Week 2 at Club Chemo

(This pic is from this past weekend, when Bob was home between treatments, Bob and Rocco, bonding . . .)

Why do I now think it's "normal" to wake at 5 a.m.? Get up, get my coffee going, sit down at the computer and start writing . . .this ungodly hour has become a normal part of my daily routine. . . it's really quite lovely, though. I get to watch the sun slide into daytime, the sky outside my patio doors goes from black nothingness to blues, pinks, gold, charcoal trees scratched into the horizon . . . my holiday tree is glowing (oh! that reminds me—gotta change those Valentine's decos to St. Patty's. Got some green shamrock garland to drape it with, for starters. Not a whole lotta St. Patrick's Day tree decorations to be found, 'magine that), doggies are at my feet, Gaia sleeping, Rocco chomping on a bone. At this hour, I'm not as dog-tired as when I get home after a long day at work and try to sit down and plunk out a new entry. Eyes get droopy, fingers don't work, fall asleep in the recliner, kink in neck . . . I'm much more perky and witty (?) at 5 a.m. Guess I'm turning into my mom. She's the only person I know whom I could call at this hour and know I wasn't rattling her out of bed . . .

Sorry we haven't written in a while; work's been busy and we didn't have much time between the two hospital stays before we were packing Bob up and sending him back to the U for the next round of methotrexate. I keep asking Bob to contribute to the blog, as I'm sure people would rather hear from him than my endless rambling, but as much as he'd like to, I know it's very hard for him. Not just physically. The more I think about it, it's gotta be tough, mentally, emotionally, for him. To be in the midst of this thing and all the treatments and side effects, the hospital stays, the copious amounts of pain medications and their side effects, the life on hold . . .

On our drive in to the hospital yesterday a.m., Bob asked me to bring in the Scrabble board, as he can't wait to kick my ass in a game, thanks to the arsenal of new medical terms he's stockpiling. Some big hitters that'll rack up serious points. Methotrexate is one, for sure. . . we talk some, listen to the radio some, he sleeps some, while I ebb and flow with other early a.m. commuters. Occasionally he wakes, piercing the silence with, "What are you doing, trying to kill me?" when I swerve to miss a pothole or change lanes. After doing this drive as many times as we already have, I've figured out the morning traffic patterns and now have it down to a science, based on my several weeks' observations. I've figured out which lanes to be in when, to optimize my maximum speed; even in the thick of rush hour, I can get us to the U in less than 1/2 hour. But, I can't divulge my secrets, lest you are one of the early a.m. commuters and try to hone in on my route—I'd have to take you out. It's a dog-eat-dow world out there on the ol' freeway . . . man, I'd hate to have to do that every day.

We head first to the Masonic Cancer Center. Upon arrival, Bob promptly threw up everything he had for breakfast (was able to make it to the bathroom to do so). Don't know if was nerves, truly being sick from side effects, or maybe from being jostled around in the back seat (remember, he can't sit, and has to be lying on his stomach during the whole drive. 94 has turned into a pockmarked obstacle course of potholes and asphalt surges, so it's far from a smooth ride in, sitting or no . . .). Then, off to draw blood and check his levels, make sure everything was back to "normal" (I use that term relatively) before admitting him to the hospital, to start this next round. There is a rare chance that a person's levels of this, that and the other thing aren't where they should be between treatments; if that were the case, this next round of methotrexate would have to be postponed till all was ready. We hung around a bit, till the results came back: everything a-okay, and then headed back up to 7D in the hospital.

Bob got the same room he was in last week, and unfortunately, another roommate. So far, no troubles with this one. Just makes things awkward, as visitors and medical people come and go frequently with just one patient. With two in a room, it's nonstop. Very disruptive. But, Bob heard his roomie was to be discharged today, so maybe he'll be solo the rest of the week.

The routine here is the same: pump him full of fluids, administer the methotrexate (you remember this stuff, right? The neon-orange stuff? The stuff that nurses for which nurses must don hazmat suits? The stuff that, should it come in contact with Bob's undergarments, freaks them all out?), then the flushing and rescue drug. It'll be another five day stay. After he's discharged, either Sunday or Monday, he'll be back at the Masonic Center for another one-two punch of Doxil and Cysplatin. At that point, from what we're told, they'll do another scan on Bob, see how everything is responding to the chemo and decide then if it's time for surgery or more chemo.

Penny and Jim are coming up again today, probably staying a couple nights. Makes me feel so much better knowing someone is with Bob, as I've got two more full days of work before the weekend. Last night and today are probably going to be the tough days of this treatment. Not because of side effects; rather, just because Bob gets pumped so full of fluids, that he ends up being up all night, peeing the excess out. Last stay, he gained over 5 pounds, just in fluids. He's back down to his featherweight number, despite his appetite being so much better these past few weeks. Though that's all relative, too . . .

Anyhow, I need to get moving here; wanna walk the dogs, straighten up the house a bit, etc., and stop by the hospital before work, so will probably update this in a day or so . . . LOVE to all!

Jen & Bob