Cancer Journey Part 2
I was transferred to ward 8A to start my chemotherapy. It is a class A ward and I had a real room to myself. I needed to be there for protection. As mentioned earlier, my immunity was terribly weak, and the chemotherapy would make me even more prone to infections. There was a television in the room, and that definitely helped to alleviate a portion of my boredom. It was a new month: transition from September to October, and another consulting doctor, Dr Ng, started making his rounds to see me every morning instead of Dr Yap. I find him knowledgeable and understanding, but he tends to talk in an abrupt manner without making links or references. A social worker by the name of Yvonne Chai was assigned to me, and she paid a weekly visit. It felt comfortable talking to her, and everytime I would just blabber on and on.
The 3+7 chemotherapy started. Daunorubicin is a red liquid which the nurse will inject via the PICC line. Cytarabine is a colourless one, given via drip over almost 24 hours. I showered between intervals. First day went ok, but by the second day, I started feeling nauseous. Hospital food wasn't the best, but I could finish everything each time. However, second day into chemo and the urge to vomit would emerge whenever I see or smell hospital food. I would not be able to start eating until I had retched a few times, even if my stomach was empty. Needless to say, my appetite was affected and I could never finish the food again. On the night of day 3, I experienced chills for the first time. I would start to feel abnormally cold, adding more and more layers of blanket. That night, I had 4 layers of blanket over me but trembled uncontrollably for a good 25 minutes. A nurse said it was a side effect of cytarabine. After the chills episode, my fever shot up to 40 degree Celsius, my blood pressure dropped, and my heart rate rose. Because of these signs, and because the insertion site of the PICC was already slightly red and swollen, a young doctor told me that the chills could be a result of infection at the PICC site. He added that the line might have to be removed that night, with a new one inserted in the other arm. He also asked the nurse to insert a standard IV cannula for unclear reasons. I told the nurse I wanted to see a more experienced doctor to hear a second opinion. Turned out that observation and testing blood culture for any bacteria growth was the way to go instead of hastily rushing into conclusions or decisions. 3 weeks on, and I still have the PICC line in my right arm intact.
Dr Lee dropped by every week to pay a short visit and initiate a small talk. This day, he advised to get reading materials or have my laptop brought to the hospital so that I could resort to gaming to fight the boredom. I said I don't really play games but could surf the internet if only I had the access to Wifi. That way, I need not be so cautious and thrifty about spending my mobile data. Upon hearing that, Dr Lee offered to lend me a broadband stick. He was probably the only doctor who cared about my sanity and psychological well-being besides my medical conditions.
In the morning of day 5, I discovered rashes scattered round my neck and upper body. It was said to be the early stage of chicken pox and the effects of the varicella zoster virus had manifested. Afraid that I would spread to the other patients in the ward, I had to move to ward 62 in the Main Building, an infectious diseases ward. I was promptly moved to my new "home" by noon. Each room in ward 62 has a negative pressure, meaning that air can enter the room but not escape from it. This way, the virus will not spread as long as I stayed within the boundaries of the room. Visitors also had to wear masks upon entering to protect themselves. The room is smaller than the one in 8A. All this while, I could never stroll about freely. Whenever I had to get X-ray or any other procedures done, I would be escorted on a wheelchair. The reduction in room size (and television) and the silence in the room made me feel ever more confined. It would be an exaggeration to say this, but I wondered how much the outside world has changed. The stay in ward 62 was the worst period of hospitalisation.
The 3+7 chemotherapy started. Daunorubicin is a red liquid which the nurse will inject via the PICC line. Cytarabine is a colourless one, given via drip over almost 24 hours. I showered between intervals. First day went ok, but by the second day, I started feeling nauseous. Hospital food wasn't the best, but I could finish everything each time. However, second day into chemo and the urge to vomit would emerge whenever I see or smell hospital food. I would not be able to start eating until I had retched a few times, even if my stomach was empty. Needless to say, my appetite was affected and I could never finish the food again. On the night of day 3, I experienced chills for the first time. I would start to feel abnormally cold, adding more and more layers of blanket. That night, I had 4 layers of blanket over me but trembled uncontrollably for a good 25 minutes. A nurse said it was a side effect of cytarabine. After the chills episode, my fever shot up to 40 degree Celsius, my blood pressure dropped, and my heart rate rose. Because of these signs, and because the insertion site of the PICC was already slightly red and swollen, a young doctor told me that the chills could be a result of infection at the PICC site. He added that the line might have to be removed that night, with a new one inserted in the other arm. He also asked the nurse to insert a standard IV cannula for unclear reasons. I told the nurse I wanted to see a more experienced doctor to hear a second opinion. Turned out that observation and testing blood culture for any bacteria growth was the way to go instead of hastily rushing into conclusions or decisions. 3 weeks on, and I still have the PICC line in my right arm intact.
Dr Lee dropped by every week to pay a short visit and initiate a small talk. This day, he advised to get reading materials or have my laptop brought to the hospital so that I could resort to gaming to fight the boredom. I said I don't really play games but could surf the internet if only I had the access to Wifi. That way, I need not be so cautious and thrifty about spending my mobile data. Upon hearing that, Dr Lee offered to lend me a broadband stick. He was probably the only doctor who cared about my sanity and psychological well-being besides my medical conditions.
In the morning of day 5, I discovered rashes scattered round my neck and upper body. It was said to be the early stage of chicken pox and the effects of the varicella zoster virus had manifested. Afraid that I would spread to the other patients in the ward, I had to move to ward 62 in the Main Building, an infectious diseases ward. I was promptly moved to my new "home" by noon. Each room in ward 62 has a negative pressure, meaning that air can enter the room but not escape from it. This way, the virus will not spread as long as I stayed within the boundaries of the room. Visitors also had to wear masks upon entering to protect themselves. The room is smaller than the one in 8A. All this while, I could never stroll about freely. Whenever I had to get X-ray or any other procedures done, I would be escorted on a wheelchair. The reduction in room size (and television) and the silence in the room made me feel ever more confined. It would be an exaggeration to say this, but I wondered how much the outside world has changed. The stay in ward 62 was the worst period of hospitalisation.
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