My cousin sent me a message this morning

Checking in with me as she tends to do. This dear cousin has impeccable timing with an overflowing abundance of love, beautiful prayers, and a sense of humor all dispensed from very far away as she lives in the Netherlands. It always seems to be the case that when she checks in its usually when I am in mid situation that I had not yet shared with the public at large while struggling to find words or desire to tell it. In fact quite a few blog entries were started with a back and forth between us. She not only helps raise my spirits but she unknowingly helps "get the story outta me". For that I could not thank her enough.

My latest blog entry talks of my low white blood cell count. A number of one. What I don't say is that during that week I had a noticeable soreness on my left side, as if I had been lifting weights which I had not because I don't do that and we don't have that kind of stuff lying around. Off to see my surgeon on Monday morning for a look see. At this point I was having drainage now coupled with persistent hurting. Yea I know (shuffling the dirt around with my feet as I look down) this ain't gonna be good. #sorrynotsorry. My surgeon does a skin swab while telling me unfortunately this can happen during chemo. When the body has infection it looks for ways to remove it.  And that's exactly what my body did through creating a small, very small hole in my skin. 

I was scheduled for another chemo last Thursday. Sure. Just when I'm feeling better. That's the roller coaster you get on for when ya got "the cancer", well the kind that needs chemo anyway. You get the chemo, you get the shots, you take the meds, you tough it out for a rough week or so and then, just then as you cycle up feeling like dancing you get another momma said knock you down chemo cocktail for another cycle all over again. 

This past Wednesday still the same with more pain still knocking at my door. Knock knock. Who's there? Pain. We are coming to hang out. A bad knock knock joke. Aren't they all? I called doctor first thing to see if results were in. Wednesday was critical as it's day before chemo and she knows this. My surgeon calls me in the afternoon to say instead of chemo I will be meeting her up at the hospital for an emergency remove and clean out session. A common yet persistent hard to treat skin bacteria that decided to park itself in my left side is not gone. It was our last resort and I was prepared for it. It was discussed many times during the skin opening/painful new stitches sessions. 

My oncologist called right after to conform this was the best course (they had spoken and consulted before she called me) and that it's important to be all clear for him to continue chemo. He tells me it's very hard to treat with antibiotics on a healthy person never mind someone with compromised immune and lowered defenses. Furthermore that even if I wasn't going to do chemo this would keep cropping up but slower. It's just strong chemo with low white blood cells unmasked it allowing that bacteria to gather strength and forces growing rapidly. Little effers. 

There's this cartoon picture I was laughing over recently and shared on my Instagram account. It was a picture of a king germ (they have those right?) surrounded by his little germ minions with pitchforks in their germ hands gathered around a slice of pizza that had fallen on the ground. With a caption that read: Germs!! attack!! And the king germ says to the minions: NO-we wait five seconds!! Get it? Five second rule? Yes well my five seconds is long gone and the king had staked his place or was trying to.

On Thursday I return to the hospital I have been so many times. A semi reunion in a way with kisses and hugs from my nurses welcoming me back admiring my short hair. It's a bittersweet reunion as I'm not supposed to be there until around summertime. While surgery for me IS drastic, I wasn't resisting this plan. And the fear that used to grip me is lessened by these funny spirited strong women. In any case no one needed to tell me I had a raging infection, I felt something off all week. We tried to conquer it with several rounds of antibiotics each time it opened in efforts to knock the king and minions outta me. Strong ones that made me feel awful and as we see now didn't work. I come to find through school of hard knocks we can bear anything we once thought unbearable. 

It's during my check in at the hospital I meet a nurse who herself is a breast cancer survivor. As we do check in we cheer on her overcoming cancer victory and share our stories a little. We talk about her nails (she just had them done) and my eyeliner (I had none on, it was mascara) like girlfriends chatting except I'm at the hospital in funny looking purple socks, a surgical gown and I'm naked underneath. And it's time for IV. I show her the marks from my two recent hospital visits where we were hopeful and start high in the crook of the arm, each time having to go lower looking for veins. She does her very best to be gentle and cause me no harm as she works to find it. She finds it. Nothing doing. Don't worry she tells me I'm going to call Jeannie over, (one of my favorite nurses who I have written about here-I have many favorites) to see what she can do. Team approach and I like it. When jeannie comes over she tells me sweetly: lovebug, we are going in pediatric style, so bear with me punkin while I get there, okay. After the IV is done she comes to give me another hug and cradles my face with her steady hands as I hold her arm while she does this. We are in this embrace as she kisses me on my cheek and whispers a beautiful prayer in my ear. 

