So I'm back home from my month long stay with C-dog in Denver. I was apprehensive at first, thinking that I wouldn't know what to do with myself if there weren't constant beeping and late-night vommit sessions to keep me entertained. But, I am actually enjoying myself, surprise, surprise. Who'd a thunk that you can have moments of happiness and joy during times like these? I sure didn't. Here's what made me smile: rode my bike for the first time in months, saw two wild turkeys, did not get pecked to death by said wild turkeys, smelled Oklahoma sweet grass, did not wake-up with post-sweetgrass-smelling allergies (thank god!), and finally, saw grass growing up through asphalt. This may sound hokey and unoriginal, but the sight of single blades of grass poking up through several inches of asphalt seemed inspiring and a good metaphor for our situation. If grass can grow through all of that, then anything is possible. Or, we have one shitty-ass roads crew.
:)) D
Monday, March 31, 2008
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Squatters
The more I think about it, the more I see that having an abdomen full of tumors is like having uninvited house guests. Squatters, to be exact. Think of it: In late October I go off on a little vacation through Southeast Asia - Bangkok, Northern Thailand, parts of Malaysia, the two islands of Borneo, Bali. The trip lasts a month, and then I take another week long vacation over the Holiday season to visit family. When I get back to Denver, what should I find? A bunch of damn squatters taking up residence in my gut! They've been eating most of my food, wasting me down a good twenty pounds. They've tainted the water: tap water tastes like paste these days. They've trashed everything they've touched; they leave behind a necrotic mess wherever they bed down. My plumbing is stuck and tends to overflow through the wrong openinings. And what is that smell?!!! Well, boys, I'm back, and it's time to get the fuck out! I'm lacing up the ass-kicking boots as I speak.
- Craig
- Craig
A writer’s dilemma
Craig’s a writer – he always has been. He published his first short story (on vampires) when he was still knee high to a grasshopper (or in elementary school). He continues to scribble life’s little adventures in his traveler’s notebooks, of which he has many. I’m sure there’s a bunch of good stuff in the 20 or so books he has scattered in his apartment.
Even more, he’s a researcher. He’s already published a few articles on the economic loss rule, and is preparing another critique on the archaic and confusing language courts use when doling out opinions on duties arising under torts and contracts. I awoke to him marking some paper and asked if he was working. His response: well, if cancer gets me, I at least want to get this article on economic loss finished. We always say Craig is our father’s son. He seems to really enjoy the teaching moments that come up in life. Why he hasn’t tried the lecture circuit is beyond me, but I hope he has the opportunity to finish this article, and to continue exploring various aspects of law, philosophy, and whatever else comes up along the way. The problem now is balancing time, and life’s other responsibilities. If this morning is any indication, perhaps cancer has given him the incentive to say screw it, and get on with the things that make him most happy.
But why the so-called writer hasn’t ‘bothered’ with the blog is beyond me. Kidney cancer…pfff, I’ve heard better.
Even more, he’s a researcher. He’s already published a few articles on the economic loss rule, and is preparing another critique on the archaic and confusing language courts use when doling out opinions on duties arising under torts and contracts. I awoke to him marking some paper and asked if he was working. His response: well, if cancer gets me, I at least want to get this article on economic loss finished. We always say Craig is our father’s son. He seems to really enjoy the teaching moments that come up in life. Why he hasn’t tried the lecture circuit is beyond me, but I hope he has the opportunity to finish this article, and to continue exploring various aspects of law, philosophy, and whatever else comes up along the way. The problem now is balancing time, and life’s other responsibilities. If this morning is any indication, perhaps cancer has given him the incentive to say screw it, and get on with the things that make him most happy.
But why the so-called writer hasn’t ‘bothered’ with the blog is beyond me. Kidney cancer…pfff, I’ve heard better.
