kvetching up

Entry 1     7:35 a.m. This morning Jenny is headed home , in theory.  The house is freezing, the heating system is spotty at best in our new home and the repair people are a bit busy. I did get the heat pump to function for a few hours yesterday--thanks again Cheryl--but it gave up the ghost.  The backup electrical heating will keep the pipes from freezing, but it is no good for much else. I made the mistake of turning off the gas fireplace overnight, thinking it would be ok in here without it. I was madly mistaken. I did chore after chore yesterday, leaving it ship shape  and Bristol fashion for Jenny's arrival home . We miss her, the kids and I. We need to get her nourished now that the stent is in and nutrition possible. Lots of broth, jello, smoothies and other soft things to eat. We have a full pantry and lots of food in the fridge and freezers.  Entry 2    12:09 p.m. At hospital with Jenny.  She is complaining of a pain in her side...

Entry 1     8:14 a.m.   Night and day. I visited Jenny last night. She was in high spirits AND fully hydrated for the first time in ages. She seemed to be feeling better than she has been in weeks. She was alarmingly thin, but that is unsurprising as she is still on a very restricted diet of clear liquids, and hasn't eaten in forever. She had a dextrose/saline drip, which I wish she had everyday to augment food/water intake, which due to cachexia and the duodenal blockage was close to zero for a couple of weeks at least, only alleviated until now by repeated visits to the ER. Jenny has to have a barium enhanced CT today, and then, absent any leakage from the stent in the findings, will be discharged.  Moni will bring her home. Snow on our street is still compact and unsanded, and so it will remain until it melts, so I am grateful I am not driving to VM. Entry 2.    9:19 a.m. I just spoke with Jenny. The barium CT procedure is not scheduled until 2...

 Entry 1     9:00 a.m. Tomorrow is the eight-week scan . It starts very early.  I don't know where the fuck I am going to park. I have to go to a parking garage with my jeep, that still has the roof box on it. Maybe I will get it off tonight, I hope. Jenny, who can do it sans ladder, can't help anymore. I think she never thought she'd be this sick--who can blame her refusal to admit it early in the journey. Now, last night she talked about needing to finish her "funeral stuff" a marked shift.   Can we go back to the bad old days of her not being sick, and us barely interacting? Me not knowing she is cheating, but suspecting something was off-kilter? Of Leiney and I hanging out, talking politics with Abby baking in the tiny kitchen?  I don't want to deal with anything outside my tiny bubble. It gets smaller all the time. John Travolta's got nothing on me . Work is so busy, Jenny so sick, the house such a time suck, that I am working here in less th...

Entry 1.     9:47 a.m. I didn't sleep well. Listening to a podcast on David Berkowitz can mess with your dreams. When I woke at 3:06 a.m., I was worried about Jenny and her pain.  I stewed for quite some time before going to check on her. She was ok, breathing seemed normal. But, I was worried.  I stayed beside her until 6:30 when I had to tend to the muttlings.  Leiney came down soon thereafter and  was lying on the couch, when Jenny appeared at the top of the landing and said her pain was worse.  In fact, the pain was so bad she walked stooped over. We are at VM. We have been here since 8. They saw her before 9, gave her some pain relief a.k.a. Dilaudid, and then ordered a CT. We have been waiting since. It's 10:20ish now.  Jenny is in and out, the painkillers causing her to hallucinate. "Honey, did I forget your birthday? I'm sorry." We just had this exchange: Jenny: "I wonder if I can snore?" Me: "I am positive you can snore." Jenny: "...

Because I could not stop for Death – He kindly stopped for me – The Carriage held but just Ourselves – And Immortality. -from Emily Dickinson's, "Because I Could Not Stop for Death." It's chemo day.  This morning I went into my office for the second time in the last year, and then met Jenny at chemo. We are sitting and waiting for the actual administration of the poison. I am sleepy and contemplative. I am also very concerned.  It's hard to tell what the doctor is thinking, given his propensity for avoiding the conversation about prognosis--his utter refusal to discuss disease progression.  But, he came in incredibly subdued and remained uncharacteristically mopey. It is hard to say if he is worried about Jenny or if he has other patients, other things on his mind.  I would need the ability to read minutiae like that of a sovietologist to figure out the reason for Dr. P's mood.  What I can report is that Jenny's CA19-9 is up again, another 400 points, to 3...