The other day Bob looked at me and said “You’re sick much more than I am,” to which I thought “Well, I have cancer, so…” but then I remember that cancer hasn’t made me sick. I feel fine, as far as the cancer goes, even as the roster of my affected body parts continues to grow. If we grouped all the cancer together, it still isn’t very much; I imagine like a tablespoon full? All of the spots we can see are very small. Not big enough to feel or affect my ability to function.
I was stricken in the last couple weeks. Having not had a serious cold or “normal” sickness since before Covid, I assumed what was happening to me was going to result in death. We’d planned to head to the cabin on Sunday, but my sickness was not on the upswing, and the thought of getting to rural Minnesota, developing pneumonia and seeking treatment at Lake Region Healthcare was terrifying. We agreed not to go up until after I’d turned a corner.
On Monday, I called the nurse line and ran through my list of symptoms, and it was decided I should be seen by the same day appointment clinic. Bob wants to talk through every eventuality: “What if we go to the clinic and they decide that you need to stay in town for other tests?” I refuse to spend time debating responses to situations that will likely never come up, so I said, “What if I go to the clinic and sprout horns, what will we do? We should probably have our answers figured out.” To which Bob replied, “You mean have our antlers figured out.”
After testing and chest x-rays and examinations by metro health professionals, the conclusion was (drumroll)… that I had a cold. A cold that included a cough and a sore throat. A small fever, which Dr. Nasty was unable to diagnose with his hand on my forehead (“Clammy”). No Covid, no RSV, no strep, no pneumonia. No antibiotics. My persistent hacking was keeping the whole family up at night, so I was given cough syrup with codeine and a prescription for benzonatate (which I wouldn’t classify as “good stuff,” though Dr. Google says it has a similar structure to cocaine, so maybe I should reconsider).
We get caught up in semantics; Bob took issue with me telling the urgent care PA that I have lung cancer. Fine, I don’t have lung cancer, but I have liver cancer in my lung, ergo, lung cancer. It seems weird to give the liver cancer so much credit, especially as at the moment, I don’t have cancer in my liver. “I have metastasized hepatocellular carcinoma in my lung” doesn’t roll off the tongue as nicely as “lung cancer.” I don’t know why I brought it up, as I know it’s not impeding my lung function in any way, and having a chest cold won’t affect the tiny spot of malignancy.
We finally made it up to the cabin, and Bob found me looking over my array of cough and cold treatments: Mucinex Sinus-Max, Alka-Seltzer Plus Severe Cold and Cough, Robitussin DM cough syrup, prescription cough syrup, and the prescription benzonatate. I told him I was debating the best combo and dosage where I would sleep all night without coughing, but still wake up. “Oh, I wouldn’t worry about that,” Bob said.
Now I seem to be cured and we’re heading back to Minneapolis today. Infusion Tuesday.