It's windy like a maniac here.

Last I heard (last night), there was a wind advisory for Chicago, with predicted winds of up to 50 mph. Apparently it's also supposed to get up to 90 degrees today. And here I sit in my climate-controlled, 72-degree room, watching trees waving wildly and mentally adding music to the black plastic bag blowing higher against the backdrop of green glass and concrete. I can also see two college-age guys in shorts and (presumably) Abercrombie shirts walking in the opposite direction. How terribly disappointing. I don't even get a little bit of eye candy to make up for my glaring lack of twenty-something contact.

Moving away from my blanket of hormonal self-pity, I have transfered to the University of Chicago! Rather, I have been transported to the University of Chicago Hospitals. Dispelling any fears, I am still planning on returning to Boston University in about three months. Anyway. So last night, around 11 pm, two EMTs came and carted me away in their bright yellow ambulance. Carted is about the correct term. They had me hop up onto a transport-bed, which they proceeded to strap me onto. Two straps over my shoulders, one across my chest, and one across my legs, all buckled, tightened, and ready to go. The funny, and somewhat disconcerting, part of this journey was that the bed (?) was actually slanted towards the ground. I felt like I was going to just slide right off. Anyway, so we proceeded to the ambulance where they hoisted me up and stuffed me in, shifting me a little to the left so the bed (?) would lock in place. Then the guy climbed into the back, and the woman headed to take the wheel. The next 34 minutes were spent in a mad hurtle towards downtown Chicago and the nurses who know my disease. And away from a room that included a couch, good cable, better food, and nurses who didn't quite know what to do with me. I know I made the right decision. I would now like to elaborate on the EMTs. Having spent roughly an hour with them, I feel comfortable saying that they were nice, smart, but ultimately have way too much time on their hands during shifts. The guy who sat in back with me was like, "Hey, wanna play a game? You give me any actor or actress, and I can tell you in six degrees or less how he or she is connected to Kevin Bacon." I was like, "um, I don't really like movies..." I think I dampened his cheer. I instead chose to frequently give the "rock" sign to the vehicles following an ambulance too closely. (Apparently they could see me because our internal lights were on.) But the actions and various measures against boredom of the EMTs were consistent with what I've heard other EMTs do to fill their long shifts. (I've heard some ridiculous things. coughcough) So, in summation, last night was a late but exciting adventure, and now I'm all settled at the U of C to continue waiting for my white blood cell counts to rebound. Think happy white blood cell counts for me, and have a solid Thursday. Peace.

I enjoy unnecessary risks. Sometimes.

For instance: I had a Quizno's sub for dinner. Given my current state of cells, this technically is a no-no. But it was delicious, and I'm pretty sure there was no food poisoning or bacteria clinging to the little chicken pieces. And, erring on the side of caution, there has been a slight change of my plans. I am now waiting to be transfered back to the University of Chicago. There are a few reasons I'm waiting for a transfer. Mostly, it's just that I would feel more comfortable at a hospital where the nurses are used to dealing with patients with leukemia. This hospital is great, but it's a great, suburban hospital. It's completely different from U of C, which is a teaching hospital where cancers like leukemia are routinely studied and treated. I mean, the treatment plan that I am on was developed by researchers at the University. So I'm waiting for a bed at U of C. The most exciting part is that I will be transported there by hospital means. I don't think I'll get the helicopter (tear), but I'm thinking an ambulance is in the works. We'll see what happens with that; I'll be sure to include all the details of my move. That's about it for me today. I am still getting a powerful antibiotic every six hours, and my blood cultures have all been negative. Apparently sometimes the doctors never find the source of an infection, and it just passes. I'm hoping that's what happens with me. I guess I'll head to bed now, see how the sleep thing goes tonight. Have a happy hump day! Peace.

I don't even know where to begin.

