October 2019 Chemo

Tate scared us this week. He said, “I think it’s time for me to tell you about something. My lung hurts every time I take a deep breath.” Outwardly I was calm and said we’ll be sure to mention it at his upcoming appointment, but inwardly I spiraled into a scared place that helps nothing and is so hard to climb out of. I stayed there for three days.

Tate’s chest X-rays came out normal. There was no sign of pneumonia and no indication something else serious was developing. It was a complication that developed from the cold he was fighting the week before and is usually treated with an anti-inflammatory, such as ibuprofen. The thing is, Leukemia patients aren’t supposed to take them because they affect the function of the platelets. The nurse practitioner decided that combating the condition (that has an actual medical name I can’t remember) had grown more important than avoiding ibuprofen because it was at a point Tate couldn’t’ lay on his side without pain. This kid…

The rest of Tate’s appointment for counts on Tuesday went pretty well. His ANC is 656, still under the 750 goal but high enough they aren’t going to change his daily chemo doses. He has also lost 8.5 pounds in the last four weeks. He looks more like himself now than he has in a year and he doesn’t seem overly skinny, so I’m putting any worry about his weight to the side for now. If it becomes an issue, we know how to deal with it: appetite stimulants.

Thursday morning Tate had a lumbar puncture with intrathecal chemotherapy and his 25% dose of Vincristine. We arrived at 6:00am for the appointment but had to wait until after 7:20 because the anesthesiologist was late. Very late. She came breezing into Tate’s curtained waiting area and said, “So what are we here for today?” It was so unprofessional. She was already late; would it have been so hard to peek in in his file to find out why we were putting our son’s life in her hands?

A funny thing happened while we were waiting for the anesthesiologist to arrive. A surgery center nurse we don’t see often popped her head through the curtains and told Tate, “I’ve never seen you with hair and without a mask before. You’re really cute!” Then she turned to Greg and me and gave us two thumbs up. It was hilarious.

The anesthesiologist was late, but she seemed to know her stuff. This was the best Tate has done coming out from under general anesthesia. She gave him a little Fentanyl, which kept him comfortable through his chemo, a flu shot, and the bag of fluids (which takes about an hour). He was loopy, but he didn’t experience the complete misery waking up he normally does.

The steroids have kicked in. Tate feels terrible; he can’t sleep and everything hurts. Is emergency pretzel bread a thing? I baked him a batch this morning and apologized I couldn’t make more because I was out of butter. Moments later I told him I was headed to the store and asked him if I could pick anything up for him. He deadpanned, “Butter.” LOL

As of this afternoon, Tate’s lung pain has improved but not gone away. He only got two doses of Aleve before we had to stop giving it to him so he would be safe for his lumbar puncture, and I’m not comfortable giving him more unless the doctors tell us it’s okay.

Tate has physical and occupational therapy appointments and a cello lesson next week. If past months have taught us anything it’s that he will wake up on day 8 feeling better, but it’s only day 4 and Friday morning feels it’s a long way from Sunday night.