Tested (part 3)

The midday vitals check on Wednesday showed the fever returning. I was feeling kind of draggy and hoping the two bags of blood scheduled for the afternoon would perk me up. Took a little a nap.

Around 3, I start coughing. I have coughed off and on since arriving at the hospital. The air is extremely dry, and I have had a little bit post-nasal drip, so the back of my throat is occasionally tickled or irritated. The doctors always ask if the cough brings anything up, and it (so far) hasn't. Some coughing is actually good for the lungs, helping to keep the air passages open and defending against lung infections. It's also good to take extremely deep breaths, for the same reason.

(Warning: NSFM [Not Safe For Mealtime])

This round of coughing is different, triggered from deeper down the throat. Next thing I know, I have figuratively tossed my literal cookies. But just the cookies. On the floor between the bed and the bathroom. I page the nurse to report my achievement. Since the chemo started, the doctors have been asking about nausea and vomiting, and I have had nothing to share. Now, I may have finally earned my Vomit merit badge. It wasn't very impressive, but it should count.

The nurse eventually comes in, cleans up the floor, offers me an anti-nausea medication (although I am not nauseous) that will make me (even more) groggy. I accept. More napping.

At the afternoon vitals check, my fever is up to 39 (102.2 F). (Surely high enough to earn the Fever merit badge.) We do another round of blood and urine samples, to re-run the pre-dawn tests.

At 6, more deep coughing. Chicken and cheese enchiladas!

At bedtime, the fever is up to 39.9 (103.8 F). Normally, high fevers are accompanied by aching muscles, but not this one. I'm guessing it's because I am not in condition to mount the kind of inflammatory response that causes the aching. More Tylenol, and the nurse packs me in cold and ice packs -- one under each thigh, one in each armpit, an ice pack behind my neck. They feel great. It occurs to me that there is a commercial opportunity in a pillow that you could set to a desired temperature.

By midnight, the fever is down, and it has yet to return. None of the tests turned up any infections, and it's not unusual for chemo patients to have unexplained fevers.

And so ended a very busy day. Lots of tests, a couple of merit badges. It's been mercifully quiet since then.