Ever since my meltdown about not wanting to take weeks of antibiotics for the embolization-induced blood infection, I feel like the doctors and nurses have been trying to lure me back from the ledge, into a room piled high with antibiotics.
Right now, I am on two types of antibiotics: an IV drip twice a day and two rounds of Doxycycline. I am still up because my guts are roiling and my intestines feel like a burning cauldron. The overnight intern stopped by to tell me I was getting more fluids, because my low blood pressure is making people nervous. There is nothing anyone can do. I have to be on antibiotics to knock out the infection and the antibiotics make me really sick. There is only one choice, and it is an unpleasant one.
Thankfully, as of right now at least, I am slated to take the IV antibiotics only through Saturday, then I just graduate to one. I don’t know that I’ll feel much better, but one seems like it might make me less sick than two. The bad news is that they want me to take two weeks of oral antibiotics after I’m done with the IV antibiotics. I understood yesterday that the two weeks started yesterday but they mean it starts Sunday. The date on my calendar is August 24. Nineteen days. I still don’t know if all of this illness is from the antibiotics but considering antibiotics landed me in the hospital for days last fall, it stands to reason that they’re not helping. Also, 19 days is a long time to stay out of the hospital in my current state.
Then there’s the worry that the treatment didn’t work. What if it didn’t work and I don’t know? I won’t know until late August.
I suppose that keeps me up at night too. (Also, I think my room thermostat problem is back and I am freezing and have a sore throat. I have just been tucked into some more warm blankets. I would like to be rolled up and tucked into the blanket warmer itself.)
Meanwhile, I felt as if my possible well-time from the PRRT is being stolen, hour by hour, moment by moment, by the antibiotics.
Today my oncologist stopped by and gave me a pep talk. She said we didn’t need this infection from the liver to happen, but sometimes it takes awhile for PRRT to kick in anyway. She says we should knock out this infection now so we don’t have to deal with it later. I agree that it would be silly to put in all this work and feel so terrible for three weeks and then skip the last week because I’m just so tired of antibiotics and feeling like crap and then risk starting back at square one.
I’ve been trying to rally but I’ve felt bad since late May and really awful since late June. I suppose one more week of feeling terrible isn’t going to make much difference at this point if I have some hope of coming out on the other side feeling better.
She understands how frustrated I am. We raced to this finish line with the PRRT and then I immediately ran into a brick wall with this infection.
But this isn’t necessarily my last hurrah. I could potentially receive more treatments in the future to extend my life and its quality. That’s huge news. If I can muster up the patience to get through these next three weeks of crap, then I can maybe look forward to even some more time. And even if I don’t have much more time beyond this, I need to stop looking at this as it’s stealing one-half of my good well time, because there’s absolutely nothing I can do at this point that doesn’t involve three more weeks of antibiotics and illness. Another CT scan was done today to see if anything has happened or if there’s a superinfection of some sort. I’m expecting bad news because it’s always bad news.
For now, I was given a little bit of hope, and that is always more powerful than self-pity and despair.