So Far . . .
Although I don't want to tempt fate (or the toxic-waste dump) too terribly much, I am pleased to report that I have been misery-free for eight blessed hours (and counting).
I called MOSWO's office this morning and reported my [graphic description omitted] symptoms. Actually, Zach—aka Rock Star—called for me. (I was busy having the symptoms.) After a second conversation in which I got to confirm his account, MOSWO's nurse practitioner asked me to come in so I could a) have my labs checked, b) be treated with IV fluids, and, if possible, c) provide a sample. (Yes, you read that right.)
Knowing, as we all do, that I am INCREDIBLY SQUEAMISH, I think the fact that I actually went to the cancer center—instead of, say, fleeing the country—says a great deal about my honor (I did promise in yesterday's post to do whatever MOSWO said) and about the degree of misery I had endured for the past 48 hours.
So I went.
And had my labs checked. (They were fine. No electrolyte imbalance, no nothing.)
And got rehydrated with IV fluids.
And very, very slowly started to eat rare delicacies (procured by my mom—thanks, Mom!) like Saltines and white rice and applesauce.
And did not—I repeat, not—provide a sample. (But only because my [graphic description omitted] symptoms had ceased.)
So now I am at home, communing with my couch and dreaming of even greater delicacies.
Like chicken broth.
And dry toast.
I called MOSWO's office this morning and reported my [graphic description omitted] symptoms. Actually, Zach—aka Rock Star—called for me. (I was busy having the symptoms.) After a second conversation in which I got to confirm his account, MOSWO's nurse practitioner asked me to come in so I could a) have my labs checked, b) be treated with IV fluids, and, if possible, c) provide a sample. (Yes, you read that right.)
Knowing, as we all do, that I am INCREDIBLY SQUEAMISH, I think the fact that I actually went to the cancer center—instead of, say, fleeing the country—says a great deal about my honor (I did promise in yesterday's post to do whatever MOSWO said) and about the degree of misery I had endured for the past 48 hours.
So I went.
And had my labs checked. (They were fine. No electrolyte imbalance, no nothing.)
And got rehydrated with IV fluids.
And very, very slowly started to eat rare delicacies (procured by my mom—thanks, Mom!) like Saltines and white rice and applesauce.
And did not—I repeat, not—provide a sample. (But only because my [graphic description omitted] symptoms had ceased.)
So now I am at home, communing with my couch and dreaming of even greater delicacies.
Like chicken broth.
And dry toast.
posted by Jody Rosen Knower at 2:28 PM
1 Comments:
oh, man! on the whole, I'd rather have my head nailed to the floor. Sounds perfectly ghastly, and you have amazing fortitude to even write about it (let alone experience it). Hang in there-- I will keep my fingers crossed that soon you will move up to such delicacies as matzo (sp?).
lots of love,
Torre
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