kvetching up

Entry 1.    11:32 a.m. Willow gave me a wild ride this morning at 7:00, trying to bum rush a neighbor getting into his car. I know her very well now, and had hold of her fur faster than she could react, and soon after grabbed her harness.  In the kerfuffle of wrangling her, I dropped my phone in the grass. I didn't know this at the time, but only realized in an hour later. The best part about that is my phone lay in the grass where I dropped it as the rain fell-it had been falling all morning, why stop on my phone's account?  I put it in rice, at Jenny's suggestion. Jenny left with Moni for chemo about the same time I tried to dry out my phone.  I went to work and forgot about my personal cell. Just after 10, my work cell rings, it's Jenny on the phone, calling to tell me her blood pressure 70/30 was so low they were transferring her to the ER.  Moni took Jenny here, but left to go to an appt around 10. Jeanne, Jenny's escort home, was cancelled.  I a...

 Entry 1     10:46 a.m. Jenny is up and out. She shuffled into my room before leaving to go see Heather and do a bit of Christmas shopping. I do worry about her.  This extended chemo respite, its been some time now, and will be some time--maybe a week--before she begins again. That makes me nervous.  Her receiving chemotherapy makes me nervous. Her not receiving it makes me nervous. It isn't six of one, half-a-dozen of the other.  But I don't know. I just don't. If I haven't noted it, the doctor suggested this chemo regime will have milder effects on her body--and didn't mention loss of hair. But it is gemcitabine which caused her hair loss before, and that is the primary constituent of this chemo. I read a study from 2014 on GTX for people receiving the drug after second, third and fourth line failure, and it is fairly positive in terms of extending life. At least something positive to ponder.  

 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 8:20 a.m. The Persistence of Memory. Dali, 1931. I am at my desk. At work. Not kidding. We are having an in-person staff meeting, or so I thought. I am the only one on the floor right now, 40 minutes early for the meeting. Checking the calendar, it says its a teams meeting, with no room attached. I was at the meeting when the interim director announced this would be an in-person meeting. He isn't the best at communicating, so if this changed, I can at least say I had a day at the office. Also, if it wasn't COVID, I could go check on Jenny, who is shortly to arrive at VM for chemotherapy. So, the in-person is now on the 29th. I remember the agreement now that I am sitting in my desk chair.  This is an off-day for me. I have been scattered like my mother would get at times since last night, when Abby didn't arrive home on time from her acting gig. Her phone went straight to VM. She didn't answer my texts. She is generally very prompt at arriving home on time. Eve...

 Entry 1 10:07 a.m. I work all day, every day. It's how I make my money. I do the chores. Its what I do. What I don't do is take Jenny's behemoth for a walk each day, as she needs. I am up with her each morning, tending to her for several hours each morning, and then intermittently for the rest of my waking hours.  This morning, at 5:30, I stood on my stoop with a hot cup of coffee as the dogs, mostly Willow, cavorted through the yard, did their business and sniffed and snuffled everything in site for 15 minutes. It was her first frost . Buddy went back in after 5 minutes, as a good old man dog should. Willow, exploring her first frost, wasn't interested in returning. I let them out again, because in the morning they go out over and again, around 6. In between, I prepared their morning treats. This is daily. It allows me to get some peace for a very few minutes while I drink my coffee. This first treat is a dog bone in a puzzle. One for each. That took a very short time...

Jenny was away at a party from early afternoon well into the evening yesterday.  She spent time with Leiney and I when she got home, watching a television show. She was really on her phone about the entire time. She did eventually put the phone down. She was so spent after the long day, and especially since she is still hooked to the chemo pump, that she fell asleep holding the phone. We got her to bed, and Leiney and I hung out for a couple more hours watching television. Today, both girls were out--Abby had acting and Leiney worked.  Just after Abby got home, Jenny took a three hour nap.  Her chemo pump didn't come off until 5:30, and that along with poor sleep wiped her out. I woke her at 5.  She got up around 5:30 or so, giving her enough time to take the pump off before going to see The Eagles this evening with Jennifer, the same person whose party she attended yesterday. She did have lunch with Abby today, which isn't nothing. Tonight, I took the girls to ...

