Close Call

Two weeks ago today, I last met with my oncologist.  The good news is that one of the cancer markers in my blood is now normalized and she is carefully watching the second as it slowly decreases also.  The downside is that I'm still anemic and my white blood cell count is also low, which makes me rather lethargic lately.  I just don't seem to have much energy to undertake even simple tasks such as sewing or knitting.  She has me taking iron supplements in order to prepare me for some EPO (pro bicyclists' drug of preference) to boost my red cells.  Looking forward to that!
That same afternoon I had my latest chemo treatment.  Amazingly enough, I had really very few side effects this time besides a few days of feeling very tired and slow.  No pain, no nausea.
The scary bit happened three weeks ago today, which was the beginning of Week 3 of the previous treatment.  I was feeling really slow and had just curled up on the couch with Mr. T that evening for our regular "Home Entertainment" session.  What was unusual is that I never tuned into the film and what really should have tipped us off that something was wrong is that I didn't eat any supper when Mr. T ate.  When the film was over, I went up to bed and decided to take my temperature -- 38 ºC (100,4 ºF) -- and then I called the hospital and they told to come into the emergency room immediately.  I Skyped Mr. T since I thought he might be on his computer downstairs and when I got no response, [apparently I called to him and had a conversation in the stairwell telling him about the fever and what the hospital had said. He then came upstairs, told me to get dressed and pack a bag, which I did, and then he drove me to the emergency room where they checked me in and started doing some tests.  Blood sample, urine sample, and then lots of waiting before they found me a room and admitted me to the hospital.] All of the events in brackets is everything that happened to me for which I have NO memory whatsoever!   I was in some sort of second state where I was apparently responding to what folks were saying to me but nothing was being transferred from short-term to long-term memory.
The next morning when I woke up in my hospital room I saw my bag and wondered who had packed it.  When I looked inside, everything that I needed was there and was logical -- toilet items, bedroom slippers, nightgown, etc.  Strange indeed.
The diagnosis was that I had some sort of infection, my white blood cell count was only 450, well below the minimum of 1000, I was anemic, dehydrated and my blood pressure was very low.  They put me on a drip which included a broad-spectrum antibiotic until they managed to find out exactly where the infection was and which bacteria was responsible.  They never did isolate the culprit but I responded to the treatment and gradually got better over the next few days.  They sent me home after three days with a prescription to continue with the antibiotic in question.
I was never in pain, but just incredibly weak and not really firing with all pistons.  My spirits were really down around my ankles since this had never happened before and I was quite shook up by my pathetic physical state and my inability to do anything about it except get myself to the hospital which I had managed to do with the help of Mr. T.  What would I have done without him?  I'd rather not even think about that.  Anyway, my saucerful of pills that I take every morning now includes an anti-depressor, for which I am very grateful.  I've been feeling much better about things in general and the outlook that I have about the cancer and my treatment seems a lot less "heavy"  than before.
This week I have an MRI and a PET scan scheduled, and next Tuesday will be my next meeting with the oncologist followed by a chemo treatment in the afternoon.  She will judge based on all of the input whether to continue with more chemo treatments after that or not.  (Two more dates have been penciled in, just in case.)
I'll keep you posted as the saga unfolds.