When all hell broke loose

A friend told me:

"I read the first posts, and I must say that I didn't care for the cliffhanger!!! Luckily, I knew that there was a happy ending, otherwise I would have been very worried! Don't scare us, please! When it's fiction, use all the literary tricks, but in real life, we want to know that all ends well."

I understand! I really do. But a little mischief and suspense are good for my soul. I apologise in advance if this is going to be a rollercoaster. Because, in a way, it cannot be otherwise.

So, what happened when all hell broke loose? I was chatting away with the nurse, in a very good mood. Then I mentioned that I was feeling something of an aftertaste in my mouth. I was smiling because it reminded me of the sensation I had during the CT scan. The contrast liquid that I was given would give me an aftertaste in the mouth and make me feel warm in the stomach and groin. I would feel like I had peed myself when I hadn't. The sensation had made me giggle at the time. And because it was similar, I wasn't worried.

But the nurse's look, when I asked whether it was normal, was not one of amusement. She asked me if I was feeling anything else. As if on cue, my chest compressed and I started having difficulty breathing. Like I never had before. Like the chest couldn't move. I gasped. The nurse had already pulled the emergency button and warned me that there would be a LOT of people coming. I had my eyes closed and did not see immediately how many there were. I just heard their voices.

The nurse held my hand and asked me how I was feeling. A male doctor asked me about my symptoms and where it hurt. I had difficulty breathing, and my pelvis hurt, on and off. It was throbbing. But I didn't know exactly how to describe it. I had never felt that kind of pain. At every onset, I held my breath, and tears rolled off. I grabbed the armchair's arms hard. He asked if my back also hurt. I said no, just the pelvis. He ordered me to receive antihistamines and paracetamol. Probably other things too, but I am not sure what. They stopped the chemo, got my breathing under control, and the heart rate down.

When I opened my eyes, there were, sure enough, about 10 people in the room. They had rolled a bed into the room. A smiling, vivacious nurse (?) told me: "You are going to feel very tired now, you have a lot of things in your system to control the allergy".

A young doctor (?) asked me how I was feeling. I let out a faint: "Much better". Slowly, most of the people left the room. A female doctor presented herself and asked me again about the symptoms and how much pain I had feltin the pelvis, from 1 to 10. I said 7, on and off. The difficulty breathing, the oppressed chest and upper stomach, which all felt connected, and the warming of the lower side of my face. The face getting warm and the difficulty breathing were symptoms that the nurse had told me could happen.

They were prepared. Throughout the ordeal, they did not panic; they did not shout over one another. They were in control. I felt safe. The nurse's voice and her holding my hand were comforting. I felt the anti-allergic medicine weighing heavily on me. I accepted the offer to move from the chair to the bed. The nurse was told to restart the chemo after half an hour. I was awake on and off. I heard them coming in to monitor my blood pressure. The pumping machine woke me up at a certain point, when it started beeping and flashing a red light. I thought that in my stupor, I had pulled on the emergency cord they put under my hand, in case of need. The nurse came in to increase the drip rate, which had been slowed to not stress my body. She asked if I was hungry. It was past 1 pm, and I had been in treatment since 10 am, passed out for nearly two hours, from the heavy medication. I accepted a yoghurt and water. I felt myself getting back to normal. The smiling nurse (?) came into the room and said: "That was something. You gave us a scare".

It should have lasted an hour. It lasted four.

This is why they plan for the first session to be longer. To see how the body reacts. To adjust as necessary. Aside from the standard pre-meds, I'll be receiving antihistamines to prevent allergic reactions. But the chemo and the Phesgo will continue as planned.

My mood after this was not as chatty. It made me take stock of what I was potentially up against. I had been informed of what could happen, but knowing and experiencing are not always the same. My mother was the first to whom I shared this realisation. At 13:09, I wrote to her:

"I had a reaction to the treatment, but everyone (doctors, nurses) was prepared for that possibility and came promptly to the rescue. It was a way to be reminded that I should not minimise the seriousness of this disease".

She had written to me earlier:

"All our positive energies, relatives, [and] close friends who know. I have been reserved; I have not divulged. The strength of our ancestors, who never abandoned us. To my good God, in whom I deposit my faith and hope. Not least, to the scientific advancements, in which I believe. A kiss and a hug. We are all with you. Until the overcoming and always".

I didn't grow up particularly religious. I do not feel the compulsion now, either. But we all get our strength from multiple sources. This network of love will certainly be my source of strength...