleep on the couch," heexplains, blushing himself.

"Thankyou, Mulder," she says, her voice soft and steady. They don't talk aboutthe night before or any of it.

Throughout theday Mulder watches her like a hawk. Scully doesn't ask him to leave and hemakes no move to do so either. They spend the day on the couch like a youngcouple in love, cuddling and watching terrible movies together. Scully driftsin and out of consciousness. When she's awake Mulder makes sure she drinks enoughfluids and eats some broth. It's all she dares to try. He brews tea every two hours,knowing it needs to cool. Earlier Scully drank hot tea and it made her sick.The only time so far this Saturday. In the evening Mulder is hopeful that it'sover. Scully has been awake for almost two hours and she's chuckling at themovie they're watching.

"Hmmm,"she says, her eyes glued to the screen.

"Hm? Youneed anything?"

"Thatbread," she points at the screen where a family of three is sharing a bigloaf of bread, "I really wish I could have some of that warm, tastybread." She licks her dry, cracked lips and moves her mouth as if she werechewing.

Five minuteslater she is fast asleep and breathing deeply against his chest, where a planis brewing. Mulder maneuvers Scully into a laying position and makes sure shedoesn't wake up. There is no bread in her kitchen. He considers making it fromscratch, but how would he even start? Mulder doesn't think long; there's one thingto do, only one person to call.

"HelloMrs. Scully," he says into the phone, trying not to sound like a youngboy.

"Fox?"Mrs. Scully is as surprised as she is concerned when she hears his voice."Is it Dana? Is she not feeling well?" He thinks of last night. Thephone call that brought him here. Scully being sick again and again. But shecalled him, not her mother. This is not his story to tell.

"She'sfine," he lies, "but she's been craving bread and since she hasn'tbeen eating well, I thought…" On the other end of the line Mrs. Scullychuckles.

"That's mybaby girl," she sighs, "her grandmother used to bake bread for herwhen she was sick. It's her comfort food."

"Can youtell me how to make it?" Mulder asks, afraid it's some complicated thinghe won't ever understand.

"Ofcourse, Fox. Of course."

Scully haseverything he needs for making the bread from scratch and Mulder follows therecipe to the letter. It has to be just right. An hour later the tiny loaf ofbread is in the oven, baking and growing.

"Mulder?"Scully's voice comes from the living room and he races back to her side. Hefalls to his knees right in front of the couch.

"You okay?"He touches her cheeks and frames her face. To his greatest delight Scully rollsher eyes and smiles at him.

"I feelfine, really, but… am I crazy or do I smell my grandmother Scully's magicbread?" Any notion of joking with her, of telling her she's imaging thingsflies out the moment he looks at her. Her face is so open and her eyes morehopeful than he's ever seen them. In this moment she is young, carefree; heronly concern that she'll get a slice of warm bread. In this very moment shedoesn't look sick. She's just herself. She's Scully, living and fighting.

"Itis," Mulder admits, unable to keep her guessing any longer. "I askedyour mother for the recipe.

"OhMulder." Scully kisses his cheek; she smells like sleep and toothpaste,like steel and the faint odor of hospital gowns, of sweet and sour vomit. ButMulder doesn't care and just grins at her.

They sit infront of the oven like a bunch of school children and watch the bread grow,grow and grow. They chatter and laugh; Scully talks about her grandmother andhow she raised six children by herself. How she always wanted to be as badassas grandmother Scully. Before Mulder can assure her that she is the most badassperson he has ever known, the kitchen timer dings.

"I'm soexcited," Scully giggles.

"Metoo," Mulder says but watches her. He doesn't care for the bread, for thetaste of it. All he cares about is her. The bread shimmers golden as Muldertakes it out. As he cuts into the steaming load, a delicious, warm and sweetscent fills the small kitchen. Scully, her eyes closed, takes a deep breath.

"Here,"Mulder offers her a small piece and Scully takes it from him. Her eyes are onhim as she bites into it. Mulder is certain he can taste it from just watchingher.

"Tryit," Scully whispers and offers him the other half. "You did itperfectly. My grandmother would be so proud." He chews carefully, thetexture heavenly soft.

"I did itfor you, Scully." He would do anything for her. Any little thing. Bakebread or find a cure to save her. He'll do it. There's no other choice.

"Let'stake it to the living room." They cut off a large chunk of bread andsettle back on the couch. They feed each other small bits, not saying a singleword.

"I'mfull," Scully says too soon and Mulder leaves the rest of the bread on thecoffee table in case she changes her mind. Exhaustion catches up with him andhe falls asleep holding Scully in his arms.

He remembersthe moment, the bread and her face, and cherishes it hours later when Scullywakes up with a haunted look on her face. They barely make it to the bathroomthis time; this wave of nausea hitting them both out of nowhere, surprisingthem. Mulder strokes her clammy back as she leans over the porcelain, her bodyunable to keep anything it, to accept nourishment.

