Whoever it is that is drafting this current chapter of my life, I am starting to think I might need a few rewrites. Why would you choose the only night in 2014 so far when I was pretty much alone (Duncan was grappling with the night buses and taxis after the England game until the very early hours) to send my temperature out of control. When you’re sitting attached to a digital thermometer wondering whether or not to brave Accident and Emergency on the Saturday night of our World Cup game, you really shouldn’t be alone!
Maybe it was payback for the fact I declared yesterday a complete triumph when there was still an hour to go. Within half an hour of posting my update I started to feel hot – and not in a hot flush kind of way! I took my temperature. It was 37.7. Throughout chemo it hadn’t before reached anything higher than 37. Macmillan advice usually suggests anything over 37.5 is a concern. The hospital card in my wallet says 38 is an urgent call to acute oncology and, most likely, a trip to Accident and Emergency. Throw in a sore throat and It didn’t take long to realise the night I feared most on chemo was here at last. To make matters worse, the thermometer decides to beep wildly when it exceeds 37.5 and was like a siren going off in my head.
Temperatures and signs of illness on chemo are a big deal. Anything that indicates infection needs dealing with – and fast. I have been so lucky with this side of the treatment and I was confused as to why my great day had to go downhill quite so rapidly (trust me, it had nothing to do with the footie). It was then that it struck me. Earlier in the day I had come off my painkillers. The painkillers contained some paracetamol. Paracetamol masks temperatures and improves symptoms. Just how long had I been hiding away a high temperature and a sore throat? Just knowing this made me even more worried.
Last night was one of those nights when I was willing it to be over before it had even started. I feared going to sleep in case the temperature somehow spiralled in the night, but I was too tired to keep my eyes open. I ended up spending the night hugging the thermometer, staying awake and resisting the temptation to text my nocturnal breast feeding mum friends and, of course, my mum.
The morning couldn’t come quick enough and, when it did, I was delighted to see that my temperature had once again made friends with the thermometer. The sore throat is there, but less dagger-like and more just sore.
Today, I have been mostly operating at the level of a zombie. I have pretended to sleep. I have participated in the most appalling game of frisbee known to man. (I think Duncan is regretting his decision to let me loose in a public space with my unpredictable throwing action!). I managed to run a bath, but failed spectacularly (as did Duncan) at blowing up my inflatable pillow. (On that note, if anyone has one and knows the trick, please let me know. Duncan and I were stumped after multiple attempts. It looks so easy). It’s a day I think it would be best put to bed sooner rather than later.
Of course, it wasn’t all bad news. Ribena broke through the taste barrier today, so being able to enjoy dinner may be just a few days away. I have just completed my last injection for this round (only to discover that there is still a numb part of my tummy that is perfect for needle-related business). And, we have a beautiful lupins in the garden that Duncan grew from seed last year.
Here’s hoping for an uneventful night and some useful insights from the oncology team tomorrow about the painkiller/temperature conundrum. I am about to enter the low immunity days (10 to 14), so infection watch is about to get even more important.
Sleep tight everyone.