Deep Dive

Unfortunately, it's not that kind of dive this time.

Okay. First. Warnings.

If you can't handle things of a scatological nature (bathroom stuff), this post is NOT for you. Also, it's not me making jokes about it. Okay, I can't promise that. But that's not the point of all this.

Second. I don't want to write this post. But I thought about it quite a bit. Part of what I'm doing here is documenting, as accurately as I can, what it's like to go through chemotherapy. And if I edit out the things that were really difficult for me, I'm missing the mark. Believe me, I want to come out of this post with my dignity intact. But that's one of the things cancer steals from you.

On Sunday of last week, I spiked a fever of 104 (F) and vomited multiple times. I haven't thrown up since I was probably seven. When I say that, people tend to respond, "Oh that sounds amazing!" Honestly? It's a blessing and a curse. There have been many times in my past I've wished to be able to throw up. And now I have. Not fun.  But at least now I feel like I've officially joined the ranks of chemotherapy patients everywhere.

Side note. If you haven't thrown up since you were a kid, you are NOT good at it. It was like a scene from The Exorcist, y'all.

Something like that.

Let's just say that we got a new shower curtain, a new bathmat and several new towels out of the deal.

Spiking a fever while on chemo isn't all that uncommon. It's not a fantastic complication, but it's not completely unexpected. It even has a name. Neutropenic fever. Sounds doctor-y, right?

Basically, you have absolute neutrophils, which are your first line defenders. When I checked in, I had none. Also not that uncommon with chemo patients.

But what this means is that something a normal person wouldn't even react to can knock me flat on my @ss. The likelihood here is that I picked up a stomach bug or something similar. Who knows? That's the thing about neutropenic fever--unless something comes up in your blood culture, there's no way of telling for sure.

Okay. I'm procrastinating. There's stuff to tell here, yes. But it's also not the reason I'm writing this.

What took me to the hospital was probably gastrointestinal in origin. Which means that it was messing with my digestive system. The thing about chemo is--it does that anyway. This was just worse. And it was made infinitely more painful due to hemorrhoids--another gift from chemo.

Yeah. I said I was going to go there. So here we are.

I went in sick. I stayed because my levels weren't what they were supposed to be. Platelets, white blood cells, hemoglobin, stuff like that. While I was there, I ended up getting four bags of platelets and one bag of blood transfused into my body, because my levels were so low--another possible complication from chemo.

But I'm still getting over this stomach bug or whatever it is. And it's painful to go to the bathroom. I say "painful." That's me underselling. It was excruciating. I developed a fear of going to the bathroom. Another part of hemorrhoids is that there's a lot of pressure, which can also feel like you have to go to the bathroom. An endless cycle of fear and discomfort.

Well, at one point, I couldn't tell if I needed to go or not. Then I knew I did. Then I stood up.

Yep. That.

I was humiliated. Cancer has taken a lot of things from me, and I thought it had taken most of my dignity. Apparently it wasn't done with that part yet.

My wife was kind and loving, but I felt like... well, I felt like shit. That's how I felt.

And I hurt. And I wasn't done in the hospital yet, not for a few more days. And I was missing classes that I wanted to be teaching. And and and and...

It was a low point for me. It might not be the lowest I'll experience. But it was the lowest I think I've felt through this whole journey so far.

Then I started to ask myself why. Why did I feel so bad, so low? Shame. A loss of control. A loss of dignity.

But, for me at least, my "dignity" is closely connected to my ego. And my ego doesn't do much positive for me. My ego is what keeps me from sharing personal things with someone that might need to hear what I have to say. Something that might make them feel like they're less alone. Ego keeps me from listening with empathy when someone tells me their story and it doesn't match my expectations. Ego almost kept me from writing this post. Maybe that would've been an okay thing.

But if there's one person out there who might be going through something similar, from cancer or something else, maybe me sharing this will help them to feel less alone. Maybe someone who cares about someone going through something like this will have a little more insight into what that person might be experiencing.

I'm weak right now. I've lost too much weight, and I'm now eating high-calorie food that mostly tastes like ashes to me, just to make sure I don't lose more. I walk up stairs and I'm winded. I teach class and I have to take naps to recover.

I don't like feeling weak. Unfortunately, I equate weak with being less than masculine. Old, outdated thinking, I know. And some of this is just the physical weakness. But some of it isn't. Some of it is about me weeping in my bedroom because I'm so tired of fighting this fight.

I don't judge others in that way. That kind of emotional "weakness" is really about being sensitive. And sensitive is a good thing. Responsive. It's why we pay infinitely more for a professional grade instrument than for a consumer level one.

Sensitivity, at the end of the day, allowed me to get through my hospital stay with something resembling my sense of humor intact. It allowed me to smile when I got visitors. It helped me to talk to some of my students who are struggling when I went back to teaching after I Shawshanked my way out of the hospital.

Okay, it wasn't exactly like that.

Empathy. Compassion. Consideration.

Gifts that can come after a complete loss of dignity.


And now, photos from my staycation in the hospital! Yay!

Sleepy Ben.

Me with Go-a, a stuffed gift from my niece.

This was my view--not bad.

I liked this view best, though.

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Up next, I mourn the loss of normalcy, and then we discuss what "normalcy" actually means. I haven't figured it out yet.

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