Chucky's cousin

(Written last night, June 21)

I just finished massaging Craig's shoulder. He's been having panic-like attacks (as he says) since yesterday. It all began shortly after his ultrasound to review his liver and gall bladder; it seems his last blood work showed abnormal levels. (Craig's scheduled for another CT scan this Tuesday, though he's not due to have one for another three weeks. After examining Craig on Thursday, Dr. Flaig thought it best to get another look – this time with contrast – just to make sure his persistent pain/vomiting isn't caused by something else. He'll have another PIC placed before the procedure.) Though the ultrasound was without incident, about a half hour later, Craig became restless and twitchy. He began moving his arm like he was shaking off bugs, and massaging his feet as if he was trying to kick off his shoes. I brought him a cold washcloth and told him to close his eyes and take a few deep breaths. It didn't work, so I took him back to his apartment and gave him extra Ativan. D stayed over that night; C didn't sleep a wink. He woke her up at 5:45 for his morning meds, and when E and I arrived at noon to give him his second round, he was already jittery and asking for another round. Later that afternoon, while I was sitting in his family room, I heard a weird cackling noise reminiscent of young Chucky coming from Craig's room. I bolted off his couch, jogged the five steps to his room just to find him moving his left arm in a slow circular motion.

Concerned about his persistent jitters/anxiety, I paged both the Pathways folk and Craig's "on-call" doctor; they both said he could be having an interaction with his meds (though we haven't changed his meds, he could be experiencing a build-up effect) and suggested that we increase his Haldol. Though he may be having a reaction, his anxiety could also be related to stress and sheer exhaustion – this has been an intense week for us all, but more so for Craig. He hasn't been sleeping well -- the combination of the drugs, cancer, and sleep deprivation may be too much.

C stayed home today while we attended to mom at the hospital (shuttling back and forth from the hospital and his apartment in order to deliver his meds). We hoped that the rest would help his anxiety, but now it's 10 p.m., and he's still jittery. We've exhausted all possible med options, and breathing helps only so much; there's been so much focus on getting the meds right, we find ourselves with very few non-medicine tools (breathing techniques, etc.) to help C get passed acute anxiety attacks. I gave him a little more Haldol, as suggested, and then rubbed his left shoulder as he drifted off. Though his fan is on, he's sweating profusely. If this keeps up, we'll give the doctor another call, and possibly take him in.

All this is quite surreal, especially since while I was pushing Craig's meds, Diane was relaying the latest on mom's condition. It seems they've found blood in mom's lumbar tap. It could be an indication that her tumor is bleeding, or that there's a hemorrhage somewhere in her brain. They don't seem TOO concerned, but are taking her for another CT scan just in case. They've also paged the neurosurgeons for a consult. I hope they won't have to remove her Lumbar tap; she's been speaking more these past few days then she has in over a month. Though we enjoy conversing with her, more importantly, she feels more present, and less agitated now that she's able to communicate. She's back to her ol' feisty self a la Grandpa Tinse. In a way, it's like having the old mom back, if only briefly.

With all of this going on, our greatest fear is that someone will get lost in the shuffle. Mom is sick, but so too is Craig. We've managed a routine amongst the three girls: we rotate who stays with Craig, and who stays with mom, while never forgetting Sammie the cat, who also receives morning/evening IV meds (the Uni C nurses also ask about Sam). This means we're often separated, but better to be separated and ensure that C and mom are well taken care of than to let someone slip through the cracks. This is our reality. We rely on constant communication so that, just in the event something happens, the person away can book it to the hospital, or vice versa. It's not pretty, and we haven't slept in a while, but it works. We can handle the intensity – it reaffirms that we're still a family of six. And every time I think my backs against the wall, I look back to find a few more feet of space.

Craig's resting now. Erin moved our sleeping pads from Craig's room to the family room; I think I'll move them back for tonight, just to make sure he'll be okay. -- J