I suppose the best thing to do would be to turn tradition on its head and begin at the beginning. Actually, no. You know what? I'm going to begin by saying that I am currently in the hospital, hooked up to an IV, and digesting two different sandwiches. Now I will begin at the beginning. Flashback: 10:30 am, Sunday, June 03, 2007. I decided to shower. I figured now was as good a time as any to scrub off my accumulated grime. So I taped up my chest and prepared the hot water. As I was sticking my tubes into a plastic baggie, I started to feel awful. I felt like I was about to vomit. I debated foregoing the shower and going back to bed. Instead, I stepped into the shower, freezing. I continued to freeze while I showered, even though there was steaming hot water beating into me. So I cut my shower short, and I rushed to my bedroom to put on clothes. I put on jeans, tank top, over-sized t-shirt, and large red sweatshirt. I then shimmied under my bedclothes and commenced shivering in the fetal position. By this point, I had realized something was wrong. It is worth noting, also, that I have known since Friday that I am neutropenic. The chills are not to be taken lightly, as they are the precursor to a fever, which means infection. So I was, naturally, freaking out. I started taking my temperature: 99.5. Okay, not terrible, but not good either. Ten minutes later: 100.6. Uh oh, I had just crossed the "call your doctor" threshold. One more degree up and it's hospital time for me. At this point, intelligent readers, I hope you have reached the same conclusion that I had: I had an infection. My fever kept climbing, and I had alerted my parents that I needed to get to a hospital. So my mom drove me to the Emergency Room of a hospital closer than U of C, where I have an established relationship with one of the doctors. This is my emergency, "if you get a fever," hospital. So we got to the ER, checked in, and were relatively quickly put into an isolation room. And then the blood draws began. The nurses immediately had to draw blood cultures to test for the various infections. These they drew from my arm. They also drew blood from my line for a regular blood-level test. So the nurses hooked me up to an IV drip while they were waiting for the lab results and gave me some Tylenol for my 102 fever. (I think the highest it got was 103.5, but that was by my thermometer, not theirs.) And finally the doctor came in: "Your blood counts are terrible!" "Yeah... This I know..." My white blood cell count was (is) zero. Not 0.1 or something, straight up zero. I have no white blood cells! No wonder I got an infection. And also, my platelet count was 8, with the normal being between 150 and 450. It is interesting to note that because my platelet count is so low, my blood can't really clot well. One of the nurses put a bandaid on my arm after drawing blood. It was annoying me, so I pulled it off, quickly. But it broke some blood vessels, and now the crook of my elbow is all purpley and mottled. Fun. But anyway. This is getting long. So, the doctor ordered a powerful antibiotic and platelets for me, which eventually came. The main issue was whether or not I would be transported down to University of Chicago. The doctor here finally got in contact with my doctor at U of C, and, while she wanted to send me downtown, there were absolutely no beds at U of C. So, after six hours of isolation in the ER, they admitted me here. And here I am.

I am still receiving fluids, and I think I get the antibiotic again around 8 pm -- they give it every 6 hours. We're not sure how long they will keep me here. My fever finally seems to have broken, which is good news. And I am not visibly ill. Once they figure out what infection I do have, they will be able to give me more specific drugs to fight it. Otherwise, I just don't have any white blood cells. So I have no way to fight an infection. But I know the doctors don't want to keep me here if there isn't any reason to. So we'll see what tomorrow brings. As of now, I feel okay. I'm fairly exhausted from all the shaking I did today; I got the chills a couple of times. Despite any literature to the contrary, shaking uncontrollably is not what one would call "fun." Anyway, so that was my day. My very first at-home neutropenic fever crisis! But everything seems to be under control. Hopefully I'll be let out of here soon. Thanks for reading, and Farewell from here on this most crazy of Sundays. Pax.

What's the time? It's time to get ill!

While I am fairly certain the Beastie Boys weren't referring to becoming physically sick, a slight shift of definition gives this line new meaning to me. I did indeed "get ill" today. Or at least, my blood counts confirmed that I am in a severe danger zone. I am once again in the precarious state known as neutropenia. My white blood cell count is less that 0.1, with the average usually between 3.5-11. As I've mentioned before, this means I have virtually no way to fight an infection. If I get any sort of fever above 100.5 degrees, it is off to the hospital, post haste, for me. So for roughly the next ten days, I will be cloistering myself in my house. But it's a small price to pay compared to the alternative. I'm actually fairly lucky: I have been doing a lot these past few days, going out and such. Who knows how often I could have picked up some little germy. The good news is I am taking my e-coli derivate shot, which will hopefully help my counts come up faster. And now, if you will please, allow me to segue into my Cancer Rant of the Day.

Health insurance sucks. I wish I could put it more delicately, but those are the words that came to me. By sheer, awful coincidence, our insurance just changed. Once again, I am indebted to my mom because she is taking care of all the ridiculous details. I wouldn't even know where to start. There is so much paperwork, so many nit-picky things, and really, it's all about the money. The last thing any of us need to worry about right now is whether or not all of this stuff I need is covered or not. My e-coli shots, for instance, are apparently no longer covered... I'm not sure though, that's just what one person said. And everyone you talk to says something different. I know all of this will eventually get figured out, albeit with many curses and threats, but it's still a pain to have to deal with it now. And hey, if it doesn't work out, I might just have a benefit concert or sell my spectacular hospital artwork. Haha, I could call it E-chords and stick-figures: help Caroline afford e-coli! But anyway, I just thought I'd mention yet another side of cancer, the red tape. I've gone over the mental, physical and other sides. It's important to note the paper side. Otherwise, that's about it. Hopefully tomorrow will be another good day. I hope it rains. I'm sick of all the sun and feeling guilty about staying inside. Enjoy Saturday. Pax.

And the moral of today's story is:

Do not walk umpteen miles in a city wearing sandals unless you are prepared for dirty feet. That is moral number 1. Moral number 2 is that Corn Pops are quite possibly the best cereal ever. Those two statements just about sum up my day. I will, however, elaborate.

