I received this story today about Greg Lipski a medical student at the University of Washington who had a stem cell transplant last August. He received stem cells from his sister who turned out to be a full match (lucky guy..).
I guess this is what it would be like if Andy could write about his transplant:
He talks about his central line infection (Andy had eighteen central lines):
I suffered a line infection from my central line catheter (Hickman line). That day and evening was the most torturous experience I’ve ever endured. I had fevers to 104, sweating buckets, while feeling like I was freezing, for about 14 hours before it started to abate. At the clinic, they pulled the Hickman line, and yes, they do it by just pulling, really hard. I knew I was screwed when the PA said, “take some deep breaths.”
He talks about medical tests:
Since the pre-transplant workup commenced, I feel like I’ve been processed through a system where I represent the “annoying workload,” the object that needs to be channeled through various tests, coordinated, and pushed through to transplant. At one point I had to complain to my main nurse that I feel like a project. Everyone’s busy trying to check off the right boxes, fill out the proper paperwork, cover their bases. I was left to feel like they were barely holding it together. Whenever I would meet with the transplant team doctor in charge of me, he was always late, and always seemed like lots of other things were on his mind other than me. When he’d ask if I had any questions, I would feel in the air that he hoped I didn’t ’cause he wanted to get out of there and move on to something else.
He talks about receiving stem cells from his sister (Andy crossed his fingers):
Today I received my sister’s cells. I feel pretty normal, nothing momentous occurs when the cells drip in, except for what runs through your mind. Lots of visions of these new cells setting up shop in a nice piece of marrow space, where they can reproduce and differentiate normally.
He talks about mucositis (Andy had morphine):
About five days after the transplant, the effects of the radiation and chemo really set in. Mucositis and total GI system upset sets in. The mucositis is so intense that they give you a PCA (patient controlled anesthesia) to control the pain. Every swallowing motion kills, the insides of your buccal mucosa ulcerates. You constantly produce a very thick saliva that needs to be spit out. If it gets swallowed, which happens too often, your stomach doesn’t like it and you vomit it up about every six hours.
And about pain:
The day my white cells came off zero, the mouth pain was gone and the relief was nice. A nurse summed it up pretty well, saying, “In about three weeks we take you to hell and back.” It’s nice to be back. I’ve gained an appreciation for aggressive pain and nausea control. When you’re in constant pain, life sucks and it’s hard to do other things that are good for you like walking and moving about.
And about night time in the hospital:
I think better judgment needs to be exercised regarding waking up patients in the middle of the night. My typical night had midnight meds. IV bags, which at times I had eight different things going, would go empty and alarm at least twice between 2 and 6 a.m. 4 a.m. vital signs, resident rounds at 7 a.m., regular rounds around 8:30. I honestly hated the arrival of late evening when I knew this torture was about to begin. I think 4 a.m. vitals shouldn’t be happening for stable patients. If IV pumps could finish and alert the staff without waking the patient, who then needs to push the call button to get it dealt with. Maybe I’m a wimp, but nighttime sucked.
Read the complete article via Seattle Post-Intelligencer here.