Mulder whispersa constant string of 'I'm sorry' and 'you'll be fine' and it falls into a canonwith Scully's own words of apology and shame. He touches her neck where astrand of hair has come undone. He picks it up and marvels how soft it is. Forthe first time he notices the small patches of baldness on her head. Tearssting in his eyes. He takes a shaky breath before he kisses her neck, rightwhere her pale scar winks at him.

"You'll beall right, Scully. I promise you. I promise you that," he whispers withdetermination.

[buckyscrystalqueen]

Always: Part 6

Pairings: Chibs x Reader (Reader has breast cancer)

Warnings: Swearing, breast cancer, angst, fluff, hair loss, Chibs being an ass and some miscommunication.

Word Count: 2,679

Part 1 / Part 2 / Part 3 / Part 4 / Part 5

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When you came too, you were absolutely frozen and you were shivering so hard you wondered if your bones would actually break from it. You could feel course ropes digging into your wrists and ankles and another one was wrapped around your chest right under your scars. Your wig was slightly crooked on your head and blocked part of your view but from what you could see of the dimly lit concrete room, you weren’t missing much.

“Damn it, man.” You groaned as you leaned forward as far as your restraints would allow as your stomach rolled. “Not cool.” You leaned over to the side as best as you could and threw up violently as the door to your cell flung opened.

“Damn son! Couldn’t grab a healthy old lady?” A man asked as he watched you be sick all over your leg, the chair, and the floor again.

“She was the brunette right outside the hospital, man. We snagged her from the front door.”

“I was having chemo, asshats.” You groaned as you picked your head up as best as you could and shook your head until your wig fell off. “I have cancer. You grabbed the wrong old lady. I just… I…” You tried as your stomach rolled again. You had just enough time to bend over as far as you could to get sick again.

“You fucking idiot!” Someone shouted seconds before a gun shot rang out in the small room. You let out a yelp and got sick again when a body hit the floor in front of you. Reality settled in and you tried to pull on the ropes.

“Please. Please the longer you keep me, the sicker I’ll get. I’m not involved with the MC…” Your words were cut off quickly as a black man with a scared face who you assumed was in charge punched you hard in the jaw with his gun. You could almost feel your eyeballs roll in your head and you though you felt the hit all the way to your toes.

“Don’t waste my fucking time by lying, bitch. You were with the head whore herself.” The man said as he crouched down in front of you. “So you’re worth something to one of those cock suckers. Even if you are… disgusting now.” He said as he reached out to push down the collar of your shirt as if to make a point. You closed your eyes and tears welled behind your lids as the man chuckled darkly. “Oh yea… you mean a whole lot to one of those back stabbing mother fuckers. And I bet they’ll pay up a lot faster with you.”

——

“Damn.” You whispered to the only guy of the group that captured you that was kind enough to check up on you and bring you water. “Thought the cancer was gunna kill me. Not exposure.” The younger guy with an ‘XIX’ tattoo on his neck looked up at you and you could see the hesitation in his eyes.

“It’ll be OK. Just stay quiet.” The kid said. You nodded as you swallowed the gulp of water he had given you.

“What’s your name? I’m (Y/N).” You asked, hoping that if you got personal that he would let you go get the medical help you knew you desperately needed. He simply shook his head.

“They made a deal.” He whispered as he glanced over his shoulder. “Sons are coming to get you.” You nodded and let out a sigh of relief as he gave you a little more water. “Just… hang in there and stay quiet.”

“Thank you.” You whispered as he wiped off your mouth and headed out of the cell you were being kept in. Tears of gratitude filled your eyes as you let your head fall back. You let out a slightly choked sob and sat up with a nod of your head.

“He’s coming.” You whispered to yourself. “Chibs is coming.”

——

You had some how managed to fall asleep with your head on your chest when out of no where, the wall to the right of you was blasted toward you. You and your chair went flying across the room as the roar of an engine filled your ears. You landed hard on your hip and the chair partially broke on the impact. You did everything you could to cover your head with the arm under your body as debris from the rotted wood roof collapsed on you. 

“Spread out.” You heard Clay shout over the sound of gun shots.

“Here!” You choked out as loudly as you could as tears welled in your eyes. “Here!” You didn’t know if any one could hear you as you tried to rummage through the rubble to untie yourself. Your vision blurred and your world spun from being thrown by the truck and not having anything to eat or really drink for what you assumed was an entire day and you had to force yourself not to throw up the little bit of water you had in your system.

“Please.” You cried softly as you tried to fight the exhaustion that was seeping into your soul as you frantically tried to untie the ropes around your wrists. “I’m here, please. Filip, here!” You got your right wrist untied as your vision started to tunnel. “Please…” A crunch above your head caught your attention and you tried to look up, catching just the hint of a pair of jeans before everything went black.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“The fuck we gunna do with her, Rig, huh? She’s fucking sick, look at her!” The kid who had told you the Sons were coming shouted over the rumble of a car. You opened your eyes slowly only to realize you were not only blindfolded but also gagged and tied up as he continued. “They know we fucking have her! And LaRoy is going to flip his shit when he finds out…”

“Finds out what, Tyler?” A man shouted back.

