No News is Good News. . .

Haven't written in a while, which means, yes a long blog again (please bear in mind that so much of this is for our benefit, Bob's and mine, to process all that happens from day to day, to try and keep track, remember, record, and unfortunately you, dear readers, are subjected to the ramblings if you want to keep up with Bob's condition . . . ) but also means that we've had a blissfully uneventful past few weeks, since Bob was discharged from Transitional Care. No ER visits, no hospital stays, no electrolyte imbalances, no infections, no crazy blood pressure issues, no major pain issues . . . Bob's appetite is much better, he's gaining weight and looking so good these days. I can't help but think of all that might have been averted, had an astute health care professional thought of the TCU right away after Bob had his heart attack, instead of after so many other issues finally warranted it. I mean, 12 weeks of ass-kicking chemotherapy, and a heart-attack on top of that should have called for something preventive, proactive . . . something more than just sending him home right away, but what do I know? I'm just the crazy redhead. . .

Bob is totally addicted to ice cream, btw. It's basically become his main food source. Polishes off at least a half-gallon daily, I kid you not. In fact, he doesn't even bother with a bowl any more, just digs right into the carton with a big spoon, whenever the mood strikes. I had to run to the local Holiday gas station yesterday, not once, but twice, for ice cream. I should clarify that he doesn't eat the whole carton in one sitting; rather, it's spread out throughout the day. At least he's savoring it, not inhaling it . . . kind of. Nothing fancy for Bob when it comes to ice cream—good ol' fashioned vanilla and Neapolitan seem to be the favorites.

Ice cream is the only thing Bob can eat in abundance, though. He still has to take the rest of his meals as small, more frequent ones. He just can't pack it away like he used to, but the smaller meals work, to keep the calories (and nutrition) coming in. Bob had a visitor on Friday, his good friend, Paul, who brought Savoy's pizza for lunch. I didn't get to see Paulie, but Bob said they had a good visit, that it was great to see him, and that lunch was dee-lish. Can't ever go wrong with Savoy's. Or a visit from Paulie!

Bob still has trouble sleeping and tires quickly, despite the great strides he's made in the past few weeks. The sleep issue is manifold: part due to medication, which can make him very lethargic and sleepy, but then when he does fall asleep, it's for short spurts, not long, restful spans. Part of this is pain-related (not being able to get comfortable, or being wakened by the pain), but another part is, I believe, his anxiety . . . we're working on relaxation techniques

to help calm and ease his mind so he can sleep for longer, uninterrupted stretches. He hasn't had a major anxiety attack in almost two weeks, but I believe it still clouds his mind and prevents him from being able to fully relax when he's trying to sleep. Despite that, he's also working hard at getting out for walks, going on errands with me or with his parents, just trying to move as much as he can. stretching, working on PT exercises. A week or so ago, Penny and Jim bought Bob a camping cot to put out in the screened deck, and he's been taking naps out there since our summer weather has returned. It's a wonderful space—feels like being in a treehouse, surrounded by the birds chirping, swaying branches, wind rustling the leaves, the sun filtering in through thick layers of green.

Bob was supposed to have an appointment with the general surgeon this past Wednesday, at 4 pm. (His surgery, we're told, is kind of a two-part deal: general surgeons are needed to "clear the path" for the oncology surgeon to remove the tumor.) When Bob and his parents arrived at the clinic, they were told the surgeon was still in surgery, was running at least 90 minutes late, and that they couldn't guarantee there'd be time to see patients, even after waiting that long. Bob said he couldn't wait around, to reschedule. That appointment is still in the process of being rescheduled. . . This week, Bob has his pre-surgery CT scan and another followup with his oncologist. The surgery is still tentatively scheduled for the last week of May, either the 25th or the 27th, we're told. Which, this just hit me NOW—is next week, holy crap. . . lots to prepare for, to think about, to do, before then . . .

An Ode to Penny and Jim . . .

