Returned to chemotherapy today, and we did resume the regimen with a couple of med dose changes (as we’ve discussed, doc is playing it conservatively, onco-walking the I&I tightrope (Immunosupression or Infection), and my side-effected innards are almost back to normally outwards.
Some of my lab numbers are low, some high, but we needn’t get specific, unless you’re med-geek driven by hard data. For those amongst you who simply must know, let’s take my basophils, one of the several types of white blood cells we all have.
My basophils count today is 0.0 (it should register between one percent and two percent of my WBC (white blood count), coming in at zero to 0.3 cubic millimeters.
Basophils too low? Higher risk of infections.
Too high? Lower immune power.
That’s the I&I highwire: my always walking and sitting two-tiered pyramid.
One backstroke bug in the soup today, as my IV insertion site blew (it happens) and the site infiltrated quickly. The fluid went off into the tissues, and because I was distracted at the time, wracking my brain for the five-letter answer to my ever-present infusion unit crossword puzzle, the clue for “Zulu language group,” I didn’t notice my arm until it looked like half a topside Popeye.
But, strong to the finich, and without the spinach, I recovered. Hot packs were applied, and a new site, opposite arm (four attempts and three nurses later), was inserted. Pre-meds and chemo drugs finished running-in successfully, and before I left the unit (for the crossword geeks who I’m sure were one hand and arm ahead of me here), “Bantu” popped in my head and I finished the puzzle.
I took the rap for the arm bomb. I’m guilty of not drinking enough overall (more important when cancer and cancer treatments are in the big mix), thus my blood plumbing isn’t as optimal as it might be.
BUT, we’re back in the treatment groove, balancing in the air.
I biffs ‘em and buffs ‘em
and always out roughs ‘em
and none of ‘em gets nowhere
… I’m Bantu the Sailor Man.
More as we go,