“Finds out we fucking kidnapped a woman that has fucking cancer, especially after what his momma just went through…”

“You know what, Tyler. You make the fucking plans then, how about that?” The man you assumed had to be Rig said. “You make the plan on how to pay back those sum bitches.”

“Fine.” Tyler said as the vehicle you were in shifted violently and came screeching to a halt on the side of the road. You heard a door open in front of you before another one opened by your head. He untied your bandana and looked down at you as he pulled off your gag.

“I’m leaving you here.” He said as he helped you sit up and handed you some quarters. “About a block up the road is a gas station. Call your old man and have him come get you. Sorry…”

“Just let me go.” You said as he untied your ankles and helped you out of the car.

“Look, they know it was us. But just…”

“I know.” You said as you let him help you lead you over to the curb. “Just let me go and please don’t come back.” He nodded as he leaned you up against a street light pole. Without another word, he ran back over to the drivers side and took off. The moment his tail lights disappeared, you collapsed to the ground and sobbed. You took a minute to control yourself before getting to your feet as fast as you could and stumbling toward the gas station.

“I need the phone.” You snapped at the teen that was standing by the pay phone smoking a cigarette. He took one look at your wild appearance and the dried vomit on your leg and took off at a run. Your hands shook violently as you put in the change and dialed the familiar phone number. You gripped the edge of the booth to keep yourself upright as you waited.

“Aye?”

“Filip.” You gasped as you rested your forehead on the payphone to see the address on it. “Gas station. 543 Lily Street in Oakland. Please…”

“Found her! I’m comin’ baby. I’m comin’. Jus’ stay there, m’luv.” You nodded your head as you slowly rolled off the phone toward the brick building.

“Just… please.” You threw up the little bit of water you had in your stomach and sank down to the ground with tears in your eyes. You curled into yourself in excruciating pain as you laid down on the sidewalk while your fiancé screamed your name into the now dangling phone.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

You knew when you came to that you were one hundred percent safe just by the subtle smell of your fiancé’s body wash and the faint smell of cigarette smoke. Your eyes flew open and Chibs lurched to his feet beside the bed. Your eyes went wide in shock as you looked at his mask covered face and the bright yellow paper gown covering his clothes.

“Luv…”

“LaRoy didn’t know.” You interrupted with a small shake of your head that sent a fiery pain ricocheting through every inch of your body. You cringed but continued anyways. “A guy with a scared face was the one running the show. They were looking for someone else; another brunette that was with the club or something. One of the guys named Tyler told me you were coming to get me and he’s the one that must have gotten me out when you assholes tried to run me over with the car… thanks for that.”

“Sorry, luv.” You nodded slowly as you took ahold of his glove covered hand.

“Tyler took care of me. He was the one who made sure I had water. He’s the one that brought me somewhere to call you. The other guys, the scared face guy and the ones with the x-i-x tattoos are trying to pay you back for something but I don’t know what. But it wasn’t supposed to be me…”

“OK, OK, m’luv. Breathe for me.” He said as he gently grabbed your wrists and sat down on the bed. “It’s a’right, now. Yer safe.” You nodded your head as you looked down at your feet for a moment before realizing where you were.

“Wait, what happened?”

“Ye got sick, luv. When we found ye, ye had a fev��a ‘round hundred and four, ye were shakin’ sumthin’ fierce, an’ ye couldn’t catch yer breath very well. They were thinkin’ pneumonia but once we got ye ‘ere an’ got ye warmed up an’ on fluids ye came ‘round. Ye do ‘ave the flu but ye’ll be OK, m’luv.”

“My last chemo?”

“You’ll get it ‘ere.” He said as he reached out to brush his fingertips across the giant bruise that covered the left side of your face and body from being punched and being thrown by the car. “Yer… umm… yer gon’ be ‘ere for a couple weeks, sweet’eart. Yer docs want ta bring this fev’a down an’ keep ye in a controlled environment ta prevent anythin’ else from ‘appenin’. Jus’ in case, luv.”

“Can I admit something to you?” You asked as you rolled your head to the side a bit.

“Wha’s tha’ luv?”

“I love that you love that club… but it smells like rank pussy in there and I’d much rather stay here if I can’t go home because I have enough reasons to throw up these days.” You could see his smile light up his eyes behind his mask as he nodded his head.

“Yea, tha’s the club for ye.” He chuckled. “Tha’s why I ‘ad Gem clean the room for ye… but this is a much bett’a option. All sterile an’ clean… an’ no rancid pussy anywhere.”

“And I get to see you in this lovely get up.” You teased as you reached up and poked the mask on his nose. “Now if only I had my phone to take a picture…”

“No’ ‘appenin’ luv.” He chuckled with a shake of his head as he stood up. “Ge’ some sleep, baby girl. I wan’ m’fiancée ta come ‘ome ta our bed as fas’ as possible.” You smiled broadly as he sat back down in his chair.

