part 25

Part 25 Hey, this isn’t so bad – I’m almost halfway through (and other jokes)


Another day follows, with similar weather. I notice, though, that my mouth is getting sorer and mucous is intensifying, becoming quite uncomfortable, more so even than the excessive dryness. Dr. Bu- is concerned enough about my condition today that he will not initiate the erbotux drug and chemo combo to be given concurrent with my radiation. But the radiation will be given no matter what. To my surprise, I find that today will be treatment 15. I allow myself the luxury of thinking I am about midway through this process (this will prove to be a delusion, but more of that later), giving my emotions a slight reprieve. I even reflect that I haven’t really felt that bad, that this whole experience has not been so difficult after all. Driving back, as a slight whisper of reality, I experience some very faint nausea, but nothing too distressing. I am very tired, though, and arriving home in the early afternoon, I sleep a few hours. Waking up, I find I am struggling to keep going, and doze off periodically before officially retiring to sleep. I have a very rough night and wake up often, tonight with a fever.

I rebound the next morning compliments of a warm bath. Becah accompanies me today to the session, which is fairly uneventful. Back at one, I am quickly asleep again. But I get a reprieve and exercise for awhile. After watching everyone eat, Bree and I rest on the bed and watch a little TV before time to tuck the kids in and go to sleep myself.

The next day Brooke is in an uncharacteristically bad mood, demanding an assortment of foods for breakfast and unhappy with them all. Bree lets me win three games of tic-tac-toe because of “my treatments”. The bad salty taste and mucous in my mouth are getting to me, and sores will begin forming in successive days, compounding the problem. My mood is progressively declining, and quickly. I will learn that popping pain pills late at night and sitting in bed propped up with three pillows actually help me sleep much better at night, though. The slightly warming trend in the weather offsets the pain somewhat.

Saturday morning brings a reprieve from the grind of treatments, and lounging with the family on the couch is great. We go out later to a furniture store to look for a new couch. Back home, I call my friend Rob who lives up in Colorado. We go back to junior high days when all was bright in the world (or so it seems, looking back). After talking, I exercise while watching John Fogarty live at the Albert Hall on DVD. The weekend concludes with the relatives/“nursing staff” returning to help out.

The new week starts off with a quick treatment and my being in a surprisingly good mood. I am very sleepy the first day, though, and rest a good bit at home. Snow is predicted for the following day (we actually only get a few flakes), and I drag to treatment, yawning frequently. By midweek, I find myself sitting in my car in the parking lot of the treatment center. I hesitate to even get out. When I get out and start across the street, the bracing cold shoots through me, and briefly, I realize all of this is almost more than I can bear. My whole life has turned 360. I pull my scarf around my neck and quickly stride for the door. I have gone too far to turn back now. Besides, where would I go? It turns out to be a longer treatment day today, with the addition of the erbotux drug supplement. I learn they will be making a new mask for me to make for even more precise treatment in the future. This makes me optimistic and I respect their diligence at doing this right. At home finally, I pour the Ensure into my tube, spilling it in the process. I will learn that this will be a common occurrence that nonetheless will always frustrate and distress me and make me miss incredibly the joy of eating solid food like a normal person. What we take for granted…