Midnight at the Oasis

The body humbles you. Just a few days after expressing relief at my body’s reaction to the new drug regimen, I’m brought to my knees by an on-again off-again fever.

For the second Saturday evening in a row, I found myself in the ER because anytime you mix the words chemotherapy and fever, alarm bells go off in doctors’ offices.

Last week was fever, chills and bladder pain. This Saturday evening was the same post-infusion fever and chills. Both times, I was told that if I have a temperature above 100.5 or above, which I have, I need to rush to the ER to guard against sepsis.

I know the drill by now. Even before I walked out my front door, I saw how the evenings would play out—hours in the ER with myriad pokes and jabs by apologetic nurses. Visits by concerned but friendly doctors who refer to patients as “my friend.” A gown that never ties correctly in the back. (Will some entrepreneur please disrupt the hospital gown industry!)

I have nothing against the Kaiser Oakland Emergency Department. The facility is nice. The people are nice, and all the nurses I talk to say they love working there. On quiet evenings, you feel looked after. It’s a medical oasis of efficiency amid a giant health system. But there will never be a day when I wake up and think to myself, “I sure would love to go to the Oakland ED.”

Last week, they treated me to my fifth CT scan in three months (with a sixth scheduled later this month), two blood draws, a prostate exam, urinalysis, and IV antibiotics. This week: more blood tests, a chest x-ray to rule out pneumonia, and a consultation with the on-call oncologist.

In between all of this activity are interminably long waits—for the test results, for the doctor to be done with other patients, for the IV to finish its work. Even with good company, you find yourself staring blankly at your room’s gaudy-patterned curtain and impatiently checking the time. 9 p.m….10 p.m….11 p.m….Midnight.

(This week, they kindly tried to rush me out because I was aiming to make a dinner date on time.)

In the end, none of the tests turned up anything. As of today, fingers are pointing to one of the chemotherapy drugs whose side effects include fever. The biology behind that eludes me. But I’m wondering now whether the old drug regimen wasn’t so bad after all, because a three-day fever, chills and aches is a pretty lousy way to spend your weekend.

The irony is that my two most recent chemo infusions had gone well, with no nausea symptoms, an unexpected and hopeful bright spot amid this journey.

But my body couldn’t abide a smooth sail. It had to conjure up a new problem just to remind me who is helming the boat.

[PS: The colloquial term is ER, right? But it’s not really an emergency “room.” Kaiser refers to its urgent treatment space as the Emergency Department, or ED. That’s an unfortunate initialism. But here we are.]

[Midnight at the Oasis, Maria Muldaur]