“Sounds like heaven to me.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Well, it’s official!” You called out from your room when you heard your front door open. You ran your towel over your very short hair as you walked over to the bathroom door that lead to your living room. You pulled it open with a smile at your fiancé. “I’m cancer free.”

“‘ey! Congrats luv.” He replied as he leaned out your front door to grab something. “Guess I planned this perfectly.” Your brow furrowed and you stepped out into the living as Chibs set the bottom of a guitar case on the floor in front of him; your guitar case. You gasped and took a step back with tears in your eyes. “Found the payment slip in yer drawer when I was gettin’ ye clothes for the ‘ospital.”

“Filip… I had like three grand left on it.” He smirked and nodded as he picked up the guitar case and brought it over to the couch.

“An’ I ‘ad three grand ta spend on the woman I luv who jus’ beat canc’a.” He said as he set the case down and popped it open. He looked up at you and gestured to the instrument. “Will ye play for me, m’luv?” Your smile grew impossibly larger as you held on to the top of your towel and headed over to the couch. The guitar looked even more beautiful after almost six months of not seeing it and you got actual goosebumps as you picked it up. You grabbed your finger pick from the pocket in the top lining and sat down on the couch. 

“Baby.” You breathed with tears of joy in your eye as you strummed the strings one by one. You looked up at his smiling face once more before singing the first song that came to mind.

It's amazing how you can speak right to my heart

Without saying a word you can light up the dark

Try as I may I could never explain

What I hear when you don't say a thing

The smile on your face lets me know that you need me

There's a truth in your eyes sayin' you'll never leave me

The touch of your hand says you'll catch me if ever I fall

You say it best when you say nothing at all

You looked up at Chibs as he sat back on the couch and nodded at you to continue. With a smile, you let your tight hold on your towel go and relax more than you had allowed yourself in the last six months. When you finished ‘When You Say Nothing At All’ by Keith Whitley, you leaned back against the back of the couch and just kept playing. After a couple songs, your fiancé silently got up to get ready for bed, ecstatic that he could see happiness he hadn’t been able to see yet in his fiancée.

You played until your fingers nearly bled; until the strings made temporary dips in your flesh and your right hand was so stiff it was almost painful to continue… not that you minded one bit. You set your baby back in it’s case and carried it into your bedroom. Chibs looked over from the TV show he had been watching with a smile as you set the guitar case against the wall by the door.

“Thank you.” You said softly as you tossed your towel in the bathroom and got into bed.

“Of course, m’luv. Ye deserve the world.” He turned off the TV, set the remote on his bedside table, and scooted down on the bed to wrap you in his arms. “It’s so nice ta see ye relaxed like tha’, sweet’eart. Ye needed it.” You nodded as you curled into his chest and wrapped your arm around his waist.

“I did.” You agreed as you looked up at his gorgeous brown eyes. “Thank you… for everything you’ve done for me.”

“Always, (Y/N). Always.”

[indianroseeee-blog]

I could still feel the tears falling down my face as my rhuematologist told me that i have been diagnosed with Lupus. I blamed everyone. When I found out it can also be genetic. I dropped because my mother is also dealing with the same condition i had. I sometimes chose not to talk and hold so much anger inside when i was mostly needed to relax and not stressed. I felt that my life would be over with. I graduated in 2013 from L W Higgins High School and moved in my apartment the following year. 

Around this time i was also in school and working two jobs. My husband had a job also. Then one day i was working at Walmart as a cashier. I was scanning someones order and almost passed out. She asked me was i ok and i told her no i really didn't feel good. So i went home and laid in my bed feeling like i just ran 5 miles. Around this time my bipolar tendencies started to kick in because i was scared and paranoid. Every time i get sick i always go to talk like i am about to die. I realize there is much more i wanna live for. 

One day in the middle of the night, i woke my husband up from his sleep. i had so much excruciating pain that i could not hold myself up. He thought i was being over dramatic but i was being very honest. But , he still ended up bringing me to the hospital. There we set and waited for a hour in the waiting room at Oschner ER in Kenner,LA. The kept saying it was a urinary tract infection. so they prescribed me antibiotics that had sulfate in it. I took the pill and went to bed. I woke up again and begged my husband to bring me back to the ER because i was suffocating. I caught an allergic reaction and my glands and airway swelled. They gave me medicine and told me tried to get rid of it the natural way. I went to another emergency hospital called East Jefferson Hospital in Metairie, LA.. They were saying the same thing. That night i went home and begin to eat and it would run straight through me. Like literally sometimes i couldn't even make it to the bathroom. Or sometimes when i feel the urge to pee, my body starts to make me pee. I had no control over my body what so ever. 

