Tuesday night was a pretty challenging one -- we're not too keen on repeating the experience.
After getting home from work around 7:30pm, Liz was pretty sleepy. We had a late dinner and decided to hop in the shower to warm up before heading to bed. Next came one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. Liz started to feel dizzy and (thankfully) decided to sit down on the bench seat in the shower. Shortly afterwards, as she tried to tell me what she was experiencing, she completely stopped making sense. Moments later, her face went grey-green, her eyes rolled back in her head and she went completely limp in my arms. Looking back, it should have been obvious that she had fainted. In the moment though, my mind raced through all sorts of horrors: "seizure? stroke? heart attack?" With what felt like super-human strength, I lowered her to the floor, involuntarily screaming her name over and over while trying to make sure she didn't hit her head on anything. Approximately 40 seconds (but what felt like 40 hours) later, Liz came to with an incredibly annoyed-sounding "What?!" She immediately started arguing with me -- all she wanted was to get up, dry off and head to sleep.
After paging Dr. Flej (her oncologist), I was finally able to convince Liz to let me drive her to the emergency room (that, or I'd call 911 and have the paramedics escort her there). The folks at the front desk hardly had time to get Liz's admission bracelet on her wrist before they were whisking her back to get blood drawn and to get her hooked up to a heart monitor. It turns out, when you say the words "chemo" and "fainting" in the same sentence, everyone freaks out a little. The young nurse (and former rugby player) who was at the tail the end of his shift tried twice to find a viable vein, with no luck. We were finally able to convince someone to find a nurse who was trained to use Liz's port (though we did get quite the push-back from a couple of folks). After feeling like quite the human pincushion, I don't think Liz could have been happier to see the woman who was able to get the port accessed, blood drawn, and prepared her to be hooked up to a much-needed bag of saline. It turns out that the long work day, lack of sufficient water intake, generally upset stomach, and hot shower was the perfect combination for decreased blood pressure leading to fainting. After a little over 4 hours, Liz's blood work all came back looking completely normal, as was her heart activity. Her vitals stabilized after she was re-hydrated and they changed their original assumption she'd be staying overnight. Thankfully, we were sent home to sleep in our own bed with only a reminder that she needs to stay focused on her fluid intake every day.
After getting home from work around 7:30pm, Liz was pretty sleepy. We had a late dinner and decided to hop in the shower to warm up before heading to bed. Next came one of the most terrifying experiences of my life. Liz started to feel dizzy and (thankfully) decided to sit down on the bench seat in the shower. Shortly afterwards, as she tried to tell me what she was experiencing, she completely stopped making sense. Moments later, her face went grey-green, her eyes rolled back in her head and she went completely limp in my arms. Looking back, it should have been obvious that she had fainted. In the moment though, my mind raced through all sorts of horrors: "seizure? stroke? heart attack?" With what felt like super-human strength, I lowered her to the floor, involuntarily screaming her name over and over while trying to make sure she didn't hit her head on anything. Approximately 40 seconds (but what felt like 40 hours) later, Liz came to with an incredibly annoyed-sounding "What?!" She immediately started arguing with me -- all she wanted was to get up, dry off and head to sleep.
After paging Dr. Flej (her oncologist), I was finally able to convince Liz to let me drive her to the emergency room (that, or I'd call 911 and have the paramedics escort her there). The folks at the front desk hardly had time to get Liz's admission bracelet on her wrist before they were whisking her back to get blood drawn and to get her hooked up to a heart monitor. It turns out, when you say the words "chemo" and "fainting" in the same sentence, everyone freaks out a little. The young nurse (and former rugby player) who was at the tail the end of his shift tried twice to find a viable vein, with no luck. We were finally able to convince someone to find a nurse who was trained to use Liz's port (though we did get quite the push-back from a couple of folks). After feeling like quite the human pincushion, I don't think Liz could have been happier to see the woman who was able to get the port accessed, blood drawn, and prepared her to be hooked up to a much-needed bag of saline. It turns out that the long work day, lack of sufficient water intake, generally upset stomach, and hot shower was the perfect combination for decreased blood pressure leading to fainting. After a little over 4 hours, Liz's blood work all came back looking completely normal, as was her heart activity. Her vitals stabilized after she was re-hydrated and they changed their original assumption she'd be staying overnight. Thankfully, we were sent home to sleep in our own bed with only a reminder that she needs to stay focused on her fluid intake every day.