Posted: November 5, 2018 in Postcards from Cancerland.


It’s Sunday night and I find myself in the Emergency Room.
That’s not where I expected to be.
My Mom and Sister were here this weekend.
We had a great visit.
In a strange twist of suckiness, Mom was diagnosed with cancer the same day as me.
She fought her own brave fight.
She underwent six weeks of radiation.
My amazing sister, Hope, was by her side the whole time.
A few weeks ago, Mom was able to ring the bell.
She is cancer free.
I am so very glad.
It was good to hug her, hang out, and celebrate life a bit.
They flew home and things got weird.
I have felt really groggy today.
Then I got the chills and I got a fever.
That’s not a good thing with my beat up immune system.
So my doctor told us to head to the ER.
I was put in an isolation room with comfortable chairs and given a mask to wear.
After putting the mask on I was immediately thankful that I brushed my teeth before coming.
I was taken to one small room for a few tests and then taken to a bigger room where I was hooked up with a very ventilated green gown.
In the last few hours I’ve had people take blood and take chest X-rays.
I had to pee in something that looks like a plastic milk jug.
A pharmacist came up and quizzed me about drugs that I’m on. But she was wearing a mask so it sounded like “dooooth yoousth taaketh jour medths”.
They are giving me antibiotics and a “crap load” of fluids. (Those were my nurses exact words, I like exact measurements. I think crap load is part of the metric system).
So far the fever has just risen.
We were just admitted into a regular room where they are running more tests and taking my vitals every three minutes.
Another nurse just took a nasal specimen swab with a long stick. (It was a Q-tip from hell). They stuck it up my nose and I felt it touch my brain. That wasn’t pleasant.
Hospitals are tough places to rest.
Diana is trying to rest on the weird little hospital room vinyl couch.
Tomorrow was supposed to be the beginning of round six, instead I’m wearing lovely purple non-skid hospital socks.
Sometimes Sundays don’t work out the way you think.
Find the helpers.

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