I was taking a bath in all hot water and it wasn't burning me, but it was hurting my husband to help bathe me. For the next few days i would sleep all day. I couldnt eat because i couldn't hold anything down. i would have really bad sweat episodes to where my body sweat imprint would be soaked within  the bed. Then i couldn't breathe laying down, so i sat up to go to sleep. Around 12:30 at night i squealed my husbands name and he didn't here me and i said it one more time and woke up. I told him that i couldn't breathe and he carried me from our upstairs apartment to the car. He was so worried he kept telling me to respond to him. I began to go in and out of consciousness. By this time, My whole face swelled to where i couldn't see anything. By the now the nurses know me by heart.

i was rushed to the back. My BP (blood pressure) was 98/52. which is not good. The ER doctor called the admitting doctor because he told me he didn't know what was going on and i have been coming back and forth here between the last two weeks. They admitted me and it took them almost two months of me being in the hospital, that it was my kidneys. My kidneys were failing. So at first they had me on 60 MG Prednisone & Imuran & plaquinil. Then they switched me to cellcept. My body started to regulate again. By this time i lost everyone because of me not being able to work because of how sick i was.I couldn't even finish school semester all because i was in the hospital. I felt like there was nothing left. I felt as if now i became a burden on others and i never wanted someone to feel like they were obligated to take care of me. 

When my husband watch the lady trying to put and IV in my vein, he broke down. The nurse told me that she was gonna stick me and i didn't move or respond. She ask me did i feel anything and i said no. My body was not respond to pain or touch. 

i ended up in that hospital unable to move. 

Then came my second kidney failure which was completely different from the first one. In feb of 2016 i was in an accident where the lady hit me head on.I was vomiting up blood, blood clots eroded from my skin, alopecia, Skin rash over entire body, Peeling like a new born baby. My skin would heal, peel, bleed, infect, heal, and repeat again. This took about a year. Around this time i had gained 60 pounds i would say or more in retention fluid.i would have the worse muscle spasms. When i went to the ER i kept getting pumped with narcotics until they figured out the problem.  

Sometimes it would be so bad that it started to affect my work, i would always be late to class because the fluid was taking over my body.it was painful to walk, because the fluid is applying pressure. i would vomit blood. i was going to the ER every two days. It was horrible. i retained so much fluid that it affected my sex life and brought my body through changes. My vagina had completely swelled and it burned to pee a little, i didn't know what to do. My skin cam completely sunburned on my vagina it looked like. It was swollen so bad that my husband could not have sex with me cause i was so swollen. He did and he takes great care of me. When my vagina swelled it got worser. I started to feel like i had a booty in the front and back.When i slept i had to lay a towel down because the fluid started seeping through my skin. My mother would just sit that and run her fingers through my hair and cried. It was my kidneys again. i started a chemo infusion called Rutuxinmab. Dr. Stephen Morse (Nephrologist) of LSU family practice & Louis Espinoza (Rhuematologist) of LSU family practice saved my life.

my skin would dry out even with lotioning my body. i would have to lotion my body two times to three times a day. Then it had to be non scented lotion. Like Cetaphil. i bath in every that didn't have a fragrance and  will post more blogs about that to come. I would only take lukewarm bathes and i would wash myself twice. When having a open sore , always keep it wrapped. Around this time i had to quit working and i could not even go to school. Each time they made me payback to school. I would bring medical records and all of what happened. I even provided pictures. It was weird cause they granted a refund to her when her grandmother passed. I felt sad because what was happening was something i couldn't control. Then i moved to Dallas,TX and I was in the hospital at first for two weeks cause i had a flare up and i told them i had lupus but thats all they know. They really didn't take the trusting their patients seriously. They asked me what was my old hospital information and i told them but the hospital i was at did not but only mailed. So i waited about two weeks but in the meantime i told them to do a kidney biopsy. This would have been my second one. 

Ladies and gentlemen , this procedure can be done while woke. But after the procedure you can not leave the bed for 6 hours, so i slept. They told me to take it easy and i didn't understand really because my first kidney biopsy i was up and about right after i left. But this one was different my back was in so much pain i was knocking myself out. A Few weeks later they got my info. They wanted to contact me but when they found me in the ER they were ready to talk to me. They told be it was Stage 5, but it was only 20% damaged and 80% percent good. We think we can make this go into remission. They also asked me why am i vomiting blood and i told him i didn't know it must have been my gastritis. so they did ANOTHER endoscopy . Its when they inserted a tube down your through to your abdomen to see if they say abnormalities. This procedure ofcourse you was kicked out. But this was worst. When i woke up i my lip was in so much pain. Y'all i bit my lip. I mean it look like someone knocked my ass out. I was like what happened? and they told me that  happened sometimes during the procedure and i said oh never with the first one i didn't though. Then y'all guess what, i said why am i so wet? They told me sometimes the patients pee a little during the procedure. 

Well guess what it wasnt not piss , it was shit , LMAO!! yo , i told the lady , “ y'all know y'all offed up, y'all could at least told me i shitted on myself, can i get stuff to wash my shitty ass ,LMAO i was so embarrassed. I was like why lord. But overall i haven't been in the hospital but I'm not into full remission yet. and my doctors know what i want my future plan to be and I'm fine with that. So now we are currently working on getting me off these meds. :) 

[sisterbestill]

I write this on my iPhone, sitting next to my dad, who is currently getting his 4th Chemo Therapy Treatment of Carboplatin and Taxol. The drugs are chemical bombs and each week the accumulative damage grows. They pre-treat him with histamine blocking meds so he doesn’t have reactions, but he has reactions during the infusion, like he can’t breath. The nurses are well aware and calmly manage the reactions with more meds. These meds cause him to become very drowsy, so the remainder of the day becomes about keeping him from falling.

