Discharged due to low white blood cell count or how I got cockblocked by my own immune system.
I arrived at the hospital at around 8.20am. Slight disappointment at the check-in: no private rooms were available this time around.
For readers from outside Luxembourg, the way it works here is that anyone can request a private room (referred to as a “first class” room) ahead of a planned hospitalisation. If you are a Presta+ tier member of the Mutualist Medical and Supplementary Fund (CMCM), you only have to cover part of the cost otherwise you have to pay it all out-of-pocket. However, a private room is never guaranteed – you can only request it and find out on the day whether there actually are any available for you.
I had a private room (the exact same one in fact) the last two times I was at the hospital for chemo. Oh well, this is the final round, I thought, so I’ll bite the bullet. Also, if a private room became available, I would be able to switch, I was told.
Taking the lift up to the 5th floor, I met my “neighbour”, a middleaged Portuguese gentleman named José. He was very friendly and open to chat, so we told each other about our respective diagnoses and chemo treatments.
The nurse arrived shortly afterwards to put the needle into my catheter and take a blood sample. No fever, perfectly fine blood pressure – we’re nailing this third cycle so far!
Once I had put all my stuff in its place and had taken my usual place seated at the table reading the various books I had brought along, I found myself thinking: I can do this.
José had told me that he would actually be leaving tomorrow afternoon already. I would have the room to myself for at least half a day and who knows, maybe a private room would even become available.
I should say at this point, the reason I was so fixated on the private room was not out of any misanthropic tendencies. For an autistic person, chemotherapy in a hospital environment is already a very overstimulating process. Having a private space to yourself provides a precious opportunity to reduce that sensory pressure and decompress. Sharing a room with a complete stranger, even a wonderfully kind one such as José, makes the whole thing even more stressful and could potentially even negatively affect treatment due to the greatly elevated mental load.
However, it turned out that I would not have to wrestle with any of these issues in the end. The nurse came back in about 20 minutes later and handed me a face mask. Partial results indicated that I might be immunocompromised. They were now awaiting the full results, but I was informed that they may have to isolate me in a private room.
I waited, taking the opportunity to update my primary care people. Another 20-30 minutes passed and one of the oncologists came in. Not my oncologist, who was not at the hospital that morning. However, I was told that they had phoned him because my full results showed that my neutrophil count (white blood cells/immune system) was indeed very low – too low to safely administer chemotherapy. My doctor had therefore decided that I should be discharged and prescribed injections to stimulate my bone marrow to produce more white blood cells.
And so, I was packing my suitcase after having barely arrived at the hospital. Basically all that happened this morning was I showed up, got pierced with a needle, had blood sucked out of me, got the needle pulled out again, and was sent home with a prescription for injections that set your bones on fire.
Part of me was even a bit annoyed. My man José and I were just hitting it off!
None of this is cause for concern or even unusual. It is a common side effect of chemo and a brief delay does not change anything about my (still excellent) prognosis.
But for the autistic mind, sudden changes in plans always throw you off the rails a bit. Mentally, I was prepared for 5 days of hospital. Now being back at home feels… wrong. It will take some time to adjust to the new situation. Luckily, time is something I have plenty off at the minute.
So yeah, sorry for getting y’all hyped up about nothing. If all goes well, we’ll get this show on the road on Friday.
Until then, I wish all of you happiness and health!
just thoughts 