 Entry 1 12:44 p.m. Jenny is at chemo with Moni, as planned.  Her CEA clocked in at 31.7 up from 26.6, a 19.7 percent increase two weeks ago. It is a 178.1% increase since August 12, when they first started tracking this antigen.  The CA 19-9 isn't back, and I don't know if it was measured today.   I wish we could go back to a time when we were just mad at each other, or generally unhappy in the relationship. No cancer, no affair. Nada. As always, this day is terrible. Jenny wishes she could quit chemo, but dutifully goes to get the poison pumped into her veins, knowing the alterative is not an option right now. She will be miserable. I was informed by Moni that around week 8, which is the next round, per the doctor, there will be side-effects of the Folfox, likely severe. The neuropathy is so grave today her dose is limited to 80%. 

 Entry 1     8:36 a.m.       Prompt We are going to get COVID-19 tests in a few minutes.  I am looking forward to getting the PCR test.

“ There is not so helpless and pitiable an object in the world as a landsman beginning a sailor's life . ” --Richard Henry Dana Jr. from Two Years Before the Mast The new chemotherapy regimen has shown a modicum of success.  Here is the latest chart, showing the CA 19-9 cancer antigen measurement, including the most recent from last week, while I was away: This is good news, one hopes, in terms of extending Jenny's life. A drop of 5000 in two weeks has to be good.  At the same time, she is dropping weight.  She is now maintaining around 157-160 lbs. , but that is low.  And her caloric intake, just to maintain this weight is massive.  In other good news, Jenny has finally found a cannabis delivery system that is working--smoking joints. And, it has massively improved her ability to eat--with this chemo generally and significantly killing her appetite. The doctor measured Jenny's CEA (another cancer antigen marker) again last week. Last time, on Aug 12, I was led...

I am not a religious person. Not even slightly.  I am not an atheist.  I am not smart enough to stake out a position, or to say how or why we exist.  But when I am feeling low, give me Mahalia Jackson, Sister Rosetta Tharpe, Hank Williams, Roy Acuff or F.C. Barnes singing about their faith, and it buoys me. People persevere, they push on through hard times.  That's what this particularly working-class flavor of gospel music says to me.  I don't have their gift of faith, but I know that this too shall pass.   I haven't written in so long because work, the dogs, Jenny's illness, Jenny's anger, moving, unpacking and preparing for next week's backpacking trip have sapped me. I have been holed up in my room for about an hour as I write this, listening to Fern Jones sing. She was a holy roller, tent revivalist musician whose music was almost lost, but rereleased a few years ago.  She has been compared to Patsy Cline, high praise, really. I digress.  ....

Imagine your loved one is suffering from a terminal illness.  Fighting off death valiantly, but suffering inconceivable agony while trying to forestall the inevitable. The  suffering is every day, but the agony arises several days every other week as a reaction. To the chemo.  Your loved one, after every single chemo, wants to quit. She tells you, quite seriously, she can't stand to suffer any more, her eyes pleading for you to rescue her. The misery slowly abates over several days, and she forgets just enough of the pain to keep going forward. Banner day.  I went to my office. I spent several hours on the 54th floor, alone.  Creepy. Jenny's chemo was today. She was sick tonight and is miserable.  I, otoh, have to sleep now. More later.

Tied To The Whipping Post Another busy day.  Work in the time of COVID-19 is predictably unpredictable.  The solar company representative came today to show me how the 27 solar panels on top of the house work.  I had no idea the meter runs backwards as the solar is pumping in power to the system. Pretty impressed, honestly.  Many months are electric bill will be $12 dollars, the minimum amount charged.  I like that.  A lot.   However, our thermostat isn't working, which means our air conditioning isn't working. For some reason I had it in my head that the solar company was responsible for the thermostat.  In fact, that is not the case.  So, I called the number on the side of our our HVAC system, and someone is coming out on Monday, after the heatwave.  I pleaded to put us at the front of the line should there be any cancellations, and explained Jenny's condition. Tomorrow she has chemo, and the weekend will be hell with the heat and...

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...

Entry 1     10:35 a.m. If It's Monday Morning Jenny woke up this morning and came to my perch on the sectional to report she feels better and has no pain.  She feels so good, in fact, that she left for acupuncture without any pain medicine with her or in her system.  This is as I expected.  The biorhythm is not confounding for me, I just wish I could help her see over the horizon so she isn't planning her death, discussing what she thinks is her impending doom at the dinner table with the kids (complete with disclaimer, "I don't plan to die for 20 or 30 years, but if I do. . .").   Turns out that Jenny will not have chemo on the 29th, just blood work and a scan, and I would guess a visit thereafter with Doctor P.  That she, the children, and I have had the good fortune to see her survive this for nearly a year, is unexpected and a gift.  I am grateful that we have spent time in the last few days as a family with the girls both together,...