(Jim napping on the screened deck after a long day . . . )

Changing the subject here, I've been meaning to give a big shout-out on the blog to Penny and Jim for quite a while now, as without their help all these months, I don't know where we'd be, in more ways than one . . . they basically move in with us, from Tuesday through Friday, to be with Bob while I go to work . . .

It's a huge relief for me, knowing that Bob's in good, capable, loving hands, and not alone while I'm working. I'm constantly asked how I get through the days, how can I go to work and not fall apart, and the first image that pops in my head are Bob's parents. I don't think I could go to work if we didn't have our amazing live-in help. I was going through the old blog entries, trying to figure out when/how it came to be that Jim and Penny started staying with us, but couldn't find the exact date, or remember a specific conversation about how it happened. It started as kind of a part-time deal, back when Bob was just beginning chemotherapy—there were times that I just couldn't take off work, so they'd come up and take Bob to chemo, sit with him as he got his infusions, then brought him home again, stayed the night, and left in the morning. When he did the in-patient stints of chemo, they'd stay for the week, hanging out at the hospital all day with Bob, to keep him company so I didn't have to take too much time off work.

(Quilt to the left—with rocco peeking from beneath it—is the quilt Bob and I received from Penny for our wedding, nearly 15 years ago.)

Since Bob's heart attack, it's been every week, Tuesday through Friday, for over six weeks, and counting. It's a huge weight of my mind, having them here, knowing Bob isn't ever alone, but even more so, it does Bob a world of good, having his parents with him. And I'm pretty sure I'm not speaking out of line by saying that the arrangement is good for Penny and Jim, too, to be with their son as much as they can, to do what they can to help him get through this. I know they'd want to be nowhere else but by Bob's side as he goes through this, but it can't be easy for them, as they have their own home to care for, their own lives going on back in St. James, driving back and forth, over two hours here, two hours home, for weeks on end, is a labor of love, for sure. . .

(The quilt to the right is one of Penny's masterpieces. We've had it for so many years, it's worn to a cuddly, flannel-esque softness, but is Bob's favorite. Nothing like being enveloped in Mom's loving handiwork, no matter what age. . .)

There's nothing Penny and Jim won't do for us: they do lawn work—raking, mowing, . . . they clean the house, go grocery shopping, help Bob with his laundry, walk the dogs (well, Gaia, anyhow. I usually take Rocco, as he's a little more rambunctious than G.). . . they take Bob to appointments if I can't . . .a wonderful home-cooked dinner is always ready when I get home from work . . . every Friday, when they leave, they tell us to work on a to-do list for them, for when they come back the following week. "I just don't like sitting around, doing nothing," Penny says. Funny, I have no problem doing that . . .

Penny works miracles when Bob is feeling on edge; she keeps the panic attacks at bay by sitting by his side, massaging his hands, soothing him with soft, motherly words . . .she told us one day that, in the midst of the intense, exhausting days following Bob's heart attack, while at home, she was suddenly overcome by a sense of calm and peace. A voice deep inside of her told her that Bob is going to be okay, that everything is going to work out just fine. Penny is a no-nonsense kinda gal, not prone to theatrics, and I believe her, wholeheartedly. I truly do.

Jim keeps Bob in the loop with the latest golf stats; they've got some kind of draft-thingy going and bet a few bucks here and there on various tournaments. He's a softy, that Jim . . . as tough as this is on both of them, Jim is more easily choked up, more given to tears, which chokes me up every time . . . on more than one occasion, he's told me, "Bob might be your husband, Jen, but he will always be my little boy . . . " My eyes fill with tears just writing those words. . . anything Bob wants or needs, Jim's quick to hop in the van and head to the store, for a prescription, for ice cream, whatever Bob wants or needs . . .

We are blessed, so blessed, with these two angels in our lives. They ease the load, dry the tears, make us laugh, feed our bellies and our souls, take such good care of us, keep such good watch over Bob, their son, my husband . . .

(the quilt to the left is the most recent one we received from Penny, a spool-design . . .)