60 degrees and feelin' the breeze . . .

Sunday, March 14, 2010

After a long, dreary, nearly-two-weeks of very dark and tough days, we've had a most unexpected day of sunny, 60 degree bliss and I can't even begin to tell you how miraculous this has been, on our spirits, our energy, our life. Well, I'm sure I don't have to, as we've all been through the same long, bleak, dreary (read: normal MN) winter together, right?!? Or, maybe it's just that my PMS is finally passing . . .

The first week and a half or so after Bob's latest chemo infusions were tough. Side effects weren't intense; in fact, most didn't make an appearance this time—no mouth sores, no more hair loss, no hospital admission; likely due to lower doses of both Doxil and Cisplatin this time around. But this time, it was more like a long bout with general flu-like symptoms. Waves of nausea (no vomiting, though), no appetite, no energy, mental and physical fatigue, lots of sleeping . . . Last time, Bob was hospitalized because of severe side effects and had nurses at his beck and call. Pain? Shot of this. Nausea? Shot of that. Dehydrated? IV of fluids. Discomfort? Something else. Any little change in condition, and a nurse appeared to erase his symptoms. This time 'round, Bob just has me, sorely unequipped with skills and magic potions to ease his discomfort; several times I asked if he wanted to go in to the U, or needed me to call the oncology on-call person. He said no, isn't that bad, just needs to ride it out.

As though on cue with the weather and the time change, Bob began to feel better over this past weekend. Started off kind of slow and tired, but ended with a, well, maybe not a bang!, but certainly with a happy sigh, a tummy full of burgers and the warm feeling that perhaps that really, truly is spring, just around the corner. The timing is serendipitous, I think. The seasons waxing, waning . . .Bob's side effects waxing, waning . . . the timing is too coincidental, a lovely little blessing, to be just "accident," don't you think? Then again, in this big ol' world, what the hell do I know . . .

I spend the better part of Saturday morning picking up dog shit. (Sorry for the crude language, but shit is the only word in the English language that accurately describes what my dogs, Gaia in particular, leave in the yard. Poop, doo-doo, droppings—sorely inadequate . . .) Add that to my growing list of newfound "skills and attributes," along with the snow-blowing, champagne-cork-popping . . . oh! and lighting-the-grill-with-a-really-long-match-because-the-igniter-thingy-doesn't-work. Still working on that one, because I have a serious aversion to propane tanks blowing up in my face.

Before this winter, I was blissfully unaware of just how much our dogs eliminated. Yes, that too, had been Bob's job. Hey! He likes the outdoors, so don't go and start feeling sorry for him! I walk our doggies dang near every day—an even trade, in my book. To be fair, Bob did offer to do doo-doo detail, but the melting snow exposed many, many organic-matter land mines in the front and back yard, in some cases, literally (and I don't mean that figuratively) piles. Way too much for a less-than-able-bodied person to handle. Add to that Bob's queasy stomach has been rather queasy for several days—not a good combo.

In my world, that poop would have been left in the backyard, to ferment, then eventually disintegrate with the melting snow, into the ground, fertilizing the earth with organic matter. By May, we'd have a lush, emerald lawn, all thanks to Mother Nature and the dogs! But, no. Bob says, "We really need to get out there and pick up some of that dog shit that's exposed, thanks to the melting snow. Looks terrible." There's the royal we again. . .

So, there I am, scoopin' poop in the back yard on Saturday, in my fire-engine red rubber boots and and rain jacket in the intermittent mist. With every step, I envision slipping in the mess and tumbling down our backyard, arse over teakettle in fecal matter. (I'm sorry, were some of you eating?) Praise the lord that didn't happen. Filled a trash can FULL of dog excrement, when all was said and done. Funny thing is, there are people who actually chose to do this for a living. . .

We headed out to Barnes & Nobel's Saturday afternoon (after a shower and change of shoes, of course); Bob was feeling pretty good and wanted to get out for a while, maybe find a few new magazines. We made it to the big box store, went our separate ways—Bob to magazines, I, to clearance racks. We were in there for maybe a half hour when Bob found me and handed me his small stack of magazines. "Check these out for me, please? I need to get outside . . ." A quick exchange of questions and he was gone. I stood in line, wondering if Bob was retching at the curbside, if he was passed out on the sidewalk. While I waited my turn, I heard a car alarm blaring outside. I thought, "I wonder if that's Bob. . . wonder if he knows how to turn that off . . ." See, my car has a little "issue" with the remote entry, and because Bob isn't driving these days, he may have forgotten . . .I quickly paid for my items and ran outside, where I found Bob lying in the backseat of the car, head resting on his arms.

