I’m having a pity party for one. We’re all entitled to those every once in a while. We just can’t stay there forever.
Maybe I duped myself by not wearing black today – Friday the 13th. Things go in three always, so I guess I shouldn’t have been surprised when today hasn’t gone anywhere near planned. This morning I spilled water on my shirt; count one. On the way to the hospital for my IVIG infusion, we followed a hearse (empty), but nonetheless enough to make your stomach sink; count two. Then once I got to the hospital, we couldn’t get my port accessed–three nurses, seven attempts; count three through ten.
Yep, that all happened before 11 am. Usually my infusion days last about ten hours, today however, we’re looking at twelve-ish. We didn’t start the medication until 11 after I gave up and asked for a peripheral IV. I also asked for my primary physician to put a referral into the surgeon to see if we can do a little fixing.
I’m also on my third respiratory bug in under a month and a half. So “immune system in a bottle” don’t fail me now. This is what happens when you have a horrible immune system. Every four weeks I come here. Watching the immunoglobulin drip into my depleted body and knowing that it is the reason I have at least some quality of life.
This is a shorter post, one I’m typing while trying not to lose the precious IV in my hand. My pity party for one…