Friday, March 28, 2008
Special skills
I think the next time I apply for a job, I’ll include drug pusher and vomit cleaner as special skills. D and are now certified to administer all sorts of IV-based anti-psychotics – who knew they doubled as anti-nausea meds – and pain meds. We’re also pushing IV nutrition and saline (Craig can no longer eat or drink). …Nothing like being responsible for all things life-sustaining. D and I have a fairly low baseline for success: if he ain’t dead, well, we’ve succeeded. Craig may have a different take. We like to throw around a few ‘whoopsies’ for good measure. I’m sure the patient-safety guru is less than impressed that the two most scatterbrained of the bunch are handling Craig’s care. Diane left today leaving it all up to me. ;) I can dig it. In other news, we’re finally out of the hospital! Aw, but not so fast. We had to spend another 10 hours there yesterday in order to fix Craig’s hickman line (in the chest for chemo/nutrition). As D likes to say, I’d love to meet the numbnuts who put it in to begin with. Not only was his hickman catheter practically dangling between his legs, the doctors failed to stitch it in tight enough, allowing even more length to tunnel out. I’m sure we could have played double-dutch had we tried. He now has a tighter, shorter version which they used for chemo this morning. They wouldn’t infuse him yesterday until they could drawback blood to make sure the catheter was still in a vein. No blood drawback, hence the new hickman. He has more energy today, and able to walk around on his own a bit more. Heck, at this point, we’ll take anything! We’re crossing our fingers we can go the weekend without another hospital visit. Personally, I feel a bit more wind at our backs. Things can always change, but I’ve got my rally cap on for good things to come. -- J
Theory #1: All Marys are nurses …
After meeting at least three ‘nurse’ Marys in as many days, not including our very own nurse Mary, I’ve come to the logical conclusion that all people named Mary are nurses. For those few Mary’s not yet nurses, well, as sure as rain, they soon will be. And as for those wayward Marys now well into their twilight years who opted for space exploring or fire-engine driving, heck, they probably sure wished they were.
Thursday, March 27, 2008
Jilly, wake up!
So here's my take on mom's diagnosis. A few days before I heard the news, I was taking a friend's friend around town, showing him all the Bangkok tourist sites. Like D and E have posted, we all thought she had something relatively minor, though, given the symptoms, I think deep down we knew it was probably more severe. I learned she had been admitted to the hospital while riding in a taxi near Koa San road. The hospital didn't really phase me; it's the six frantic text messages a few days after that I'll never forget. Erin was unable to get through to my cell, so had to text until I woke up. I awoke to several texts ranging from Jilly wake up!, Wake Up NOW!, this is serious, Jill, wake up!. I quickly ran to my computer to power up skype. As soon as we connected, she said it was a tumor. I remember crying, but not really feeling like I was crying, or getting any relief from it, for that matter. We talked it over until I felt calm enough to phone mom and dad. We talked for a bit, but not at any great length since she was still at the hospital. I then called my friends in Bangkok, who quickly mobilized with support. I left for Oklahoma a few days later, just in time to attend a few doctors appointments. By mid-August, we were neck-deep in our nearly month-long stay at Baptist Integris. Yeah, hospitals!
Vantage points
The weird thing about being in a close family is acknowledging that we are all different and, like the post's title says, have different vantage points. So, this one comes from the snarky middle child. Here is my retelling of mom's diagnosis and craig's from the non-reclinable chair in the chemo ward of UCH:
Mom
She initially went into the hospital on July 23 after not being able to stand up and having severe incontinence. Like Erin said, they thought she had contracted some weird bug disease from a trip to the zoo in late may early June where she was bitten by a tick. I was house sitting, I think, and ran over to the e.r. once I got the message. I don't remember what day that was, but I remember sleeping in a god-awful hospital chair that night and getting so tangled up in the stupid sheets that I almost launched myself out when I put the foot rest down. I also remember having to give the nurses the same information over and over and mom telling the nurses that she had five children. That was hilarious! Scared, overwhelmed, numb, panicked. Felt all those things those first few nights. And that's when it was just supposedly west nile or something. The real news came via a phone call on Thursday afternoon while I was on the crapper at home. Figures. Mom called and asked if she could put Dr. English on the phone and I said yes, knowing that that meant it was NOT good. Dr. English asked if I was sitting down and I wanted to start laughing hysterically and tell her to get to the freaking point at the same time. "It's a tumor in her brain..." That's all I remember. I know we kept talking and I was crying and talked to mom again, but was so shocked that that's all I really heard. Mom and I cried, Dad and I cried, and then I called Erin and got the ball rolling with telling people. Brain tumor was never on our radar. And I could never have imagined then that I, that we, could have and are, enduring all of this. Cancer sucks. I'll write my version of Craig's story later.