He said he started to feel nauseous in the store, then very hot, then very nauseous again, and wasn't sure if he was going to throw up or just needed some fresh air. Didn't throw up, but felt good to get outside. "Was that our car alarm going off?" I asked. Yes, it was, he said, surprised I could hear it from inside the building. Just pressed some buttons and it eventually turned off, he said. Our outing was cut short, as Bob just wanted to go home at that point. As we're driving, I spied a Dairy Queen and asked if he was up for ice cream, thinking it was probably a dumb question as soon as I asked. To my surprise, I heard a muffled yes from the back seat, so I pulled into the lot, ran inside and picked up two small Heath Blizzards (and a small order of fries for me. Can't have sweet without the salt. Try it some time—scoop up ice cream with fries. Eat. Blissful decadence.)

When we got home, Bob ate most of his ice cream, picking out the Heath pieces (too sharp and hard; mouth is a little tender now and then), and then rested most of the afternoon and into the evening. Little waves of nausea now and then, but nothing more. I went to a friend's for dinner (our monthly girlfriend night). Good company, good food, good friends. As usual, I couldn't completely enjoy myself, checking my phone constantly, in case Bob should call.

Sunday was our surprise day. Woke up to overcast skies but no rain. Bob wanted to go on a walk, so we saddled Gaia up and took a nice leisurely walk down our road, at least a quarter mile, then turned around, made our way back. As we walked, the clouds gave way to sunny skies, the temps warmed up and before we knew it, we were enveloped in real, live warmth! When we got back, I shed my polartec for long sleeve t-shirt and vest, got Rocco on his walk-run, and then left Bob to rest while I ran errands, the usual Cub, Target . . . when I finally got back home, Bob was puttering around in the garage. Car thermometer read 63 degrees, I had the windows down. For a brief moment, our lives felt just like old times, like a good ol' run-of-the-mill weekend.

I unloaded groceries and Target junk and then declared it the First Day to Have a Beer on the Deck in 2010 Day. Popped open a bottle of Bell's HopSlam and went out to the picnic table on the deck, overlooking our back yard. Bob and the dogs joined me. Bob said burgers sounded great for dinner, so he fired up the grill and did the honors (I asked him to once again, show me how to light our igniter-challenged grill . . . don't know if I'll ever get that down pat. Scares the beejeepers out of me, peering into the innards of the grill, propane tank hissing, flame of the match inching toward explosive gas . . . ). Beautiful, beautiful day.

The next few days have brought continual improvements for Bob. In fact, yesterday, he said that except for the pain in his leg, he feels fantastic. Penny and Jim arrived yesterday, to stay for a few days. As usual, they came bearing loads of grub and lots of energy. Had homemade ham and bean soup for lunch yesterday, chicken and rice with asparagus for dinner last night. Good eatin'!

One more week of waiting, then into Doc S. next Tuesday, the 23rd. Hopefully, Bob will start the inpatient gig right away next week (last time, Doc pushed it back a week, because Bob was still dealing with mouth sores and other issues). We'll hopefully find out on Tuesday when surgery is planned, too. Wish I had more exciting news to share but these past few weeks have been pretty low-key. I know it's all part of the process, part of the journey, and I know lots and lots of people are keeping Bob in their thoughts and prayers. . . wish we had something more to give you than my ramblings . . .

I should keep these entries shorter and sweeter (less dog poop, more flowers . . .), maybe write more frequently, but less wordy . . . sometimes the heaviness of this bears down, makes it hard to write anything at all. Not much may have happened externally, but much goes on internally, emotionally, mentally . . . I write what I think, what I see, sometime more just to get some of this out, release the pressure, lighten the load, and sometimes I write about the ridiculous, the inane, the downright stupid, because it's easier than the alternative. . . Unfortunately for you all, you have to bear the weight of this, too, wallow through the muck and mire, and the sunshine and good days, right along with us. I can't speak for Bob, and I know it's hard for him to add blog entries, as it takes a big effort on his part, to be standing for any length of time, to get something down to share. As such, your stuck with me, and my ramblings, rants and raves. . .

We cherish the prayers, good juju, thoughts, luck o' the Irish sent our way. We are constantly surrounded with it, enveloped in it, lifted by it. Even on the hard days. Powerful stuff, peeps . . .

LOVE! to all. Happy St. Patty's too, btw! Toss a pint back in Bob's honor, if you're out 'n' about . . .