OK. So Monday reminded me quite a bit of 'the old days'. We woke before dawn and clumsily headed on the collection of back roads that lead us to Emory Hospital. We were late, which means we valeted. Went to the clinic, signed in, waited among all the sick and their caregivers.
When called back, it was a routine that I had followed countless times. While I was happy to be an outpatient and not checking in for the week, it ended up being a long day.
Check the vitals, weigh in. Get directed to the appropriate bay and chair. Don't forget to grab a hot blanket on the way over to your seat. Wait for the nurse, give your name and birthday to match your wristband and file, confirm why you're there.
Nurse places the IV in your arm. This was the first time I missed having a port.
Pharmacist comes over and offers a tutorial on IVIg. It is given based on body mass. One dose requires literally thousands of blood plasma donors. Not only do they need the diversity of donors, they also need that many to get enough of this stuff for one small dose. My dose is to be 35 grams. Mixed in a 10% solution, that means the bag will be 350ml.
The purpose of IVIg is to give someone a dose of the antibodies that one's own immune system is not producing. For me, I hoped it would mean no more chronic pneumonia and sinus infections, which have been the norm for the past 19 months.
The list of reactions that one can have reminded me of the chemo side effects. Anything from hives to a stroke. I was hoping for an uneventful infusion.
They pre-medicate me with Tylenol and 50mg of Benadryl, to preempt some minor side effects.
The infusion will start at a very slow rate, and then double every 30 minutes. They started. I napped.
I awoke from my nap shaking somewhat violently. Rigors, or severe chills, they are called. The last time I had these, I was in a similar chair, one row over... but that time I was halfway through chemo, neutropenic, battling an undiagnosed staph infection... and closer to death than I've ever been (medically speaking).
When the nurses saw me, three or four of them swooned over me. One of them immediately stopped the IVIG infusion. The other hung a bag of saline to hydrate me. Another walked up with a syringe of an additional 50mg of Benadryl. (If you've had a 50mg bolus of Benadryl pushed into your bloodstream, you'll never forget it. Well, I guess it's more appropriate to say you'll never remember it). Then 25mg of Demerol were pushed into my IV.
OK. Time to float away for a bit. The rigors mitigated in a few minutes. The nurses slowly faded away. After 15 minutes of feeling like Michael Jackson at bedtime, they came back over and re-started the IVIg infusion. They would knock it down to half the rate, and then start back on the same schedule of doubling every 30 minutes.
I made it through the rest of the IVIg dose and, after coming to my senses, I slowly stood up with the help of Candace and headed back for the valet stand.
In all, it was about a 6 hour 'episode'. Despite thinking I would be doing back flips on my way out that day, reality was a bit different. Since then, I've had some unenjoyable side effects, mainly fatigue, flu-like aches, headaches, dizziness. I missed a little work today to come home and rest.
I suppose we will see where this goes, but I'm scheduled to have five more rounds of IVIg- once each month.
Part of life is inevitably living through bouts of ill health. While I had expected to be more or less 'done' with cancer 20 months ago for good, I suppose cancer's 'collateral damage' is something that is still supposed to be part of my daily life. More to come when this plays out... I don't know what to expect next!
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