D
Mom
She initially went into the hospital on July 23 after not being able to stand up and having severe incontinence. Like Erin said, they thought she had contracted some weird bug disease from a trip to the zoo in late may early June where she was bitten by a tick. I was house sitting, I think, and ran over to the e.r. once I got the message. I don't remember what day that was, but I remember sleeping in a god-awful hospital chair that night and getting so tangled up in the stupid sheets that I almost launched myself out when I put the foot rest down. I also remember having to give the nurses the same information over and over and mom telling the nurses that she had five children. That was hilarious! Scared, overwhelmed, numb, panicked. Felt all those things those first few nights. And that's when it was just supposedly west nile or something. The real news came via a phone call on Thursday afternoon while I was on the crapper at home. Figures. Mom called and asked if she could put Dr. English on the phone and I said yes, knowing that that meant it was NOT good. Dr. English asked if I was sitting down and I wanted to start laughing hysterically and tell her to get to the freaking point at the same time. "It's a tumor in her brain..." That's all I remember. I know we kept talking and I was crying and talked to mom again, but was so shocked that that's all I really heard. Mom and I cried, Dad and I cried, and then I called Erin and got the ball rolling with telling people. Brain tumor was never on our radar. And I could never have imagined then that I, that we, could have and are, enduring all of this. Cancer sucks. I'll write my version of Craig's story later.
D
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
The tricky thing about cancer...
The logistics of caring for two sick family members is difficult, but doable if only for our clear understanding of life’s priorities. To describe us as close would be an understatement. We’re that annoying pod of six that seem to forget the world around them. We rely on each other for advice, humor, and support, particularly in times of crisis. This is no exception. Yet every family, every person, has its limits. We’re nowhere near ours, but it’s taxing nonetheless. Our new normal is uncomfortable, if not tragic. Two people, both at the prime of their lives, are staring at the very real possibility of saying goodbye far too soon.
Our mother was diagnosed with stage IV GBM in July 2007, and to make it all the more tragic, she received her diagnosis on her 65th birthday. Since undergoing a complete resection in August, followed by standard chemo and radiation, she’s begun an experimental chemotherapy treatment, which has provided us with the slightest hope – and that’s, frankly, all we need. She’s slowing down, which is the best way to describe it, but otherwise, doing well, minus a few balance issues. In February, she accidentally caught her foot on some carpeting and hit her face. Ever the able man, my brother joined the rest of the family in helping her to her feet. It’d be a struggle for him to help now.
After believing for two years that his initial chromophobe renal cell carcinoma (RCC) was ‘self-contained’ and essentially cured, we’ve learned he has what is essentially stage IV metastatic chromophobe RCC – an extremely rare form of RCC. He’s spent the better part of the past month or so in the hospital, trying to get a handle on some fairly significant symptoms. He’s lost nearly 20 pounds in the past two months, and, like our mom, struggles with his energy. My brother and mother now have the peculiar situation of trying to remain strong not only for themselves, but for each other.
What being ‘strong’ entails, no one knows. It’s this nebulous sort of strong that gets me through most days, and yet, makes it so difficult to describe our reality. How does one talk about such a thing within a family, let alone with others? We're not the family that resorts to vague euphemisms to explain life's process. Yet still, we haven't really talked about the prospect of things ending just yet. Perhaps it’s because we all feel there’s plenty of fight left ahead, or that there’s simply not much to say at this time, and timing is everything. I’m sure those conversations will find their way in due time. Right now, we’re just trying to get through the day, and with each other. -- J
Our mother was diagnosed with stage IV GBM in July 2007, and to make it all the more tragic, she received her diagnosis on her 65th birthday. Since undergoing a complete resection in August, followed by standard chemo and radiation, she’s begun an experimental chemotherapy treatment, which has provided us with the slightest hope – and that’s, frankly, all we need. She’s slowing down, which is the best way to describe it, but otherwise, doing well, minus a few balance issues. In February, she accidentally caught her foot on some carpeting and hit her face. Ever the able man, my brother joined the rest of the family in helping her to her feet. It’d be a struggle for him to help now.
