Remember when I wrote that I had a 3-week hiatus from the Center and Hospital? Remember that? Well, I lied! All Hell suddenly broke loose yesterday: the Port-a-Cath replacement surgery was rescheduled for today, Friday. I’ve broken out in some sort of rash. It doesn’t itch, just red bumps on both arms and legs. Think it could be from stress? Ya’ think? Maybe.
My white cells are in the sub-basement again, so it’s another 5 days of Neupogen shots (started yesterday!) one-a-day through Monday. New blood work on Tuesday, and then it’s check the port-a-cath healing and remove stitches next Thursday.
Had a call earlier that due to the low blood count, there will be blood work done when I register this morning.
I’m being picked up by taxi shortly, off to the same-day surgery wing. Being the height of the season, there is no one to take me and pick me up afterwards. Due to some liability mumbo jumbo, I can’t drive myself home, it’s an insurance thing. Bless their hearts. The hospital wouldn’t release me, in that case. Bless their hearts, too.
The taxi service can’t drive me home, either. Same reasons apply. So, the surgeon’s assistant, Kelli, will do the honors to make sure I get home safe and sound following the procedure. They don’t come much nicer than that.
The phones (house and cell) rang all day yesterday as things came together, fell apart, and came back together - miraculously in some cases. One call told me to report to pre-op at 11:30 a.m. seems they had no record of the initial scheduled time of 8 a.m. They checked, called twice more to get more information, checked with the surgeon’s schedule, and finally called back at 5-fucking-30 to re-confirm the initial arrival time.
I don’t know if I am coming or going. The last food and drink passed my lips at 6:30 last night and it’s likely that nothing will until around noontime today. If anyone asks if I am lightheaded, I’ll deck ‘em!
I’ll relax when I arrive in hospital where there are no ringing phones or insipid questions being thrown at me. Where I can look forward to being knocked out for a while without a care in the world.
As Anne Marie (the dear) wrote in a comment recently: plus ca change, plus la meme chose. An old saying, but so true.
I don’t need LSD (life is already too bizarre) but where can I get a bit of happyweed? Or, happy-anything? Jeez!