Neutropenic? What the heck is neutropenic?!?

I haven’t thought much about germs until recently.  Well, let me clarify that…  I haven’t thought negatively about germs until recently.  I mean really recently.  Even after my cancer diagnosis and subsequent chemotherapy treatments I have still been pretty neutral on their existence… until recently.

I’ve always been of the general philosophy that, what doesn’t kill you, makes you stronger.  I’ve never felt I was putting myself in danger by skipping the hand sanitizer, going over the three-second rule, or letting my cat lick some of the butter off of my toast.  My dog “kisses” my face, my cat sleeps across my chest, and I wash my hands only after I use the bathroom or spill something on myself.  I figured that exposing myself to germs, in small amounts and not obsessing over every little thing, would help me build a defense against those germs and, if exposed to them later, I would be less vulnerable.  I don’t go dipping my hands into garbage cans and rubbing my face, but… you get what I’m saying, right?  I know a lot of people think the same way.  Granted, I am single, have no kids, and have free reign over most areas of my life, so I don’t NEED to worry about germy people being around, my baby for example. 

As I said, though, even after my second chemotherapy treatment, I was still pretty blasé about the whole germ issue.  I know, I know… They are everywhere, and I’ve been washing and sanitizing my hands more often, but not really paying 10,000% attention to everything I touch and carry.

So , as I sit in room 4353 of Kaiser hospital two and a half days after experiencing the wrath of germs and the havoc they are playing on my immune deficient body, I must humbly accept the power of things impossibly smaller than I, and their capacity to destroy me.   The oncologist that visited me this morning was excited that my voice had come back above the whisper it has been the last two days. She said my white blood cell counts are improving… slowly, but as long as they are above 1500 tomorrow, I should be able to go home… tomorrow. 

“What are they now?” I asked.

500. 

“And what were they when I came in on Friday?” 

Below 100.

“Oh.”

Long pause…

Oh.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

When I was admitted to the hospital on Friday, I was told I was neutropenic (new-trough-PEE-nik), that I would be on a neutropenic diet while in the hospital, and that neutropenic precautions were in place for anyone entering my “isolation” room.   Anyone coming into my room must don a plastic gown, mask, and, if they are planning on touching me, gloves.  I quickly surmised that being neutropenic was somehow dangerous  / not a good condition to be in.  So what the heck is neutropenic?  (Besides being one consonant change away from describing a super phallice…)   Neutropenia is a decreased number of neutrophils in a person’s blood.  Neutrophils are white blood cells that help protect the body against infection by destroying bacteria.  So a white blood cell (neutrophil) count below 100?  Yep, I was right… bad.  No wonder I became sick so quickly. 

Likely cause?  Um, duh… chemotherapy. 

And that’s me right now.  Above everything else, being a female, being 39, being a teacher, a daughter, a sister, being Madisen’s Che-Che, being a friend, a brilliant mastermind and future entrepreneur… the word that describes me is neutropenic.

I have a cartoon vision in my head, either from a Sunday TV educational spot (along the lines of Conjunction Junction or I’m Just a Bill), or a middle school health “film” about the immune system, of nutcracker-like “soldiers” marching into a tube, shrinking in size, and being injected into the human body.  These soldiers were being sent in to help the body fight off an infection, a virus, or some other yucky muck that needed to be destroyed. 

This vision keeps coming to mind as I lay in my little hospital bed, my IV machine clicking along next to me, delivering fluids and antibiotics to my weak, immune impaired body that I thought was SO strong and SO capable.  I imagine looking into the cartoon version of my body and searching desperately for white blood cells, and only being able to find a few… hiding.  So few, in fact, that they are just specks in the gigantic scheme of… me.  Knowing that I need at least 1500 of those to go home… and that at one point I had fewer that 100?  Not a good feeling.  Not a good feeling at all.

It is now 9:30 p.m. on Sunday February 20^th and my neutrophil counts are up to 750.  Feeling better…  MUCH better!