After believing for two years that his initial chromophobe renal cell carcinoma (RCC) was ‘self-contained’ and essentially cured, we’ve learned he has what is essentially stage IV metastatic chromophobe RCC – an extremely rare form of RCC. He’s spent the better part of the past month or so in the hospital, trying to get a handle on some fairly significant symptoms. He’s lost nearly 20 pounds in the past two months, and, like our mom, struggles with his energy. My brother and mother now have the peculiar situation of trying to remain strong not only for themselves, but for each other.
What being ‘strong’ entails, no one knows. It’s this nebulous sort of strong that gets me through most days, and yet, makes it so difficult to describe our reality. How does one talk about such a thing within a family, let alone with others? We're not the family that resorts to vague euphemisms to explain life's process. Yet still, we haven't really talked about the prospect of things ending just yet. Perhaps it’s because we all feel there’s plenty of fight left ahead, or that there’s simply not much to say at this time, and timing is everything. I’m sure those conversations will find their way in due time. Right now, we’re just trying to get through the day, and with each other. -- J
Strange birds …
I’ve always considered Craig a bit of a strange bird. Whether hailing from a far away place known as the ‘backwards planet’, or carrying around a red-caped egg as his mascot, or challenging Preacher Bob on the library lawn, Craig always seems to bee-bop to his own special tune. He sometimes privileges us with that special tune in the cacophony that now and then emanates from his harmonica.
Heck, we’re all strange birds in some way. I like to think of our family as a special flock of strange birds, testing and tapping patches of air to guide us towards a better destination. Each of us have been taking turns at the top spot, cutting the wind and reducing the drag for all of us. First, it was our dad and mom trading the leaders spot in our V formation. And in August, it was the kid’s turn, allowing our dad, and especially our mom, some much needed rest. Once we learned of Craig’s diagnosis, I swooped in to take my spot in the order, trading the lead with Diane along the way. In April, Diane and I will find ourselves somewhere in the middle again, rebuilding our strength while Erin takes over. This formation has allowed us to push through some tough patches of air, with the toughest perhaps yet to come. We've always pulled together, shifting our formation to serve important wind-breaks for the others just when it’s needed. Craig and mom will get their turn soon enough, but until then, dad, Diane, Erin, I will continue to do our job within our strange little flock. Naturally. -- J
Heck, we’re all strange birds in some way. I like to think of our family as a special flock of strange birds, testing and tapping patches of air to guide us towards a better destination. Each of us have been taking turns at the top spot, cutting the wind and reducing the drag for all of us. First, it was our dad and mom trading the leaders spot in our V formation. And in August, it was the kid’s turn, allowing our dad, and especially our mom, some much needed rest. Once we learned of Craig’s diagnosis, I swooped in to take my spot in the order, trading the lead with Diane along the way. In April, Diane and I will find ourselves somewhere in the middle again, rebuilding our strength while Erin takes over. This formation has allowed us to push through some tough patches of air, with the toughest perhaps yet to come. We've always pulled together, shifting our formation to serve important wind-breaks for the others just when it’s needed. Craig and mom will get their turn soon enough, but until then, dad, Diane, Erin, I will continue to do our job within our strange little flock. Naturally. -- J
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
While he nodded, nearly sleeping, suddenly there came a beeping
Once upon a midnight dreary, while Craig pondered weak and weary,
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While Craig nodded, nearly sleeping, suddenly there came a BEEPING, …
Beeping at his bedside more?!
Presently his soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said he, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness he implored;
But the fact is he was sleeping, and so gently it came beeping,
And so faintly it came beeping, beeping at him more …
Deep into that darkness peering, long he stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered words, `Holy, Marymotherwhore!'
----
Aw, but not a raven haunts Craig. Nay, it's the gentle rapping of an obnoxious and overly sensitive TPN and saline pump. There are few things as sad as seeing a man scramble to push a tiny 'silent' button to end his suffering. His monitor has been beeping non-stop for the past ten minutes. It just went off again while he was in the bathroom. We're waiting for the clunk sound of plastic hitting a hard-wood door. -- J
Over many a quaint and curious volume of forgotten lore,
While Craig nodded, nearly sleeping, suddenly there came a BEEPING, …
Beeping at his bedside more?!
