Theo insisted we "picnic" on my bedroom floor before I left for the hospital yesterday.
Mondays are blood draw days. The docs need to check my counts to make sure my body can tolerate the chemotherapy treatment. I offer up my arm, they take the sample, and within a few minutes, they’ve got their answer.
Yesterday, everything looked good. Except.
Except one of my blood counts, which was at 1.2. It needs to be at least 1.5, or I can’t have the Carboplatin & Gemzar component of my chemotherapy today.
You’d think I’d be happy to be able to duck out of it. After all, I got a taste of the good life last week — my week off chemo — and, hey, I could get used to that. Real quick. Not to mention my worst side-effects come from the C&G. The PARP is mild in comparison.
The C & G drugs are part of my Tuesday trio — Carboplatin, Gemzar, and the PARP Inhibitor. Whatever my counts, I can still get the PARP.
But I’m a glutton. I want all three.
I was sitting on the edge of my seat — OK, make that the edge of the examining table — when Cynthia Kresge, the Physician’s Assistant from my team, came in with the run down.
“One-point-two is too low,” she said as she skimmed the stats, zeroing in on the single outlier.
My heart began racing, my mind churning with possibilities of how I could get around that number and get my full dose.
“Is there anything I can do?” I asked.
“Well, yes,” she said. “We’ve found that exercise — like a brisk 15 minute walk — can boost this count enough to get it to where it needs to be.”
“I’m so there,” I said, already visualizing myself doing laps around the hospital corridors before offering up my arm once again Tuesday morning.
Then, I realized how strange it sounded, this begging for a chemo treatment thing that I was doing.
“Bet you don’t get that much,” I said.
“Actually, we get it all the time,” Cynthia said. “People want their treatments.”
So do I.
Send up some prayers to heaven today that my count is up and over the top by the time I get to the hospital.
I’ll get back to you later on that.
Copyright 2011, Amy Rauch Neilson