It’s been a days of ups and downs. I spend a lot of time waiting for test results. Often, especially lately, the results are not good, and I’ve taken to savoring the unknown time when I can still hope for the best case scenarios. It’s like after you buy a lotto ticket and you think of what you’re going to do with your winnings. I had a CT scan around 6 pm yesterday, with one of three scenarios.
One, if they saw an abscess, a source of continuing infection, then they would drain it. I would have a drain for a few weeks and be on antibiotics.
Two, they don’t see anything and the blood tests don’t grow any more bacteria. Then it’s inflammation from being sick from the chemo and the antibiotics just needed a bit more time to kick in.
Three, there’s no abscess, but the infection doesn’t clear up. At that point, they would probably take out the MediPort to help the infection clear more quickly and then, after a few days, put in a PICC line to replace the port, with plans to put in the port again eventually.
I had hoped for option two with—just for fun—the fantasy of an added, “And you don’t have cancer anymore!” At first, things looked good—though not that good, of course. It looked like it would be option two, the best case scenario of no abscess and a clearing infection, though the doctors noted that the bacteria cultures still had time to grow. Since I so rarely ever get the best-case scenario, I tried to temper my hope that I could get out of here by Friday or Saturday or, at the very least, Sunday, before my mom has to return home.
Unfortunately, this afternoon, the doctors returned with bad news: Bacteria was still in my bloodstream. They slated me for a port removal in the afternoon. Since I’d eaten and hadn’t anticipated a port removal, they numbed the area with lidocaine and gave me painkillers (which are now wearing off and making me sleepy). While I was waiting for the procedure, they told me I no longer require isolation. This is good because people don’t need to wear masks, gloves and yellow gowns to visit me, but it also probably means I’ll be moved and won’t have my own room for much longer. I was allowed to remove my mask and robe before the procedure. The yellow fabric rips fairly easily, and I found the bow that my mom tied for me before I left under me. There was something heartbreaking about the bow, and while I handed over my phone and glasses for the procedure, I tucked the bow within my blankets. The removal of the MediPort didn’t take that long, just long enough for some ’80s songs from Dead or Alive, Taylor Dayne, Billy Joel and Depeche Mode to play.
The thinking is that the same bacteria has shown up twice in my bloodstream and though a blood test in between infections was clear, the worry is that bacteria can hide in the MediPort. The infection still needs to clear before I can get a PICC line to administer fluids and antibiotics at home.
It doesn’t look like I’ll be getting out of here soon, at least until next week. I’m so disappointed. While I’ve tried to find the good things, I’m getting really tired of being sick. The CT scan showed a small liver lesion, though I don’t know how the pancreas tumors look. It makes me wonder if the improvements I felt the last few weeks before chemo were imagined. I don’t know if this chemo is working and the PRRT is still not available. I’m not sure how much longer I can hold on, physically and emotionally.
A hotel reservation my boyfriend made for his London stay showed up in my Google calendar, and I felt like it was mocking me. Tomorrow, the day I took off to go to some museums with my mom, is supposed to be beautiful. I’m taking that personally as well. I can feel myself slipping into depression, though thankfully sleep is also arriving early tonight, cutting my pity party short.