The last maintenance-chemotherapy I had was October 2022. I was scheduled to return for my next treatment in the new year. January 3rd to be exact. My doctor graciously delayed it for me because my eldest son was travelling to Florida for a baseball tournament. Boy was I excited! He had just entered grade 9 and was playing with a new team. They had entered a "world tournament." Although not an official world tournament, it was still pretty exciting for me! Many countries from South America were competing along with the US and our team, who of course, was representing Canada! We packed up our crew and drove down to Florida, super excited to watch some games and surprise the kids with a trip to Disney World after the tournament had ended.
My daughter at the Florida Welcome Centre
It took us a couple days to get to our hotel in Tampa, Florida. On the way down I started to not feel very well. Just a little cold I thought. That was okay. I had been doing pretty good at fighting these minor bugs since starting chemo. After we arrived at the hotel, my condition rapidly deteriorated. I started to have trouble breathing and felt rather weak. I was able to watch my son at the opening ceremony and see him play one game. After that, I was barely lucid. We didn't know what was wrong. I could not breathe. The pain was horrible. Think of an asthma attack. That's what I thought was happening. But sooooo much worse! I spent the next few day hunkered down in the hotel room trying to breathe. My husband shuttled the kids back and forth to the ball park and made sure they were fed. By this point, it wasn't much of a vacation. I attempted to come out to see another game, but only last about 20 minutes before I had to return to the hotel.
The only game I saw my son play in Tampa
There I sat, propped up by pillows upon pillows. TRYING to sleep, while TRYING to breathe. It wasn't working. My husband wanted me to go to the hospital. I was stubborn. I knew how expensive it would be for a Canadian to get treatment in the US. Eventually, I gave in. There was no other option. I. JUST. COULDN'T. BREATHE. Once at the hospital they tested me and found out I was positive for covid.
What!?
I had covid before. Right smack in the middle of chemo in fact. I had a headache. A really bad headache. That was it. So this time, I was slightly dumbfounded. Why was it so bad this time around? Logically, I knew why. Of course, it was because my treatments suppressed my immune system. I couldn't fight it the same way I did when I first began chemo. But we never do think these things will happen to us, do we?
The hospital in Tampa was lovely. They treated me well. They gave me some medications, a treatment to relax my lungs, pain meds, and puffers to help me breathe. They did not want to admit me because, well, that would have cost a small fortune! So after about six hours they sent me on my merry way.
I was constantly taking my puffers...
I didn't get better...
The medications didn't help...
We cancelled our trip to Disney and drove straight home.
I couldn't wait to cross the border. Back home. Back to Canada. Back to my doctors. January 11th I went to the hospital. My oxygen saturation was reading 90%-92%. The ER doctor? Said it was normal. It hurt to breathe. I was very weak. The pain was indescribable. I felt like I was suffocating to death. They ran test after test and then sent me home with a bottle of prednisone and more puffers. He said he was worried when I first came in, but all of my tests looked good and my oxygen levels didn't show anything to cause concern.
Umph.
Okay.
Glad he thought that. But as for me? I still couldn't breathe.
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