I seemed to have tolerated the first two rounds of in hospital chemotherapy about as well as anyone could have expected. It’s the week after chemo that has been unpredictably complicated. After round one I felt the chemical haze subsiding and was congratulating myself on feeling pretty damn good considering, when I developed sudden chills and my temperature started shooting up late on a friday afternoon. Oh no, I thought and waited a half hour or so hoping it would all go away before I called the oncology clinic and described my symptoms and the nurse said go the the emergency room as soon as you can.

Except for the shaking chills, I didn’t feel sick. I piled on layers of clothes, my new wooly hat ,  I’d bought in preparation for losing my hair,  wrapped myself in a blanket and sat holding a mug of warm tea in the passenger street while my good friend Stu drove us through the park to the hospital.

Even though I knew that fevers after chemo could be bad news and had pictures of myself in septic shock on an ICU bed of tubes, hovering in the corner my mind, I had this strange sense of well being visit me in the car. I just knew I would be ok even though i had no idea what was going on. I’ve never been to an ER except for getting stitches. I waddled up to the window holding my tea and as soon as they heard I was an oncology patient, they popped a protective mask over my face and whisked me back to a private area for immediate triage. Its an odd VIP status but I’m glad it saved me from having to hang out with Mr. ‘bedbugs’ who I later passed in the hallway on my way to the bathroom. Nurses checked my vitals,  took some blood and wrapped me in warm blankets. After an hour or two I finally felt warm enough and stopped shivering. My temperature was over 103.  I had no other symptoms of infection  but the crucial component of my white blood cells, neutrophils, was very low so I was declared neutropenic and put on strong IV antibiotics admitted to the hospital for two days until my counts rose to a safe level.

They never did find any sign of infection and I discussed ways to avoid being hospitalized again with my oncologist. Once I got home I bounced back well and enjoyed a couple of day trips to Santa Cruz and Bolinas before It was time to go back to the hospital for round two.

This time I had to share a room, something nobody going through chemo should have to do, but my roommates were decent and the nurses and doctors were great. Wearing my own clothes rather than hospital gowns made a big difference and knowing what to expect helped too. I  became somewhat graceful at maneuvering  my IV pole around and taking advantage of its battery life to stay unplugged from the wall as long as possible. It was such a great relief to get untethered on the sixth day and go to my quiet unmonitored home where no one woke me up at night.

I had been home from the hospital just over a day after the second round, when I developed a dry cough and a fever that proved to be the first signs of pneumonia. I stayed at home for four days because I dreaded being put in the hospital again and I kept hoping it was just a very bad cold.  After four days when my oncologist said go I finally went to the ER.  Antibiotics prescribed by the ER doctors ended the fevers and because my blood counts were OK, they let me go home rather than admitting me to the hospital. But this time I didn’t bounce back. I felt physically and emotionally depleted. I just wanted to hibernate and felt disconnected from myself and others. Even when I did spend time with friends or attempted to write I felt i was just going through the motions.   I requested an extra week from my oncologist when I visited him yesterday and he agreed that i won’t go back before April 16 for round three of chemo. Maybe by then I will remember why I think this treatment is the right thing for me. He assures me that in spite of the fevers I am tolerating treatment well and he thinks I am quite resilient. He also gives me a big hug when he sees me which is the best medicine.

I find myself thinking, maybe I can reframe disconnection as non- attachment. But i think non- attachment is different.  I think non-attachment has flow. I imagine it means feeling everything but letting it flow through like water in a river. Ah, there is delight and now its gone. There is fear and now its gone. Disconnection seems more like a log jam.  A snag in the flow. The odd thing is that the harder I try to push the snag or jam the more it resists. i just have to accept being stuck- accept that it is also temporary and wait for things to start flowing again. Relaxing helps.

I think finally posting an update is a sign that I’m feeling better.  This in and out of the hospital life is  very strange and I have a hard time finding words to describe my experience.