I went in again this morning for IV treatment. I couldn’t drink anything this morning, despite the success of crushing ice and making a slushy last night. I woke up really nauseous and weak.
When we got to the clinic, I got all set up and pumped full of fluids. Today I chatted with my doctor about the difficulties of getting to and from the clinic for treatment and how the number of days off to make it happen, exceeded the days my husband can take off work.
After looking at all the variables, we decided that a good plan might be to do fluids and meds at home. There’s an agency that trains people on how to do their own fluids. I just need to get into the hospital so that a specialist can put in a mid-line arm catheter.
A nurse would come once a week to check the site, but I would be able to do everything else myself, including injecting medication, which works faster via intravenous. I’m happy about not having to go in every other day, but not thrilled about having a machine in my arm for a month at a time. Lesser of two evils, I suppose.
This morning’s visit was very dramatic. I needed to go to the bathroom (rapid fluids will do that to you) and found myself quickly on the bathroom floor. Of course, I couldn’t get up by myself so I pulled the emergency cord to call someone. Well, if there was any worry about not being heard, let it leave your mind. That bell was so loud, 6 nurses ran to the bathroom. The opened the door and there I was trying to act all cool like, “Hey! Still alive. No worries,….just…um…can someone help me up?” Classy. Let’s never do that again.
Normally, after IV I’m able to drink and eat. Not today. I feel horrid and can’t stop shaking. I think it’s my blood sugar. I’ll mention it to the nurse tomorrow when I go in. Upside: this time she put in an IV lock, so it’s still in arm. She reminded me that it was a direct line to my vein and that heroine was out of the question. Glad she cleared that one up.