Every Sunday Afternoon We Forget About Our Cares I awoke this morning in a good mood.  A strange night of sleep.  I had dreams about my family and the affair, which hasn't really happened before.  But the dream was vivid.  I had to remind myself it was a dream, so as not to carry that around all day. I checked on Jenny frequently through the morning. She slept until around 10.  I came in and, per usual, she immediately hid her telephone. You can't hide your phone in an unobtrusive or secretive manner when the person you are hiding it from is facing you, three feet away. I didn't say anything.  I made peace, not with the affair, but with the pointlessness of forcing her to lie to me when I ask her what's going on, or to lie to me and tell me there isn't an affair happening any more.  Again, hiding the phone is a regular occurrence, if not daily, almost daily.  I do find it tedious.   Jenny is depressed, which isn't new. Two days ago the p...

Entry 1     9:18 a.m. The Final Countdown Folfiri day.  I built this chart last night, because I understand numbers better visually.  The last data point is from yesterday, but is not labeled as such, some weird artifact of Excel. Folfiri's efficacy is better than gemabraxane.  Her mets, and yes, as a reread of the radiology report confirms, her tumor has also grown by .5 cm.  Also, there are new mets on the liver, two sub-measurable, one .6 mm. This could explain the pain increase, if the tumor grew in such a manner as to push on the celiac nerve plexus, a bundle of nerves adjacent to the pancreas. I hate this day because it brings terrific nausea, anxiety, and suffering for Jenny.  Additionally, we are all anxious worrying for her. This is the final stretch of 48 weeks of chemo, weeks 40-48. Chemo every other week, with a take-home pump.  On the bright side, the bernedoodle comes Saturday afternoon. What happens after this regime is over?  ...

Chemotherapy Day VM Chemo Rooms Jenny has been dreading this day, after the awfulness of the last chemotherapy three weeks ago.  Who can blame her? I roused Jenny at 8:50, for a 9:15 departure. Her appt at Short Stay, where she gets her blood drawn first thing, before the appointment with the doctor and before chemotherapy.   I made Jenny her favorite cheesy eggs l, cleaned up afterward, loaded and ran the dishwasher. We seem to have the routine down to a science at this point.  The only variable is the time of the three appointments, which are invariably variable. We left at 9:15, and made the first appt at 9:40. on the nose, after checking in at the oncology front desk and getting necessary paperwork which contains your assigned Short Stay treatment room number on top. Short Stay is interesting.  Unlike other places in the hospital, you don't check in with anyone. Instead, when walking into the clinic, you drop off paperwork and enter the treatment room, and w...

Moni popped by this morning to drop off meds for Jenny that we had sequestered because of her recent suicidal ideation, but that Jenny will need next week, post chemotherapy. Moni is leaving to go to Sun Valley with Chris.  I asked her if she knew that things with  Eric  the pinché motherfucker and Jenny continue apace, as if I had never disclosed anything.  If anything, Jenny seems emboldened, btw. More on that in a moment.  Moni said Jenny had told her that last Thursday.  So, my intuition is much better than it had been.  The suicide was driven, not so much by the chemo, but by the fear she had lost Eric because I told Kandice.   At one this afternoon, Jenny was on a call with a prospective therapist for Abby.  Abby has dumped 4 or 5 therapists over the last year and we desperately want her to have one, what with COVID-19 and distance learning, the loss of both Mic and Bea, Jenny's cancer, and Jenny's long-term and ongoing affair...

Jenny started the folfiri regimen today, the gemabraxane cisplatin regimen cut short by low neutrophil counts. I accompanied her. Nervous all morning because of pain she has been having in her very lower back down to the bottom of her buttocks, our nerves made worse because today was a scan day. We both were worried that the cancer had spread.   Good news, the pain Jenny has been suffering with was caused by constipation according to Picozzi, not  the cancer.  More good news, the cancer hasn't spread. However, her tumor has grown, as has the met on her liver, although neither by much. [And, they found a new met]. I was writing this in bed at the hovel of an apartment, but now am sitting at Virginia Mason, after Jenny was transported here at 2:15 in the morning for excruciating pain in her lower back and abdomen, so bad she couldn't walk.  She is a woman, mind you, a woman who passed a kidney stone at the ski lodge and went back on the slopes and who has given bi...