System Down

Lately I’ve had the oddest feeling. It began with my finger, a small nick that several weeks later became swollen and infected. Next, the simple act of flossing produced copious amounts of blood in my mouth which also became infected, causing sores all over the roof and sides. Cutting myself while shaving one day caused a bacterial infection—a rash—all around my mouth. Then most recently, a small bit of sinus congestion led to full-scale bronchitis. I examined the evidence, and deduced that my immune system was on the fritz. I went to the hospital and the doctors confirmed my fears. My ANC (absolute neutrophil count) is less than 300. A normal person’s count falls somewhere in the range of 1500 to 2400. Below 500 and the doctors consider you severely neutropenic, extremely susceptible to bacterial infections or even pneumonia, and more likely than not they will hold off on administering chemotherapy. The news was somewhat shocking. I didn’t expect to see my immune system drop so low during maintenance chemotherapy. Isn’t this supposed to be the ‘easy’ stuff?

I did what any sane person in my situation would do. I went to a dive bar, got drunk and played pool.

Sometime around 11, a friend showed up with some others. We ordered another round and swapped quirky stories. I ended up in conversation with this one guy. He was curious why I didn’t get out more often. I told him the news I was out celebrating. He put his hand on my shoulder blades and offered his condolences. I laughed. In all honesty, I did everything I should have. My life is so obsessively regimented these days. I take certain pills at specific times, I eat special mixtures of high-immune boosting food every few hours. I hydrate in between meals. I exercise moderately. I do this day after day after day after day. I go to sleep sometimes at 9:30 on a Saturday night, careful to give myself enough rest. There are days when one in the morning might as well be one in the afternoon. Both find me lying in bed, eyes wide open, staring at the ceiling, organizing the details of my wellness. Moderation, discipline and caution. And in the end, chemo takes you down regardless. It continues to grind at my sanity. So I took the night off, I declared to this stranger. I slammed my fist on the bar table, my gaze wobbly. “Sometimes…sometimes don’t you just…don’t you just wanna go out to a bar and dress your best and flirt with guys and kick back with friends and drink more than you should and stumble home later than you planned?! Sometimes, don’t you just…don’t you just wanna…” My eyes drifted off with the end of my sentence. “Feel like your alive?” He offered. I stared blankly at my beer, and my new friend tapped his bottle against mine, some sort of celebration.