Presently his soul grew stronger; hesitating then no longer,
`Sir,' said he, `or Madam, truly your forgiveness he implored;
But the fact is he was sleeping, and so gently it came beeping,
And so faintly it came beeping, beeping at him more …
Deep into that darkness peering, long he stood there wondering, fearing,
Doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before
But the silence was unbroken, and the darkness gave no token,
And the only word there spoken was the whispered words, `Holy, Marymotherwhore!'
----
Aw, but not a raven haunts Craig. Nay, it's the gentle rapping of an obnoxious and overly sensitive TPN and saline pump. There are few things as sad as seeing a man scramble to push a tiny 'silent' button to end his suffering. His monitor has been beeping non-stop for the past ten minutes. It just went off again while he was in the bathroom. We're waiting for the clunk sound of plastic hitting a hard-wood door. -- J
and off go the pants
it's now 10p.m., or as we say, the de-robing hour. craig has a ritual now, which includes stripping down to his boxers and gown. on a good day, he'll include the sticky-bottom hospital socks. why he does this, no one quite knows. perhaps it's to do with the tide... or, maybe he's just hot.
-- J
-- J
sigh
So this isn't a craigism, but a general craig overtone for today. It's been a "you people" and "they" type of day. Apparently, we have been playing "bowel movement extortion," and "they" keep taking his laxatives. I'm assuming "they" means the nurses, and not imaginary laxative-stealing fairies. So, we sit and "catch up on our staring," as Jill would say. Hopefully, we'll blow this joint tomorrow and Sergeant Crankypants can bark orders from the comfort of his own bed. :))
D
D
Belly bump in the air mama!
This is my ode to mama; the lady who raised me up right and keeps me oriented to what's important in life. Important things like family (we have a great one, thanks to mom and dad), Law and Order SVU (Mariska is MY President), and coke zero.....okay, I added the coke zero. It's been a month since I've seen your face mama and I miss you; your smile, your laugh, and your little bouncy dance. So, belly bump in the air mama! See you and dad after Michigan!
D
D
Will we stay or will we go now ....
Criag's sound asleep after getting the hickman inserted into his chest earlier this morning. Though we had planned to leave today, we may end up staying another night for him to recover. The doctors will come by later today to reassess. Personally, I think the sunshine will do him some good, but we're not in the business of kicking a guy when he's down. We'll stay as long as he needs ... But if we have to watch one more Woody Allen film, I swear, I'll do more than kick the guy...sheesh! -- J
Monday, March 24, 2008
Where's the sense of humor?
dr. elias pulled out a three inch blade to cut craig's saran wrap after his shower. good for street fights during his lunch break, i suppose.
in other news, he ordered another x-ray of craig's abdomen yesterday in order to identify gas patterns. this was before they scrapped the idea of putting a gastro tube in his stomach (the NG tube lasted about 20 minutes...craig's not a fan and truly believes the nurse was trying to break his nose). before dr. elias left craig's room, he suggested that craig wait to get the x-ray until he felt sick in order for them to capture gas patterns just before he vomits. craig was feeling pretty tip-top at the point, so we suggested he quickly chug some water -- by now, a well known trigger. dr. elias cracked up and seemed a bit sheepish from laughing at his patient...craig not so amused. tough crowd, tough crowd. anyway, we haven't heard anything re: the x-ray, so looks like yet another wasted scan of his belly. i'm sure there's an x-ray heaven with loads and loads of unwanted x-rays.
yesterday was a good day by all standards. we ended it with a tough game of Uno where we all won one a game apiece. looking forward to taking the game to the street once he's discharged tomorrow. will be nice to get outta this joint. -- Jill
in other news, he ordered another x-ray of craig's abdomen yesterday in order to identify gas patterns. this was before they scrapped the idea of putting a gastro tube in his stomach (the NG tube lasted about 20 minutes...craig's not a fan and truly believes the nurse was trying to break his nose). before dr. elias left craig's room, he suggested that craig wait to get the x-ray until he felt sick in order for them to capture gas patterns just before he vomits. craig was feeling pretty tip-top at the point, so we suggested he quickly chug some water -- by now, a well known trigger. dr. elias cracked up and seemed a bit sheepish from laughing at his patient...craig not so amused. tough crowd, tough crowd. anyway, we haven't heard anything re: the x-ray, so looks like yet another wasted scan of his belly. i'm sure there's an x-ray heaven with loads and loads of unwanted x-rays.
