Everybody's High On Consolation

The last week or so I have been in a wrestling match with the people securing our loan.  The number of times we have had to produce documents, many superfluous in my estimation, others certainly duplicates or a variation on a theme, was ridiculous. But, that said, and I don't mean to bury the lede, the house appraised and we have been approved for our loan. Next, the closing.  Depending on the document, we close the 26th or 27th.  The seller told the solar people, with whom he is arranging for us to meet, the 28th of July.  Certainly he is wrong. I am so excited to be moving, words fail.  No matter how you slice it, it comes up 7 days or fewer. I'm good with that.  

The house is filled with boxes, and if you've seen Jenny's caringbridge, she did an all call for help moving boxes between the day we take possession and August 2, when we leave for the Oregon coast for a week. If I had my druthers, and I am a curmudgeon, I would skip the vacation and focus on the move.  Movers will be here the morning after we return from Oregon. Jenny and I disagree on the need to have people transporting boxes, given we have hired movers, and given her condition.  That is, Jenny insists that she will be moving and unpacking. I have suggested that she would be better served letting the movers move the boxes, precisely because she otherwise will move a good quantity of them.  

So much to do, so little time.  We need to cancel and set up garbage, water and utilties, contact the propane gas folks, and finish the packing, which is far, far from done, despite the tremendous headway we have made.  

Having finished 48 weeks of chemotherapy, it is time to chart a new course with the oncologist.  Next week, we will go in, as if we are reporting to regular chemotherapy, do a blood draw, and then consult with oncology and palliative care. Dr. P. will offer, hopefully, a panoply of options, from staying the course, changing the chemo regimen, or offering from a list of trials.  Last year there were only two options, with respect to trials. One didn't permit chemotherapy, which was rejected by all out-of-hand, and the other was one that was not particularly promising according to the doctor and my sieve-like recollection.  We opted for door number 3 then, 48 weeks of chemotherapy.

I can't stress enough how brutal this process has been for all of us.  The first few months were utter hell, Jenny felt so awful, and the side effects brutal.  But, around late February, there was a course correction, an adaptation.  Jenny fell into a rhythm. It was still terrible, still harder on her than I can describe or would have hoped, but it was better. This routine, which may change soon, has become routine. The suffering is terrible when she is recovering from chemotherapy, but it is predictable and expected.  It's funny what you learn to live with when your only other choice--opting out--is not an option.

I am no prognosticator, really have no idea what will be next.  I suspect that the gemcitabine, one of the two chemotherapy regimens (the other Folfiri), will be discontinued as it seems the tumor has stopped responding to it, given those wild CA 19-9 numbers.  But, I don't own a C/T, so I really haven't the faintest what the scan will show, or what the next regimen will be.

The girls and I are going to the movies tonight. We are going to see Black Widow, which Abby and I saw last week, and enjoyed. Jenny clearly isn't around, it's noticeable she's gone.  The dogs keep looking for her, there is one less person vying for the only upstairs bathroom, and I am not walking into a room only to see her hiding her phone every several minutes.  She is having a nice time at Priest Lake, and I am glad.