Catacombs

Saturday 19 May

Last night, after having eggplant-parmesan for dinner, we watched "The Bourne Identity" in the TV-room, a film we hadn't seen since its release, ten years ago. Lara held up very well. In the middle of the night, though, she went through an extended fit of coughing (I guess for half an hour) and it didn't sound too good. Cough syrop provided some relief. She was more at ease towards the morning, but after waking up, it started to come back. We thought it best for the doctor to have a look at the rumble in her chest, and she will pass by around noon. Meanwhile the nurse and the hospice are busy washing and dressing Lara: black slacks, red top with long sleeves, Ferragamo's on standby. Looking forward to her cappuccino, muesli, yoghurt and fruit.

Complications like this (if that is what we are looking at) are to be expected with patients who have no defense immune system in place to speak of. As a broad-spectrum antibiotic (Gram-negatives), there is only so much the Meronem can do to suppress infections. It needs leukocytes, and in particular neutrophils. Lara was not sporting many of them when last counted (0.21 per microL).

We had a logistical hiccup. The local pharmacy called me yesterday saying they could not guarantee a new supply of Meronem until Monday noon, sorry. We had ordered the supply last Monday so normally there should have been no problem securing it on time. That left us without any antibiotics for Sunday and Monday morning, six vials of 1 mg each. Impossible to find a pharmacy open that would have them in stock; it is a rather exceptional item.

So what should I do, I asked rhe pharmacist? Go to the pharmacy of Saint Luc between 11:00 adn 12:00AM; they will give it to you. Never been there. At the minus three level, in the catacombs of the building, there is a miniscule counter. So I arrive and they ask for a prescription, which I don't have. My own pharmacist  has it. So what to do? The hospital pharmacist stood her ground and suggested one unworkable solution after another; it was clearly not her problem. Oh, and she would close shop in half an hour! But my wife needs them without fail. Tell me about it, she answers.

I ignored all of her unfeasible itineraries and took the elevator from minus three to plus five, the hematology ward. There I run into one of Lara's treating physicians. He is more than happy to write me an ordonnance on the spot. Five minutes later I walk out of the hospital, vials in hand.

Doctor Willemot meanwhile detected a rumble she hadn't heard before and asked if it was getting better or worse. Better. Exercise your breathing with an aerosol, she recommended. So that will be my nexy assignment: finding a pharmacien de garde who has an aerosol for lung patients in stock!

Never an idle moment in this house.