A long hospital stay so I can swallow again | Health Update #2
A long hospital stay so I can swallow again | Health Update #2
The latest and greatest of hospital life
Welcome to Gen Z Translator. This is What’s Up Wednesday, where I give you a personal update on a Wednesday. Clever, right? If you’re new, you can subscribe here and follow me on X/Twitter or Threads. Views and experiences my own.
It’s been almost three months since I’ve done an update about my health here. I’ve been a bit wary – I don’t want to undermine anyone else’s experiences with cancer or overshare about my own – but my mom keeps encouraging me to, so welcome to “What’s Up Wednesday.” (I know…more alliteration, you groan).
Since arriving in Phoenix, I’ve had a torrent of appointments and tests. I got a port placed in my chest, which allows for IV infusions/blood draws/contrast dye without having to get poked all the time. A biopsy of some suspicious lymph nodes came back negative for cancer. I have a new therapist! She’s great.
I felt like I could finally rest these past two weeks after months of non-stop medical events. That’s partly because I had to delay my second round of chemo while I took antibiotics for pneumonia.
How did I get pneumonia, you ask? It’s a funny story.
After my first round of chemo, everything felt fine. My nurses were lovely, I didn’t have any reactions to the infusions, and it barely occurred to me that we were there for eight hours until my calves hurt from sitting the next day. We had no trouble with my cold cap, which is a helmet-like contraption that freezes my hair follicles in an attempt to save my hair.
Anyways, I go home feeling relatively good about the experience. Then, over the weekend, I started to have complications with my esophagus. This takes some backstory. For the past year or so, I’ve had trouble eating and drinking. It’s kind of weird, so I didn’t really talk about it, but I was in the process of getting diagnosed with a rare swallowing disorder called achalasia before I found out I had cancer.
According to Mayo Clinic (shoutout), “Achalasia occurs when nerves in the esophagus become damaged. As a result, the esophagus becomes paralyzed and dilated over time and eventually loses the ability to squeeze food down into the stomach.” Super fun, right? It felt like I was swallowing rocks.
I decided the best course of action for my body was to go to the ER, so after packing my hospital bag with everything I thought I needed and attending two appointments I already had scheduled, my mom and I headed over.
I was seen to a room, and a nice doctor came to see us. He said, “Bad news. I don’t think I’m the guy you’re looking for. The good news, I contacted the people you do need.”
In true journalistic fashion, I believe the best way to go over everything that followed (at least, everything my drug-addled mind can remember) is in listicle format:
Day One: Not allowed to eat or drink anything. Waited to be scheduled for an advanced endoscopy the next day. Stayed the night in an observation room
Day Two: Moved to a super nice room in the oncology ward, cleared for the endoscopy, which confirmed achalasia diagnosis. Developed a fever from the procedure and started antibiotics. On day three or so of no food
Day Three: Scheduled for a peroral endoscopic myotomy (POEM) procedure. In a lot of chest, lung, and stomach pain coming out of anesthesia. Taken in for an X-ray. It was getting late, but I couldn’t shake my fever. Then, all HELL breaks loose.
In the POEM procedure, the surgeon uses an endoscope inserted through your mouth and down your throat to create an incision in the inside lining of your esophagus. Then, as in a Heller myotomy, the surgeon cuts the muscle at the lower end of the esophageal sphincter. -Mayo Clinic
Day Three (cont.): Imaging showed a small perforation in my stomach and pneumonia from aspirating water and bile into my lungs when they put a breathing tube down my throat. Moved to the Immediate Care unit (a step before ICU). Put through an X-ray, MRI, esophagram, blood tests, oxygen mask, artery tap, ice packs, and everything else I’ve forgotten. Every doctor imaginable came to see me, worried they’d need to operate on the perforation so air didn’t leak into my stomach
Day Four: Made it through the night without being taken in for surgery. Put on a lot of oxygen and painkillers. Range of motion limited due to both the pain and all the cords. Started daily blood thinner shots to avoid developing blood clots. Moved to clear liquids after being unable to eat or drink anything. Told I’d probably be there through Thanksgiving
Day Five: Moved to “full liquid diet” which is fancy for you-can-finally-have-an-ice-pop-and-maybe-some-broth. (Okay, and ice cream. Dairy-free, of course). Started going on walks around the unit with my oxygen to strengthen my lungs
Day Six: Still working to lower my oxygen. The doctors said because I came in without oxygen, they wouldn’t discharge me until I was off it. Bummed I didn’t get to go home. Watched all the Amazing Spider-Man movies
Day Seven: Moved from a full liquid diet to purees (the worst foods you can imagine), then soft foods later that day. Getting veryyy hungry and ready to get out of there. The doctors agreed they’d discharge me if we set up two at-home services, one for my IV antibiotic infusions and the other for an oxygen tank delivery. Second chemo bumped because of that. Sooo close. So close to getting out. Then, I had to get a PICC line placed so the antibiotics didn’t corrupt the integrity of my port. A funny doctor came into my room close to 10 p.m. and shoved a tube up my artery. Yay
Day Eight: Secured an at-home nurse to bring over the medical supplies we needed and set up an oxygen delivery. Went home with half a day to spare before Thanksgiving!! Told to wean off oxygen at my own pace and do my at-home IV infusions for ten days and oral antibiotics for two weeks after
Whew. So, yeah. That’s been my life lately. I resume chemo next week and pray we do not have to do this all over again. I’m feeling relatively well at the moment, so I’m relishing that while I can. I’m currently not immunocompromised because of all the boosters I got in the hospital.
I also want to say thank you to everyone who has been supportive of me and my family. Your gifts and well-wishes do not go unnoticed, even if I forget to text back! Thanks for your continued love and care.
