Saved by a whisker: how my cats rescued me from febrile neutropenia

06/12/2021 - Part one

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“Yes, said Dr A. “It is COMPLETELY necessary.”

It was more of a command than an answer.  So I shut my mouth and nodded dumbly, because that’s what I always do when discussing treatment with my oncologist; passively accept his authority.

Within the span of three months my tumour, thanks to Epirubicin and Cyclophosphamide (my current chemo combo), had vanished.

“Gone” said Dr A, turning the computer screen so I could see it.

Yet despite the clear MRI scan, he still felt it ‘necessary’ to ramp up my regime.

I was about to start three cycles of Docetaxel (Doxy to you and me), a powerful chemotherapy drug that nukes every cancer cell in your body. The result according to medical trials, is a better chance of disease free survival. But with a drug like Doxy, there are of course, some caveats.       

The potential benefit comes with side effects, especially 3-5 days after treatment when healthy cells get caught up in the cytotoxic inferno. For some, the symptoms are bearable: joint pain, nausea and the occasional hot larva fart. But for others, it’s explosive diarrhoea and vomiting all over the bathroom walls. Oh, and that happens simultaneously.

Febrile neutropenia – please send help

Then there’s febrile neutropenia which is relentless, ambient. A fever of unknown origin consumes the body and obliterates the immune system – particularly white blood cells (neutrophils) to an almost non-existent level. If not treated quickly, the condition can become fatal and requires immediate antibiotic therapy before sepsis kicks in.

It was last Sunday morning, when after Rhi left for work and William to visit family in the Scottish Borders, I developed febrile neutropenia. At first, I just felt sleepy and couldn’t get out of bed. But as the hours slipped by and my mind in and out of consciousness, it finally occurred to me that maybe this wasn’t normal.

Doing the adult thing, I checked my temperature - it was 38.6 degrees Celsius. But regardless of the fever, this is where I hit my limits of being a grownup. The thought of calling Dr A was just too daunting. Besides, the oncology unit was closed on Sunday and I didn’t want to bother anyone.

Instead, I decided to give it 30 minutes then recheck my temperature… surely things will have passed by then. And they did. Well, the time at least had marched forward because when I next opened my eyes, the day had somehow switched to night.

I briefly considered phoning William but then remembered, he wasn’t due home until Monday. He was spending time with his children (two boys from a previous marriage) and anyway, I couldn’t run to my husband every time I felt poorly.

During our FaceTime chat last night, I asked him how his weekend was going?

“Oh fine,” he replied vaguely. But by the look of him, I could see it was not.

For weeks now, William had been experiencing a deep pain in his chest which he put down to weightlifting.

“Just a pulled muscle,” he said.

But on top of that, he was also suffering side effects from his first Covid booster and the symptoms, he assured me, felt even worse than man flu.

When darkness falls

As for Rhi, she didn’t finish work until 5pm. Yet despite the darkness, my phone only read a little after 15:00. No need to panic, I thought. The situation will straighten out by itself. But of course, things only got worse.

Ironically, I had felt pretty good yesterday and that was day five after treatment. Too bad I didn’t realise how deceptive doxy can be. When I eventually accepted reality and the need for medical help, my temperature had rocketed and everything went black.  

It was a weird feeling drifting off into nothingness, especially when my body began to shut down. Gravity kind of forced the breath right out of me until it became shallow and my limbs, heavy like lead. I guess you could say it felt a bit like sleep paralysis or muscle atonia. But either way, it wasn’t a good time to be home alone.

I like to think that my cats sensed something was amiss because for them, that part is true. No, not the bit about me nearly dying from febrile neutropenia. The part about them bursting into my room because they hadn’t been fed.

Truth be told, I’m not sure how they managed it as the door was firmly latched. I can only imagine that Coco (the eldest of the four) had swung her weight against the handle, because she was the one who landed BANG on my chest.

I’ll talk more about my feline friends and how they saved me in part 2 of this story. But for now, please show your love by giving it a like. You can do this by clicking the heart button or if you feel like it, write a few words in the comment box below.

Thank you so much and I hope you have (or did have) a banging Guy Fawkes night.

Photo by Jamie Street on Unsplash

Fiona

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