Warning - kind of graphic....don't say I didn't warn you...
Yesterday, Dad and I headed into chemo. Another round, another day. About a third of the way through my treatment, an elderly gentleman was wheeled into the room by a woman who we later found out was his sister. He was clearly not in tip-top shape, and my chemo nurse (also taking care of him) was struggling to keep him awake and alert, much less in any kind of condition to receive chemo. It took two nurses to get him up fro his wheelchair into the chemo chair, and he still wasn't doing very well. He was seated just down the room from me, but across from me. I could tel that this wasn't going to be a chemo day for him, and I fully expected them to send him to the ER.
He didn't make it that far. They started him on IV fluids, per the doctors, and within a minute or two, he started to seem a bit better - perked up, was having a conversation, etc. Then, he started to cough up blood. And, then, the blood started spurting out of his mouth like a geyser, and he couldn't breathe. The nurses rushed to his side, and called 911 and the doctors. They started CPR and a trach tube, but it was too late. By the time they had gotten all of the chemo patients out of the room, the guy was gone. He just didn't make it. I am pretty sure that I saw him die, right in front of me.
I will say that I have never been prouder of my medical team. They were so professional, so caring, so upset, and yet, they somehow managed to make it back to the chemo room after the man was declared dead and the coroner, police, and Crisis Response Team arrived. They (office staff, doctors, nurses, etc.) were obviously upset by this, but honestly, I don't know that I could have proceeded afterwards with as much professionalism, dignity, and respect as they did. My heart bleeds for them, even though I know this is a part of their job description. Still, I can't imagine that this makes it any easier.
I didn't think this bothered me much yesterday - it was more a response by me of, okay, it happens, how do I do what they asked me to do, and how do I finish my chemo? I was more interested in helping the lady next to me, who was visibly upset by what happened. However, last night, I was up for about an hour and a half, and I think I needed to process what happened. It was definitely a lesson in mortality, and one I won't soon forget.
I also spoke with my nurse about this being my last treatment. Her guess is that Momma what they affectionately call Dr O) will probably push me to the 13th round of chemo, to offset the discontinuation of the Oxalipalantin. Okay, so this isn't my last round of chemo. Bummer, but in light of the story above, what's three more days?!?! Nothing, if it gives me the rest of my life back.
Yesterday, Dad and I headed into chemo. Another round, another day. About a third of the way through my treatment, an elderly gentleman was wheeled into the room by a woman who we later found out was his sister. He was clearly not in tip-top shape, and my chemo nurse (also taking care of him) was struggling to keep him awake and alert, much less in any kind of condition to receive chemo. It took two nurses to get him up fro his wheelchair into the chemo chair, and he still wasn't doing very well. He was seated just down the room from me, but across from me. I could tel that this wasn't going to be a chemo day for him, and I fully expected them to send him to the ER.
He didn't make it that far. They started him on IV fluids, per the doctors, and within a minute or two, he started to seem a bit better - perked up, was having a conversation, etc. Then, he started to cough up blood. And, then, the blood started spurting out of his mouth like a geyser, and he couldn't breathe. The nurses rushed to his side, and called 911 and the doctors. They started CPR and a trach tube, but it was too late. By the time they had gotten all of the chemo patients out of the room, the guy was gone. He just didn't make it. I am pretty sure that I saw him die, right in front of me.
I will say that I have never been prouder of my medical team. They were so professional, so caring, so upset, and yet, they somehow managed to make it back to the chemo room after the man was declared dead and the coroner, police, and Crisis Response Team arrived. They (office staff, doctors, nurses, etc.) were obviously upset by this, but honestly, I don't know that I could have proceeded afterwards with as much professionalism, dignity, and respect as they did. My heart bleeds for them, even though I know this is a part of their job description. Still, I can't imagine that this makes it any easier.
I didn't think this bothered me much yesterday - it was more a response by me of, okay, it happens, how do I do what they asked me to do, and how do I finish my chemo? I was more interested in helping the lady next to me, who was visibly upset by what happened. However, last night, I was up for about an hour and a half, and I think I needed to process what happened. It was definitely a lesson in mortality, and one I won't soon forget.
I also spoke with my nurse about this being my last treatment. Her guess is that Momma what they affectionately call Dr O) will probably push me to the 13th round of chemo, to offset the discontinuation of the Oxalipalantin. Okay, so this isn't my last round of chemo. Bummer, but in light of the story above, what's three more days?!?! Nothing, if it gives me the rest of my life back.
Comments:
Amanda: said...
Oh.
My. Gosh. That is so sad - and yet so amazing that the medical team was able to
come back to work after all of that. And that you didn't have a freak out
yourself.... wow... I'm not so sure I would have done that well.
One more round is nothing compared to what you've been through.
One more round is nothing compared to what you've been through.
November
25, 2008 at 5:36 PM
You
have a lot of be thankful for this year...
wow. what a way to snap you back into reality real quick. Thanks for the eye-opener...
have a wonderful thanksgiving, we are thinking of you and love to everyone!
thanks for sending julia's recipe as well, that was adorable!
wow. what a way to snap you back into reality real quick. Thanks for the eye-opener...
have a wonderful thanksgiving, we are thinking of you and love to everyone!
thanks for sending julia's recipe as well, that was adorable!
November
26, 2008 at 6:51 AM
Gosh,
that's a horrible thing to have to witness, and that poor man and his sister...
I'm sorry you had to observe it all but I'm glad it gave you assurance that
you're in great hands with your team. Also sorry there's one more round to deal
with but it sounds like this round wasn't too bad? Hope you recover enough to
have some T'giving yummies and yes, 3 more days is nothing! :)
November
26, 2008 at 9:48 AM
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