And Then There Was Today

Today was challenging. But that was expected, right?

This morning, Nathan began the process of administering Zofran, which was supposed to be followed by a bag of fluid. As he was slowly pushing the Zofran into the IV line, I could feel my arm burning and realized the vein was no longer accepting fluids. For the third day in a row, we were going to have to go back into infusion services and have a new line inserted.

Again, I was poked three times before a second nurse was called over. Thankfully, she found a decent vein on her first try. The woman across the hall from me, who was also a patient receiving fluid, was loudly sobbing as the nurses attempted to find a vein. She was about my age and her father was holding her hand and crying too. Obviously, it was upsetting, and one of my nurses went to close the curtain dividing us. However, I could still her the woman crying loudly. I kept telling myself: "I'm not going to cry. I'm an adult!" But by the fourth poke, I found myself crying and wishing Nathan was there with me and not running around with Eliza in the hallway.

 Both of the nurses were very kind and understanding. One of them recognized me from my multiple trips this week and said: "You don't seem like you're doing better. In fact, you look worse. I hope you don't mind me saying that. I'm just worried." I tried to say something funny like: "Yep! I look like a zombie! And I was wearing this same outfit yesterday," but I'm not too sure how it came out. Mostly, I wanted to say, "I'm worried too!"

I let her know I hadn't eaten much the last couple of weeks and that I felt as though I was starving. I then lost it completely and attempted to sob quietly as they gave me advice. The older nurse seriously said: "These veins aren't working. You need to call your doctor immediately and tell him you need another option. We can't poke you four times a day, five days a week. You either need a PICC line or a feeding tube." At this point, I agree.

As soon as I was out of the office, I called my doctor, who was of course gone for the day. I spoke with another doctor in the group, who was frustrated the nurses would even suggest something other than IV therapy. He stated again that their office was opposed to PICC lines (due to the possibility of infection) and that a feeding tube was a "serious matter." However, he did suggest I go in on Monday and speak with Dr. Warner, the one doctor I trust, about the situation. What more could would we do other than wait?

In the meantime, my mother-in-law called, feeling like she needed to ASK if we needed help. Nathan and I don't want to be a burden to our families, but yes, we need help. As soon as I began talking to her, I just began crying...and crying...and crying. So yeah, she's coming tomorrow to help out until we move to Washington. I already feel immensely relieved.

To top the evening off, Nathan hooked my IV up for the evening and again, my vein was closed. Nothing was going in. The infusion center is closed on the weekends and a nurse we called told us to wait until tomorrow and someone would be on call. I feel bad for the nurse who gets to see me! I also feel bad for myself. Help is on the way, though, and it's hard not to be optimistic! Things can only get better, I suppose :)

p.s. Check out my battle wounds. This is what happens when you're poked three times along the same vein.