Today, I ventured downtown, via train, for my weekly young adult cancer group meeting. I had some time to kill before group, so I took a trip to what is known as "Old Town." It's basically a slightly more upscale part of Chicago that used to be factories and old businesses and such. Now there are mostly nice restaurants and boutique-y shops. It was nice to just be able to walk around outside. Since the weather was so nice, and I was feeling sprightly, I decided I should walk back down the street to Gilda's Club. It couldn't have been more than a mile or two away, but by the time I got to Gilda's, my body was like, "Caroline, stop walking! You can't just think you can walk like that when you've been in the hospital and haven't done anything physical in a substantial amount of time." And you know what? My body is right. But that doesn't mean I listen to it. After group, I walked over to Millennium Park, which was probably another mile and a half. By this point, I'm pretty sure my calves were beginning to cramp up. (In retrospect, I was probably also somewhat dehydrated. meh.) But it was all worth it. I had a good, solid walk around the city, and hopefully I'll sleep well tonight. I really, really do love Chicago. I am especially fascinated with Millennium Park, where the infamous "Bean" is located. I could sit there for hours watching the people take pictures of their reflections. But that's just me.

So, my feet were pretty dirty, but I have since scrubbed them clean, and now my feet are pretty happy. And the Corn Pops quelled my accumulated hunger, for now. I hope everyone else's day was as fulfilling as mine was. Tomorrow, I plan on not doing anything, recuperating from today. Because I can. Haha. Pax.

(sadface)

So, I'm not quite sure what happened to me differently this past hospital stay, but I have found myself to be much less flexible since I have come home. Realistically, it's probably a result of my not stretching anymore, but I'd like to blame it on the chemo. I mostly just vegged out while I was in the hospital, since I was only in for three days, one of which I was completely knocked out for. I can still touch my toes, but my 180 degree splits are deceased. I've also noticed my arms don't feel as stretchy, which is strange. I need to get moving around some more though. Come on, movement motivation!

In other news, today was a long day: today was a clinic day. All I needed was one shot, L-Aspariginase, a quick dose of chemo. It took literally ten seconds for my nurse to give me the shot. I had to wait, however, for about two hours for them to finally call my name. I guess today was especially busy as it was the day after a holiday, and sick peoples need their drugs. I did notice something interesting while I was waiting for them to draw my blood though: cancer patients tend to avoid other cancer patients. There is a hallway where we are instructed to wait before they can draw blood, and, as I've mentioned, today was especially busy. So I had to sit between two women while we waited, one of whom had disturbingly blue toenails. But I found it interesting that neither woman looked at me when I sat down. Indeed, they both turned away from me. I was tempted to start coughing horrifically and messily all over the place, but I decided that they perhaps wouldn't share my sense of humor. So I restrained. Otherwise, that was about it. Same old clinic feelings, same old desire to be anywhere but at clinic. Eventually, I made it home, and I haven't done much with the rest of my day. Slept on and off, I suppose. Oh, I had a burrito. Hahaha. Tomorrow I go downtown for group, which should be fun. It's hot and sunny and possibly rainy tomorrow in Chicago. All things one comes to expect at the end of May in Chicago. So happy Tuesday, sad toad. Don't let the world get you down. Peace.

I think it's time for another photog!

Yes, dear friends, it is officially cicada season in the suburbs. They are coming out of the ground, shedding their exoskeletons, and flying around like they own the place. Once shed, they are blue-bodied, red-eyed, and shiny-winged. They are also tremendously noisy. I swear, everything happened so fast while I was in the hospital. When I left home on Wednesday, the cicadas were just starting to show themselves. Now, they are everywhere, and more keep coming. Their little shells accumulate on the sides of buildings, on the trees, on the patio; there is no escaping the 17-year plague. It's a good time. If nothing else, they make for interesting photo subjects.

Speaking of everything moving at warp speed, it only took about four days for my tastebuds to be annihilated by the chemo demon. I have reached the point where water tastes funny. I had ice cream for dinner, and even that tasted not so good. I don't remember how long it took for my appetite to return to normal the first time I went through this, but hopefully this won't last too long. One thing my nurse cautioned me against was comparing this cycle with my first month of chemo. In terms of drugs, the cycles are the same, but there is no guarantee at all that my body will react the same way. So I guess I'm just biding my time, waiting to see how things turn out. She also told me that, hopefully, I won't become as neutropenic this time, which would be nice. I am looking forward to enjoying some fun lakefront activities downtown without having to worry about catching anyone else's germies. Otherwise, that's about it from here. Oh, this is the first major holiday that I haven't been in the hospital, which is also exciting. I missed Christmas and Easter, but Memorial Day, here I come. So that's worth celebrating at least. Alright, well enjoy Monday, and look for more pictures of creepy little bugs. Peace.