yesterday was a good day by all standards. we ended it with a tough game of Uno where we all won one a game apiece. looking forward to taking the game to the street once he's discharged tomorrow. will be nice to get outta this joint. -- Jill
Oh, why don't you just go...lift some weights
diane and i just had an interesting discussion with craig's young and good looking male nurse on the acting talents of jessica alba and scarlett johannson. craig and this young buck seem to think ol jess and scar are the bees knees of all things acting. we're waiting to be enlightened...
in other news, craig's vomited three times today after having gone the entire day yesterday without vomiting. he's had a bit more water today, which may have triggered the spiral. he'll likely be discharged tomorrow, and will have a hickman put in some time tomorrow, as an outpatient procedure. he's still having problems with his bowels...hoping the new round of meds will help us manage his symptoms. time will tell...
-- Jill
in other news, craig's vomited three times today after having gone the entire day yesterday without vomiting. he's had a bit more water today, which may have triggered the spiral. he'll likely be discharged tomorrow, and will have a hickman put in some time tomorrow, as an outpatient procedure. he's still having problems with his bowels...hoping the new round of meds will help us manage his symptoms. time will tell...
-- Jill
Water, water everywhere...and not a drop to drink!
Craig’s been asking for ice chips and water to curb his thirst. He’s even stealing a few sips, though we know it will make him vomit. He’s using pink sponges to swab his throat, and like a Lawler, he’s cheating. He’s learned from the best. Yes, grand master of the water cheating is none other than the Mar-Mar. Sucking water off sponges and conning the helpless nurses to give her water with the meds was her forte. She even drank toothpaste water! I suppose it’s only natural for the son to follow.
A quote from Craig: ‘having to obtain water through ice-chips literally sucks’
Another quote: Events of the day: 1) puke; 2) puke; 3) sleep; 4) puke; 5) drugs; 6) sleep (always follows drugs)… (I’m dictating as he mumbles.)
-- Jill
A quote from Craig: ‘having to obtain water through ice-chips literally sucks’
Another quote: Events of the day: 1) puke; 2) puke; 3) sleep; 4) puke; 5) drugs; 6) sleep (always follows drugs)… (I’m dictating as he mumbles.)
-- Jill
Boom boom goes the day
Craig’s sleeping with a wash cloth draped over his eyes -- afternoons tend to be quiet times at our little resort. Like yawning, watching someone sleep causes sleepiness…then again, maybe Diane and I are just lazy or perhaps suffer from what we've dubbed narcosleepy. In any event, it’s usually lights out at 1p.m. When we’re not watching Craig nap, we’re helping him prepare for a nap…;) or other things like showering, saran wrapping the pic-line, or morning strolls down the hotel, er, hospital hallway. We’ve also engaged in fierce battles of Uno, and the occasional Scrabble.
On good days, we’ll watch Craig’s favorite Woody Allen movies, or talk about gorging ourselves on different types of food. He started IV chemo (Torisel) two weeks ago Thursday and now has a TPN line for nutrition, since the tumors in his abdomen have grown to a point of obstructing his intestines. He's unable to keep food or water down, as a result. Since the TPN, he’s been dreaming of food; Indian food seems top on the list. As he said, he’d eat it all, starting with chicken tikka masala, saag paneer, and some eggplant stuff, for which he can’t remember the name. I'm reminded of our time in Malaysia where Craig and I ate authentic Tamil food from bamboo leaves at a local restaurant. We twice waded through streets lined with huge stereos blaring Bollywood music just to eat there -- how I wish we could go back.
We’re trying to keep things as normal as possible. Yesterday, Diane and I surprised him with an Easter hunt where we had him search for an Easter bag filled with gum and jolly-ranchers which we hid in the hospital Solarium. Heck, he should at least be able to suck on candy, right? Diane drew a picture of a bunny with two IVs on its paw...made him laugh. At least we're laughing.
To say this is hard is an understatement. The subtle and growing frustration of being absolutely powerless makes this even more difficult. As much as we try to help, the simple truth is there’s little we can do. We have to rely on science to do its thing, and at the same time, remain positive and hopeful for some alternative – be it science, technology, or something else – to make this all quietly go away.