After surgery I'm in recovery with my usual recovery nurse who as I'm waking up catches me up on what's happening in her life as if we never stopped our conversation from over a month ago. It's soothing to hear her voice and listen to her. How's your pain sweetie she asks waiting for me to finish telling her before she continues catching me up. This nurse had the very same procedure I had months ago with no germ minions around so she is on her way to reconstruction followed by a celebration trip with a girlfriend to Europe after. Im thrilled for her and say her so except for it's muted with after surgery haze and fog. I'm sure it's no coincidence that these particular people are in my path or by my side now. It's all meant to be and stories I need to hear. I suspect people who have similar traveled paths to us are all around us, it's just that we don't know they came down from that mountain until we find ourselves on the very same mountain. They are my guides now, along with my team of doctors. 

As I'm in recovery I see an extremely handsome young man in his twenties in scrubs moving about, working away. It's not a bad sight to see really. Usually it's all women nurses or assistants with the occasional surgeon who arrives to drop off his clipboard at the nurses station. The surgeons wear black scrubs so it's easy to tell who they are. This handsome young guy is a dead ringer for the actor Jessie Metcalfe or a younger Mark Consuelos (Kelly Ripas husband). Possibly even better looking. While he works never does it cross my mind for a second what he actually does there.

Soon enough all questions we have are answered as I say goodbye to my recovery nurse and wish her well in her upcoming procedures to move to the next section in recovery. The get dressed get up out of bed receive discharge instructions section. Here you go (she says his name-but we don't use anyone's real name in this public blog except mine and it's my middle name) I have another one for you. Great! Thanks replies the Mark Counsuelos look alike enthusiastically.  

Either I was in a drug haze, woozy or both it did not strike me what that meant until he says to me: ok-I'm gonna help you get dressed now. Me: speechless blinking my eyes. Eventually I gain strength and stammer out: ok. He searches my bag for the first article of clothing. Yes, you got it. Jessie Metcalfe look alike will help me put my panties on. He pulls out my colorful sports bra first and says is this it? Noooo it's not that big I say almost laughing but only to myself, you know in my mind. Eventually he fishes out my undies as I ask him if he is any good at putting them on. Don't worry I'll help he says. It went right over his head. Fine by me. Let's get awkward moment over with. There it continues with each article of clothing except for my clasp in front-sports bra as I am wrapped around my chest over and over with an ace bandage. There is a God and He is merciful.

Another nurse calls Hercules and my parents to come meet me to bring the car around. As she gives after surgery instructions she mentions pain pills and stool softeners (this always happens) but in the direction of Hercules. I say nnuuurrseee we don't talk about poop with hercules. That doeessntt haaapeeen. She laughs and catches on real quick while finishing her instructions. Soon I'm free to go home and rest in my bed. 

When nurse muneca calls me the next day to check in on me I tell her the story of my handsome underwear helper on-er. She cracks up into tears as I assure her the story was real and so is the resemblance. In fact I was waiting for her to arrive during that time so it could quietly point him out for her to have a compete visual later. 

I type this as I am smothered in love and care again from Hercules and my family. They never stop it's just applied with more depth and concentration during these times. My pain -either I'm used to it or it's less- isn't so bad. I have a drain in me again and that's the most uncomfortable part about this new gig. I just can't complain much or at all as these lovely people around me do all they can (I couldn't list all the thing but try to imagine everything) so that I have nothing to do and nothing to worry about besides get up each day, and focus on healing with a smile on my face with conviction in my heart. So that's what I do.

One is the loneliest number that you'll ever do

Know that song? You may or may not. It's the opening line to a song called One written by a man named Harry and performed by a band called Three Dog Night. A long time ago. It still rings true and popped into my head recently.

I received a little care package last week. From the very lovely people I work with. Instead of just my paycheck, which is enough to send by itself and I'm so thankful for by the way, also came a bunch of other little goodies.

A lovely card with lots of wishes signed by several people. This cute little tiara with a fancy black fun feather that sticks up, this pink pencil with some candy attached to the end (WHO doesn't need a pencil like that in their life??) some little trinkets and a few cute rubber duckies. Oh AND aaannndd twenty dollas. That's right, I got twenty dollas. You see, earlier in the week a few amazing generous people from my office actually bought me a fridge. And a microwave. Yes you are reading this correctly. The doorbell rings- ding dong. I open it and there's a box with a brand new mini fridge. Next day. Ding dong-there is a microwave! Amazing really. It was so I could have my own set up close to me (my house is kinda big with two floors). So the twenty dollars has a note attached that said: for snacks to put in your fridge with a smiley face.

When I tell you not to feel sorry for me I mean it. It's because I could share with you 25 stories about amazing generosity like this that comes to me every single day. What?? Who is that blessed or lucky? Well me. I am. These little acts of generosity I receive may not always be quite as large as a fridge or cute as little notes or funny little ducks but it's generosity all the same. And I'm humbled and awed into a state of grace.

Here's a funny thing about what thoughtful gestures mean to people and it's interesting coincidence on timing. This little package? It came to me on my "crash" day. They tell you all about it up at the chemo cocktail place. They sure do. Like this (talking like my sweet high voiced oncologist nurse Cynthia) "Well honey early next week after this first chemo you are gonna feel tired. Ok? Usually around Tuesday. And you are gonna want to stay in bed all day. But remember you need to be sure to try to get up a little and absolutely make sure you drink water and eat something. Even if it's ice cream. Okkkaayy?" She tells me this all the while looking over her glasses and nodding her head encouragingly. Looking at me first and then at nurse muneca. She says to nurse muneca "she's gonna feel tired honey."