I still am trying to process all that has occurred since early August 2018. I look back on these pictures of our last outing at Lake Jocassee and never would have guessed how things would change just a week later. I’ve often wondered how cancer strikes people so quickly, now I know. I am writing this so I will never forget each minute that will forever live with me. I am also using this as a way to cope and understand something that is unfamiliar and terrifying.

My parents have always taken care of themselves and one another. They have been very lucky to have good health and I have been lucky to have them as energetic as they are in their eighties. When they moved up here from Florida, I was delighted I was going to finally be able to spend more time with them - like daily and weekly vs. just twice a year. They moved 15 minutes away or a lovely 60 min bike ride through rolling countryside and mountains. I was giddy and felt the universe shift a bit. I felt pulled to them. They are in fact two of the coolest, funniest, and open-minded people I know.

Shortly after this kayak trip (photos above) they decided to make a pact to live to 100 and created a “bucket list”. They were thankful for their health and never took it for granted. Perhaps the bucket list idea was a way to for them to celebrate how young they felt or perhaps they recognized they were chronologically getting up there.

Paddling on Jocassee was relaxing, calm, and beautiful; Certainly an experience they would have loved to have recreated again and I am hopeful they will. It may look different in the future, but I suspect the beauty and calmness of the lake will bath their brains in peace.

A week after snapping these pics, I got a call from my mom, she was on her way to the ER with my Dad. I was working one floor up and met them in the ER. While we waited, I learned my Dad had been feeling fatigued for several months and had developed shortness of breath over last few weeks. It wasn’t evident on the kayak trip that he was struggling, but it was obvious in the ER. My mom said they had been to their primary care several times and their primary care doc reassured him it was natural aging, as tests did not reveal anything to be concerned about.

As we sat for 6 hours in the waiting area, I was certain it was nothing serious. Afterall, my dad had no other health issues other than a little hypertension. His meds consisted of an 81 mg baby aspirin and amlodipine 2.5 mg each day - what a lucky guy. I was thinking maybe he had pleurisy or walking pneumonia.

We finally were shown to a room and labs were drawn. We were relieved to finally get things moving. By this time my sister, Lori, and I were getting silly from the fatigue of waiting. We were thoroughly entertained by a belligerent drunk guy on a stretcher in the halllway who seemed to draw all the attention of the medical staff while we well-behaved folks waited for answers.

I noticed my dad’s HR would easily jump to a sinus tach in the 130s with just a little bit of movement. Something didn’t seem right, but I was not going to speculate or think the worst. I was just his daughter, at his side, keeping the mood light.

We were informed by the physician assistant caring for us that his left diaphragm was elevated and was probably the cause of his shortness of breath. I was a little taken back as this was an unusual finding that left me with a knot in my stomach. Not too long after this finding he was whisked away for a CT of his chest.

He returned to the room and we waited for results. The PA came in with a sticky note and said she read off it: “You have a very large anterior mediastinal mass...No one here will operate because of your age...We are discharging you and you will need to see an oncologist.”

Our mouths dropped. My stomach bottomed-out as she said “mass” and my face flushed. We all just blankly looked at one another. Go home?

I spoke to a good nurse friend in recovery and she called the thoracic resident. I spoke to the PA who delivered the news and said, “We can’t go home. He is short of breath. He and my mom live alone. His Heart rate is bouncing up to 130s. He is weak. Please admit him and consult thoracic surgery.” My dad chimes in, “I’m not a throw away!” Meaning he doesn’t want to be dismissed because of his chronological age. He was far healthier than most half his age and this deserved a second look. The radiologist who read the report never actually saw my dad, but he did see a birthdate.

The next day, the interventional radiologist who read his CT and gave us the crappy news also did a needle biopsy of this baseball size mass.

We went home on a Wednesday after 2 days and waited. We were waiting for results and waiting for an appointment with a thoracic surgeon. Waiting is tough and if you are sick you will learn the meaning of patience.

We made it to Sunday when I thought something wasn’t right with my dad. He continued to have episodes of shortness of breath, but something was still off. I knew he had anxiety, but this was different. He said he felt fine and I almost left it at that. As a nurse you learn to listen to your 6th sense.

My parents live in a remote part of the county where everything is 30 min away. I left there house and an hour later returned with a pulse oximeter that I purchased from a CVS drug store. His oxygenation was 95% not bad for a guy now breathing 40 times a minute with 1.25 lung capacity. However, his pulse read 155 and I was baffled. No way?! I palpated his radial artery and it was a match. Off we went to the ER...

