Yesterday started benignly enough. One of the two major projects for the summer was new carpet for the bedroom. The carpet arrived, and the installer came to do his work. Mohamed had moved much of the small things out of the bedroom, and he and installer finished cleaning out the room. At 11, I was ready for my morning nap, so I lay down in the spare bedroom and slept for 90 minutes. When I woke up, something had changed, and my right leg, the one with the titanium femur and hip, no longer worked. It was as if it has seized up, and only with great pain could I move it at all. I walked by taking tiny steps and hanging onto furniture and door frames.
Nothing changed in the course of the day. The pain was unabated every time I moved. By 7 last night, we decided to go to the ER for what turned out to be a seven-hour visit, the time lengthened by the number of tests and a very busy ER. Getting out of my sweats and into a gown was a major ordeal. Every movement of my right leg and hip was extremely painful. After an hour or so, the ER doc decided that I should have x-rays, so I was wheeled through the maze of corridors and then transferred, at great pain, to the x-ray table. They took five x-rays, three of them in uncomfortable positions. This was the moment I began to be seriously worried. The cancer attacks the bones. Every three months, I take the five-figure shot to try to strengthen my bones. Could the pain mean that there was some sort of fracture of the hip? From there, it was back onto the regular bed and a return to the ER cubicle where Mohamed was patiently waiting, as we would be doing for much of the night. The results came back in 45 minutes or so, and they showed no anomalies of any kind.
Next came pain medication: Fentanyl. After all the descriptions of how powerful Fentanyl is following Prince's death, I was expected an immediate effect. Instead, there was no relief from the pain and no pleasant high. I couldn't tell I'd been given anything. After more waiting, I was wheeled off once again, this time for an MRI. This was the most difficult MRI I've ever had. For one thing, I was completely enclosed--no open-sided machine. For another, the technician informed me that the process would take a full hour. MRIs are hardly pleasant, but I've done okay with them before. This time, however, I had a moment of panic. I had asked for a blanket, and suddenly it became very hot. Sweat formed on my lip. My hands, which were crossed over my chest, went to sleep. To keep for panicking, I tried to list at least Paris Métro stop for each letter of the alphabet. I counted backwards from 1000 by sevens. At one point, I almost squeezed the ball to summon the tech and say I couldn't go on, but I hung in there. First forty minutes without contrast, then another fifteen minutes with contrast. And then, at midnight, off the hard MRI table and back onto my bed, wheeled once more to the cubicle. The MRIs also showed no problems.
So by 1 a.m., we were faced with a decision: should I stay in the hospital or go home. Although perhaps it would be more efficient to manage the pain if I were in the hospital (though at that point, the pain still hadn't been managed), but there were no clues about what was really wrong. The ER doctor thought maybe the last radiation treatments hadn't work and I will need more radiation on my spine, but that was just a guess, since the MRI and CT scans hadn't been compared. I decided to go home, no wiser than when I went to the ER and in no less pain. We got home at 2, hobbled to bed, and fell asleep. I'll increase the dosage of Percocet to try to manage the pain, and we have a visit with Dr. Hashmi scheduled for Monday--if we don't see him before.
It was a long, exhausting, and frustrating night. We've gotten the walker out of the attic, so moving is a little easier. And that was Thursday night and early Friday morning chez nous.
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