The Spanish Inquisition

I didn't expect the Spanish Inquisition today, but as Monty Python said "Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition!"  I was expecting to get my blood drawn, wait for the results, and most likely get a Nuprogen shot and leave. When I was called in for the shot, the nurse took my temperature and it was 99.2. He disappeared and came back about 15 minutes later and told me that the fever stirred the doctors up and that after the shot, I had to go see Willow. There was something slightly ominous in the way he said "Willow".

Willow definitely has a presence. I'd guess she in her 60s. She's been around the block and few times, and if she fights, I doubt she's ever lost one. She is very matter-of-fact and isn't afraid to let you know exactly what she thinks, and she thought that letting me go five days with a low-grade fever with no immune system was the wrong "expletive" thing to do. She examined me, told me that my sore throat was a yeast infection, then started going over the medications I was taking. 

"Do you swallow or spit?" She asked. 

"Excuse me?" I replied. 

"The magic mouthwash? Do you spit it out or swallow it?" she asked with a smirk. 

"Oh! That nasty stuff!" I replied. Then I explained that the instructions on the bottle say to spit, but I'd been swallowing some of it to get to the sores further down my throat.

"From now on you swallow!" she commanded.

"Yes ma'am!" I replied.

For some reason I don't think too many men could get away with that.  She prescribed pills that are normally used to fight vaginal yeast infections. When I went to pick it up in the dispensing clinic, the tech asked if I'd taken the drug before with an inquiring look on his face. I told him no, the doctor had prescribed it because I don't swallow. "I understand." He said "That'll be $14." 

While we were going over my blood counts, we got into a discussion about my hemoglobin and hematocrit being low. She told me there is a difference between HBG and HCT in oncology versus… She paused and waved her hand toward door. 

"Real medicine? Normal medicine?" I suggested. 

She looked at me crosswise and said "Oncology is REAL medicine!" 

"Okay! Normal medicine then!" I replied. 

"No! Oncology is NORMAL…"

I broke in "look at me and look at yourself. Do you believe anyone would think we are normal?"

Silence, then an okay from her. I think we finally decided to call non-oncological medicine, "everyday" medicine. 

She left me in the exam room to consult with the on-call doctor about pulling out the "big guns" on me. She returned and told me she had called my oncologist at home and they decided to pull out the canon instead: they gave me an infusion of antibiotics this afternoon, I go in for antibiotic infusions and Nuprogen shots tomorrow and Sunday, then return again on Monday for blood work and to see the doctor.

With all these different drugs I'm currently taking to fight infections and get my immune system to where it can fight again, I've been having the craziest dreams — but I only woke up a couple of times last night. I was pretty worn out this afternoon after enduring the Spanish Inquisition, and laid down to rest when I got home. Either the ghosts were having a good time or the drugs were still whacking me out, because, not only was I having crazy dreams, but also the bed felt like it was shaking, and then it felt like something was rolling under my legs and feet making them spasm and jump; yet, when looked down at my feet Rosencrantz was laying there perfectly still. I hadn't disturbed him at all.

I got a couple of photos in the early morning sun before I went to the Cancer Center. When I took the photo of the chair in the bright morning light, I wasn't thinking about how well it would illustrate my day — consciously at least.

Freeze dried American roses

Frosty block of wood in early morning light