Really I said while I raised my eyebrow a little suspiciously. Like that tired? Even though I haven't done that one day ever. Even after allllllll my surgeries? Ok, thanks for the advice my dear, I will watch for it, be ready and do my best to beg for ice cream if needed. She laughs and says oh good. And off I go.

So here I was all last week waiting for the crash. It was mmeeehhhh not great but not like I gotta stay in bed all day tired and weakly call out for ice cream please with a dry scratchy throat because I can't drink water. Tempting as that vision is that didn't happen. I was just doing my thing, moving around a little and well slowly ya know cuz If I don't it makes me nauusseeooouuusss (singing that word all operary like). This was tested several times when I acted like a stupida thinking I'm all normal moving at a normal pace then oooo boo, that queasy feeling comes on. So I chilled. And I def moved slow. Def slower while holding my nose during the FML I gotta open the fridge and possibly catch a stink drift that might be floating outta there. It seemed to be working. Except for once I forgot about the smells that wafts out and lingers there after you close the fridge and I walked right into it after. Calmate-no throwing up here, I got skills but I'll admit it was a close call.

All that was before I got my very own non smelly fridge. To place my non smelly items and not have to hold my nose or carefully strategically place my shirt over the top of my nose and do this awkward hold pattern. See timing? I didn't know I was going to need that.

It was during this week of wait for the crash time I thought to myself: weeeeellll this sure isn't the funniest time I had but it sure isn't----heeeellppp I can't get up, bring ice cream.

Thursday afternoon rolls around and I start feeling kinda chilly. I put some layers on. I feel more cold. I even put socks on. I never wear socks. Hercules gets home and I suggest maaaayybee we turn on the heat. Then I suggest (really I begged) he bring me a 4th blanket to go with my other three and maaaayyybeee he can tuck them around me like a burrito? You know to be sure that no heat escapes anywhere, up to my chin please I tell him. While he is doing that calling me his mami burrito he kisses me. Before I could smile and say thank you my teeth start chattering and my body too. I start to do some simple 2+2 math and realize.

Oh. Crash. This is the day. We call my doc who has me start taking some Tylenol right away and alternate with Advil every four hours. Usually when this happen with chills and low grade fever you are to go directly to hospital, do not pass go, do not collect $200 for an immediate IV antibiotic drip. Being that the Tylenol would stop my chills and I was to see my doctor the next morning anyway he said he will take care of me. I don't like hospitals and I was too freezing cold to move so I said fine with me doc. Except when your teeth are chattering it sounds different. Ooookkaay doooccc gooodd niightt while Hercules is going for the Tylenol.

So that's the day my package came. Earlier in the day. I could not open it when I was by myself. Cuz I was tiirirrrreeeddddd and weak in my arms (rolling my eyes) -no joke. When Hercules opens it there comes tumbling out those cute little things along with a card and a little play money. Well now, even a girl going through a crash day with some horrible chills wrapped up like a burrito would smile. So I did.

Thank you ever so kindly lovely ladies for thinking of me and by coincidence happens to be on one of my lowest days in a long time I tell my manager when I send an email thanking them.

To finish my story and give you some closure (as if you needed any but your getting it anyway, I ain't got anything else to do) the next day I dragged my aching body up out of my comfy warm bed, threw a wig on and some cute scarf (I have hair it's just dull like, lack lustery) to get myself out the door while my parents drive me to my oncologist. It's there they do my weekly blood draw that the culprit is found. And out of the closet for all to see and point at. My white blood cell count. It's supposed to be like 4.0 to 10.0. For me, for you, for anyone. Well mine is 1. Just one. A lonely number of one. Almost zero. Poor little guy. And absolutely the cause of my body aches chills rising temp and tired feeling, really tired like crash tired.

So I'm grounded now with restrictions. No raw food or touch dead things (raw chicken or fish) It could kill me if it had some nasty bacteria hanging around on it. No being around people, you know because they tend to breath and have germs. I have to wash my hands a lot. No problem there. Everyone else has to wash and sanitize their hands too and hold their breath around me. I'm put on a round of take two a day antibiotics to prevent infection. When I ask if I have any other restrictions my doc said nope, just try to be as normal as you can but be careful for at least 4 days. That neulasta shot they gave me after chemo to boost my white blood cell count is doing it's work, bringing on new immunity any day now. I know it's working because I was believing it to be and I was praying on it. But mostly I knew because the shot makes your bones hurt. Really bad. And my bones hurt. They tell me thats the marrow producing more of those lil suckas. Fine by me.

Here's what my dog mason thinks about the no white blood cell count situation. See pic below. Me? I got some words but they are not for the pious or young.