The Hole Within

CHAPTER 57

I received my first dose of Amphotericin in in the hospital where they could monitor my reaction. The side effects were much the same. My doctor added IV Benadryl to my pre-infusion cocktail of drugs to help alleviate some of the side effects. I was released the day after my first dose. This time I would not be treated in the comfort of my own home. Instead, medical transport would come and get me, take me to the hospital for my treatment then drive me home. Apparently, it was cheaper for the insurance. I found that medical transport was a misnomer. The next day an old Buick showed up to transport me. The driver was a heavyset man who looked like he subsisted on fast food. He was greasy with the fat he consumed. Though he was pleasant enough, he made me nervous. 

We traveled the twenty-three miles to the hospital trailing blue smoke. He dropped me off and gave me his card so that I could call when I was done. I was instructed which floor to go to and upon my arrival I was surprised to find an empty section of the hospital. I was the only patient there with a single nurse. I was shown into a hospital room and I settled down on the bed. My nurse introduced herself as Monica. She took my vitals then left to go get my pre-medication. Monica came back with three prefilled syringes. I knew about the two, my anti-emetic and the Benadryl but was puzzled by the third. I asked her what it was and she told me it was Demerol. I told her that I did not take Demerol before treatment, "But that's what the doctor wants you to have," she replied. Again, I told her that I did not take Demerol, that I pre-medicated with Percocet, but she was insistent. I outright refused to use the Demerol and she was incredulous, "So you are refusing the medication that the doctor ordered?" She asked disapprovingly. I told her yes. Not used to being challenged by patients she again tried to assert her authority to give me the medication. Again, I told her that I refused to have it. "Well," she said, "I am going to have to call the doctor about this." That was fine I told her. She came back thirty minutes later with just two syringes and I felt inwardly triumphant.

I tried to sleep through the treatment. Sleeping was best. Not only did it make the time pass quickly but I could sleep through the immediate side effects. When I was done, I would call for transport and then I would go outside the hospital entrance and sit on the concrete curb to wait. The waiting was the worst because all I wanted to do was lie down. My headache throbbed and I would be sick to my stomach. My joints would hurt and I felt uncomfortable all over my body. The summer was especially bad. I would have to strip off the sweatshirt I wore to ward off the chills and sweat in the one hundred fifteen-degree weather on the curb. Most of the time I only had to wait fifteen minutes or so, but on the driver's busy days, I could wait for thirty to forty-five minutes. He would finally arrive with apologies and would turn the paltry air conditioner up full blast to try to cool me. I would sit back and close my eyes in exhaustion as I counted the minutes before I would arrive home. We now lived in a fourplex, on the second floor, and it was everything I could do to struggle up the stairs. My legs were leaden and I felt like they weighed a hundred pounds apiece. I held onto the railing and pulled myself up. Finally home, I would collapse into bed and slept most of the day.

I quickly became anemic again adding fatigue to my fatigue. I had to administer those dreaded shots to help with the production of red blood cells. Smells bothered me; the worst was cooking hamburger. The smell of frying it in a pan would make me nauseated. One evening, after work, Mel made something with fried hamburger. By the time it was ready I was close to throwing up. Mel sat a plate in front of me and the bile rose up in the back of my throat. I pushed the food around on my plate trying to summon the courage to take a bite. "What's wrong?" Mel sneered "I cooked that for you." Reluctantly, I took a bite, then three more as I struggled to ignore my raising gorge. I quickly ate half of the meat concoction, chewing and swallowing with effort. All the sudden it started to come back up. I rushed to the bathroom and vomited all I had forced myself to eat. "Jesus Christ!" Mel shouted, "I work all day and I come home and have to make dinner then you throw it up!" She angrily picked up her half-eaten plate and slammed it into the sink. She simmered in anger and refused to talk to me the rest of the evening.