ER visit number II was faster as we went to a smaller satellite hospital 30 min from their home. The rhythm was too fast on the monitor to establish what it was so the ER MD attempted to chemically cardiovert him with adenosine. Adenosine is pushed quickly through an IV. It stops and restarts the heart. I can not lie, I was nervous. It’s so diffferent when this is your own family member. My mom tearfully excused herself and I stayed by his bedside. The ER doc informed my dad it would suck, and we proceeded. It sucked. He felt his heart stop and I watched his eyes bulge and panic come across his face for 3 of the longest seconds of my life. We were able to see he had an underlying atrial flutter. We were started on a verapamil drip and were transported to the main hospital for management by a cardiologist. His heart converted back to a normal rhythm on the verapamil drip before we left the ER in transport to Main hospital at 1 am. We were under the impression it was stress related to the new shitty diagnosis and having to wait on results.

The next day he had an echocardiogram to look at the structure and function of his heart. He was started on a Metoprolol a drug that blocks adrenaline and keeps heart rate lower and it was doing its’ job.

He spent 2 nights in hospital and outside of naps, lacked solid hours of good sleep. We finally got word that his ECHO results were good. No one said a word about metastatic disease to his pericardium. We were told he had a small ring of fluid within the pericardial sack, but it wasn’t a lot and certainly not something they felt needed draining. The atrial flutter responded well to the metoprolol and we were discharged home to once again wait for our thoracic surgery appointment.

We finally made it to the thoracic surgeon to learn of what was growing in my dad’s mediastinum. I was hoping for a thymoma, but instead we drew the really short stick with a highly aggressive, highly invasive cancer called: Squamos Cell Thymic Carcinoma.

WTF? Come on! Can we not catch a break here?

I had never heard of this type of cancer and neither have many in the medical field cause in addition to being aggressive and invasive, it is also a rare tumor. A rare tumor that hasn’t impacted enough lives that researchers devote a lot of time, money and effort into understanding it. Not only that, but sadly, most people die before any data can be collected. Once you get short of breath, dry cough and fatigue it is usually advanced.

PET Scan had some questionable lymph nodes light up, but no other disease was noted distal to the mediastinal cavity.

We hoped it could be removed. Excising the tumor was first choice in the management of this cancer and had the best outcomes, but to do this the surgeon would need to get clean margins. The thoracic surgeon wanted a cardiac MRI to examine if this tumor had invaded any of his great vessels. CT scans had only shown that the tumor was abutting the ascending aorta, but we needed to be certain cause the surgery involved opening his sternum with a saw and recovery would be 5-6 weeks. The surgeon emphasized that he didn’t want to operate and create trauma without being able to get the entire tumor. He didn’t want to delay care in a time-is-of-the-essence scenario.

It was 6pm on a Monday evening just days out from last hospitalization, when I returned to their house to check on him. Earlier that morning, my mom and I took his mini Pomeranian back to the vet and learned it was dying. The vet apologized and said it was time. We put my dad’s 18 y/o Pom, Ben, to sleep at 10:30. My mom held him and he passed. We were a mess. We told my dad and his response seemed flat. Distant.Something else was on his mind.

I stayed close and felt something was amiss, something was unfolding, progressing. I was thinking is he getting an infection? His temp was 100.2, slightly more SOB, and his pulse was 95-110 at rest, on a beta blocker. Nowhere near his norm and I could not ignore this or excuse it. My dad is precious to me. I looked at my mom and dad, apologized as I informed them we needed to go back to the ER. They were agreeable. I think he was relieved I recognized something was wrong.

Shortly after arrival at the satellite ER labs were drawn and ultrasound of his heart was done by ER doc. He said there appeared to be a large fluid collection around my dad’s heart. We were again admitted to ICU for a condition called Cardiac Tamponade. Early the next morning he had the fluid drained 600 ml from around his heart. The fluid build up which is inside the pericardial sac squeezes the heart. The heart can be stunned and go into failure. The fluid that was drawn off was sent for cytology. It was suspicious. It was likely metastatic disease.

In fact after annoying the cardiologist with repeated questions in the hallway, he motioned me over to his computer screen. He showed me the ECHO and pointed out the thickening of the pericardium and showed me a mass dangling from his ventricle. I didn’t need to wait for cytology. This was confirmation for me that we were very far into a disease process. My face flushed, my heart sank, and my stomach dropped as I comprehended the situation. I thanked the MD and my mom asked what he was showing me. I told her. I saw the color leave her face.

The thoracic surgeon was still hoping to remove the mass as the CT didn’t show it had invaded the great vessels, but he did want a Cardiac MRI which was on the back burner. We were still in ICU cause the Cardiac Tamponade and procedure to drain the fluid triggered a lot of Atrial Flutter and Atrial Fibrillation. We waited for the Cardiac MRI for 3 days. There is only one machine and his was repeated twice before they got quality images. The thoracic surgeon finally met with us and after consulting his partners, radiologist, and oncologist, it was decided surgery was just too risky and he wasn’t certain he could get clear margins. He stressed how he didn’t want to create more problems or delay my dad in getting treatment if there were complications. We very much appreciated the thoughtfulness of his answer. We really didn’t have a minute to spare. The surgeon decided to cut a window in my dad’s heart so the cancer did not build up more fluid and compress this vital organ again. The cancer cells would drain into his belly instead of filling the pericardial sack.

