Roid Rage

Yesterday, mom was supposed to get on a train at 7 AM and go home. I woke up feeling really bad - terrible fatigue and a massive headache. I have not really had any symptoms like this since I got home (or, ahem, any symptoms of any kind?) so we were pretty freaked out. I felt exactly the way I used to feel right before I got a fever. Fever is bad. Fever means the ER, the slammer, mom doesn't get to go home, I cancel all my weekend social plans in exchange for a smelly hospital room, and who knows what kind of roommate, and IV antibiotics which may or may not make me break into a horrible rash. And stupid hospital volunteers and underfed, lightheaded forgetful nutritionists. And crazy, sadistic covering weekend doctors. Aarrrggghhhhhhhhh.

So of course I went there. I was sure it was doomsday. In fairness, I am not completely insane. Most people are hospitalized after transplant for one thing or another...I have been lucky so far. That said, I have had my hospital bag packed and ready to go since the day I got home two months ago.

I consoled myself with the fact that I had just been to the clinic and that my counts are good. Still, mom and I were worried enough that she didn't get on that morning train.

I called the doctor when the office opened at 9. I told the PA what my symptoms were and she said she'd talk to the doc and call me back. She called back and said the doctor "didn't know what to make of it."

They give you such big speeches about calling whenever you notice ANYTHING unusual. I tried to take comfort in the fact that they clearly weren't alarmed, but I still knew that I felt horrible and that just didn't seem like a good sign. I lost my appetite, I felt nauseated, I barely got out of bed all day. It seemed like a downward spiral.

This morning I felt a bit better when I woke up at 7, and better still as the morning wore on, so we made an executive decision to send mom home. I was a little nervous about it, but I didn't want the whole weekend to be blown for her.

After she left, I thought, hey. Why don't I Google withdrawal symptoms for the steroid I'm on, since they are tapering it down every week. Guess what? Classic withdrawal symptoms are headache, fatigue, loss of appetite, nausea. I found this same information over and over and over.

Why didn't my crack medical team suggest that this might have been the trouble? Who knows. A few weeks ago the PA rattled off a list of possible side effects, and honestly, I can't remember what they all were, but I don't think headache and fatigue were among them.

Anyway, I got over being pissed off that this apparently really obvious information was not offered to me. I'm glad I'm not in the slammer being tortured by strains of Entertainment Tonight. I'm glad I'm not wearing pajamas. I'm glad it looks like I will be able to see all the friends I was planning to see this weekend, in my own home.

Life is good-ish.