We’re all trying to keep the fight, with mom and Craig leading the way. I’m spending most of my days calling clinics, researching RCC, fielding phone calls, and catching up on work (as much as I can). Mom was scheduled to fly to Denver last weekend along with dad, but was taken to the ER with a kidney infection. Craig spoke with her earlier that morning; the absurdity of them talking to each other from their respective hospital beds was simply laughable... again, at least we're laughing.
Mom's hanging in there and they're gearing up for a trip to Michigan this week. This will be the first time she’s seen most of her family since her diagnosis in August. She’s defied all odds, and continues to meet each new challenge with a newfound determination – she is, after all, the lady who invented the Oklahoma salute. She’s giving GBM the old Oklahoma salute every time she goes to the gym, or goes out for dinner at Crapplebees or the Texas Roadhouse. Every day, she comes with new Maryisms that make us shake our heads and smile. ..The latest,”Blackbirds are bitches”…so true. As I told Craig today, the Lawler family puts the CAN in cancer...;). Laughter's our antidote. -- Jill
On good days, we’ll watch Craig’s favorite Woody Allen movies, or talk about gorging ourselves on different types of food. He started IV chemo (Torisel) two weeks ago Thursday and now has a TPN line for nutrition, since the tumors in his abdomen have grown to a point of obstructing his intestines. He's unable to keep food or water down, as a result. Since the TPN, he’s been dreaming of food; Indian food seems top on the list. As he said, he’d eat it all, starting with chicken tikka masala, saag paneer, and some eggplant stuff, for which he can’t remember the name. I'm reminded of our time in Malaysia where Craig and I ate authentic Tamil food from bamboo leaves at a local restaurant. We twice waded through streets lined with huge stereos blaring Bollywood music just to eat there -- how I wish we could go back.
We’re trying to keep things as normal as possible. Yesterday, Diane and I surprised him with an Easter hunt where we had him search for an Easter bag filled with gum and jolly-ranchers which we hid in the hospital Solarium. Heck, he should at least be able to suck on candy, right? Diane drew a picture of a bunny with two IVs on its paw...made him laugh. At least we're laughing.
To say this is hard is an understatement. The subtle and growing frustration of being absolutely powerless makes this even more difficult. As much as we try to help, the simple truth is there’s little we can do. We have to rely on science to do its thing, and at the same time, remain positive and hopeful for some alternative – be it science, technology, or something else – to make this all quietly go away.
We’re all trying to keep the fight, with mom and Craig leading the way. I’m spending most of my days calling clinics, researching RCC, fielding phone calls, and catching up on work (as much as I can). Mom was scheduled to fly to Denver last weekend along with dad, but was taken to the ER with a kidney infection. Craig spoke with her earlier that morning; the absurdity of them talking to each other from their respective hospital beds was simply laughable... again, at least we're laughing.
Mom's hanging in there and they're gearing up for a trip to Michigan this week. This will be the first time she’s seen most of her family since her diagnosis in August. She’s defied all odds, and continues to meet each new challenge with a newfound determination – she is, after all, the lady who invented the Oklahoma salute. She’s giving GBM the old Oklahoma salute every time she goes to the gym, or goes out for dinner at Crapplebees or the Texas Roadhouse. Every day, she comes with new Maryisms that make us shake our heads and smile. ..The latest,”Blackbirds are bitches”…so true. As I told Craig today, the Lawler family puts the CAN in cancer...;). Laughter's our antidote. -- Jill
Sunday, March 23, 2008
how do you feel?...
once again, when asked how our mom feels, she responds "with my fingers". Ba dum pishhhhh. ;0) can always count on that response!
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Race for Hope!
May 4th, 2008
Join Team Proud Mary as we run/walk for our mom, and her cure! http://www.braintumorsociety.org/site/TR/Events/08_Race_For_Hope?team_id=14680&pg=team&fr_id=1230&s_tafId=15950
Join Team Proud Mary as we run/walk for our mom, and her cure! http://www.braintumorsociety.org/site/TR/Events/08_Race_For_Hope?team_id=14680&pg=team&fr_id=1230&s_tafId=15950
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