We were discharged home in a questionable state: weak. At first we were told he would stay until he was walking well, but the hospital was full and we were off-loaded unexpectedly. Home is a place with stairs. Stairs to to get in and stairs to get out and the most movement he had done in a week was walking 25 ft with a walker and that was exhausting for him. I was concerned about falls. How were me and my mom going to get 170 lb man up 5 steps safely? He was too weak. He hadn’t eaten, he had not slept in 10 days. We were behind the eight ball and chemo had not even started.

Chemo is rough. To survive chemo, one needs some level of fitness, meaning able to perform ADLs independently and move often. We were overwhelmed. The next week was labor intensive and emotionally draining. Here we were home and we were struggling. He still wasn’t eating, still not sleeping, and my radar was on constant alert. I spent my days observing and looking for subtle changes. Oh and there were changes that needed immediate attention as he flipped in and out of rapid atrial fibrillation and got urinary tract infection.

I was scared and my dad was terrified. In times when we were alone, he would ask me: “How did this happen?” He would shake his head as if disappointed in his body. Disbelief. He was unable to comprehend it and he too was terrified.

To be continued...

[kymchiwrites]

Had such a crazy shift last night I don’t even know where to begin. 

When I got to work and saw our assignment, I did a little happy dance because we had a full load--4 patients (let’s call them A, B, C, and D) which meant that we weren’t going to be open for any admissions. Yay! Then I read their chart and got stressed because all of them were pretty high acuity. 

My preceptor and I ended up “losing” patient D to another nurse because patient D had chemo and my preceptor wasn’t certified. So now we only had 3 patients and were open for an admission. 

Around midnight, I got the call that we were going to get an admission (Patient E)... with a lactic acid of 5 mmol/L (!!!!) For reference, the normal lactic acid level is only 0.5 - 1 mmol/L. Plus, she was pretty hypotensive. Which begs the question, bakit pupunta siya samin imbis ng ICU?? But GG, they said it’s okay eh, so we admitted her. Once she got on the floor, her intial SBP was in the 80′s and when we rechecked her other arm, it was in the 70′s. For 2 hours we were pushing fluids and working with RRT to try to get her BP up. But nothing was helping and we ended up having to transfer her to the ICU anyways so she can be properly monitored. 

While all that was happening, I got a call from my charge nurse that we had to transfer Patient A up to the cardiac telemetry floor. There wasn’t anything wrong with her; she was stable. But since the doctor’s plan for her was to get a CABG on Friday, she needed to be prepared for the surgery in a way that we wouldn’t be able to do. So they called in the transport and I had the CNA pack up her things. Right when the transport came, “they” (I don’t know who “they” is, that’s just what my charge said lols) changed their mind and said the patient doesn’t have to come tonight. So we put her things away and get her back in bed and then “they” change their mind again and say that they’ll have a bed ready for her in an hour. But when they called to tell me that, I was in the middle of hooking up Patient E to our portable tele monitor so we could get her up to ICU. Patient’s A’s transfer was just gonna have to wait. 

Aaaaaand on top of all that, Patient C started de-saturating despite the fact that he was on 5 liters of oxygen already. So we called the respiratory therapist to ask for her recommendation (PRN Duoneb and Bi-pap). And then call the doctor to ask for an order for the RT’s recommendation. 

And on the side, Patient B had two porta-cath’s that weren’t getting any blood return. Our goal for the shift was to either get blood return or let the doctor know that we weren’t getting any blood return lol. We administered alteplase once without any results. We gave the second alteplase and 30 minutes later, still nothing. But 2 hours later, we finally got blood return! Yay. 

So we transferred Patient E to ICU and then transferred Patient A to 5 East. As soon as we got back to the floor, our charge nurse gives us TWO admissions. GG. I thought that after all the madness, we would get a break. But since we technically only had 2 active patients (Patient B and C), we were the only ones open for admissions. 

Thankfully, the two admissions weren’t too bad. Patient F was a pleasantly confused patient, so I couldn’t do too much of admission paperwork for, because he can’t properly answer questions. Patient G was also a pretty straightforward patient and all we had to do was get her settled in and give the antibiotic almost at shift change when the doctor finally put in his orders. 

I was so busy I didn’t even get to eat my snacks :( HAHAHAHA. Even though tonight was super crazy, I learned a lot and saw just how willing everyone was to help us out because they saw #thestrugglewasreal. And, on the plus side, I probably got a lot more steps than usual and time passed by faster than it normally does. Stressed kaayo me but at the same time I was lowkey having a lot of fun just because I was learning so much (I probably won’t feel this way when I’m on my own though, it’ll probably just be stressed hahahaha). Here’s to more learning experiences. T-7 shifts until I’m on my own.