day 1: post accident

Yesterday on the way home from the Reid Park Zoo, we had a little car-tastrophe.  Someone in a big old F150 smashed into the back of my teeny tiny Versa at an intersection in Tucson.  The driver admitted fault and we easily exchanged information.  We filed a report with a TPD officer, and we were on our way.  Shaky but back in action. 

That's not really the worst of it.  The bad part has been dealing with the insurance company.  No big surprise.  After 3 phone calls, I now have a claim number but not much else.  Apparently the driver has to admit fault to State Farm for all of this to be real.  Never mind that she admitted fault to me, the people in her car, the Tucson Police Officer...EVERYONE who would listen.  It's not real until she tells the State Farm Rep sitting in a random call center in Nebraska that "Yes, the accident was my fault." 

Granted my need for urgency is increased because after 4 years of staying at home, all that ends on Monday, meaning my time is not my own and I don't have infinite amounts of semi-free time to deal with bureaucratic craziness.  Our maybe I'm just bitter that very shortly after we have paid off this car, it now has a big ol' dent in it and the  hatchback doesn't open and close properly.  Whatever it is I'm hostile about the whole thing and just want a satisfactory conclusion ... SOON.

right now

Mitchell has been laying in his recliner for the last seven and a half hours.  He's been having trouble with his stomach.  Apparently the last combination of meds has been doing a real number on his digestion. 

He met with Dr. Brown last Tuesday.  I feel like there's nothing really new to share.  Although I thought this last appointment would let us know when Mitchell's next scheduled PET scan would happen, but it seems that's not going to play out the way I thought it would.  Something about tumor markers and whether or not they're elevated.  I have no idea what the state of said markers are because the doctor failed to call and Mitchell has yet to track him down. 

My hopes right now are that Mitchell gets back on infusion chemotherapy.  Sounds crazy, but at least he gets the medicine when they're mainlining it into his system.  This whole pill thing isn't really happening. 

Another item of note is that Mitchell's pain level seems to have increased.  Stomach.  Shoulder.  Back.  Hard to say what is causing it.  Glass half empty reads its from the disease and not the meds.  Who knows really?

more love-hate

Mitchell's MRI was read this morning, and everything is clear in his brain.  WHEW!  The headaches are definitely being caused by the abraxane. 

On a negative tip, the oncologist and a specialist have had an opportunity to compare Mitchell's last CT with the most recent PET scan.  The experimental treatment is not working.  His tumor markers have elevated since beginning the new treatment....So it's back to the drawing board so to speak.  The abraxane/avastin has been discontinued as of this morning.  Mitchell was supposed to have treatment on Friday, but it is being put on hold until Dr. Brown can consult with a colleague to decide what the next steps are. 

how are you feeling?

This is a question I ask Mitchell probably 6 to 10 times a day. I'm sure he feels like hitting me in the head with a pot every time I do, but I can't help myself. Lately he just pretends like he hasn't heard me and goes on about his slow-going business, forcing me to ask again and again and then demanding, "Are you listening?" Clearly not.

maybe it's not

One of the bad things about living with someone who's living with cancer (aside from the obvious difficulty that he has fucking cancer) is that it constantly hovers between you, unspoken but lurking. It's something you whisper about when people ask, hoping he won't hear. It would be so easy to crawl into some secret hole and pretend, but we don't. We push away those thoughts that come to us in the dark moments. We get up and we do what needs doing.

We are good. He feels fine. Everything is fine.

Even though, maybe it's not. Maybe he's not feeling that well, even though he tells people different. Maybe I'm tired of picking up the slack, even though I say it's okay. And I feel bad for the resentment and frustration that sometimes builds. And I wonder how many moments are left for us. And I resolve to be more aware, more mindful. And then I think maybe it isn't a big deal. And everything really is fine. And I'm making more of it than I should. Maybe I should believe him when he says he is okay. It would be easy. He says he's fine, so he is. But then I think of his silence. The times when I'll look over and find him asleep in the middle of the day, bundled in a comforter on his chair. The way he sometimes makes small noises in his sleep. And I'll look at my girls, and I can feel their worry. And I try to make things more normal. More like they were. But it's not.

sometimes

• I feel unreasonably hostile.
• I don't want to be hospitable.
• I don't want to talk.
• I can't be sympathetic.
• I get tired of the whole thing.

cycle 2

Mitchell's second treatment cycle began this past Thursday. He went in to get the his 2 iv infusions and found out that the oral chemo he'd been taking had pushed his already high blood pressure way up. He ended up having to sit around and wait while they tried to get it down to a reasonable number. A few hours later he was finally getting his infusions--the oxycellin from last time plus the avastin. As with last time, he experienced the super-sensitivity to cold, numbess in his hands and feet, slight nausea plus an added bonus of chronic hiccups. So far his spirits are still fairly high. He was able to enjoy a Valentine's Day feast, but he is pretty worn out. As of now, he will get another PET scan after his 4th cycle to determine whether or not the chemo is killing the cancer.

diarrhea

• Stomach cramps
• Loud bubbling noises emanating from my mid-section
• 300 trips to the toilet
• Prayers to the heavens to make it stop
• Adobe mud huts
• Ring of fire

butt problems

Last April, I mysteriously injured my coccyx while riding on one of the rickety-ass rides featured at the Pima County Fair. Since then, I have experienced varying degrees of butt pain while sitting. Being preggo has only exacerbated the problem which has led me to finally complain to my ob/gyn about the situation. She in turn referred me to a physical therapist. WEIRD. First of all, the questionaire she sent me contained entirely too many questions about urine seepage and alleged difficulties with pooping. Then there was the rather disturbing initial phone conversation which involved the words "rectal" and "manipulation". Aside from having to answer uncomfortable questions about the number of times per week I am or am not pooping and whether or not I pee myself when I cough or sneeze, the whole thing went off fairly well. Thankfully I survived my first session sans any invasive internal probing.

activi-yuck

The most recent commercial for Dannon's new poop yogurt kind of freaks me out. Have you seen this thing? It's the one were the two women are hanging out by the pool. The peppy one asks the clearly stopped up one, "Hey! You gettin' in?" The other responds basically with "No thanks, I haven't pooped in weeks; I can't swim." Okay. I talk about poop and pooping a lot. I have friends and family that love the topic equally as much. All this poop discussion has never led to a situation where someone is NOT getting in the pool because they have an over due b.m. Aunt Flo visiting? Yes. Explosive diarrhea? Check. Projectile vomiting? No brainer. But Can't Poop Syndrome? No. Never. Not once. Every time I see the ad it freaks me out a little more. Who is this product's target audience? Should I not be submerging myself in bodies of water every time I experience some intestinal transit slowness?

joys of pregnancy: #1

Being in your first trimester, constipation is a pretty typical condition. It's one of those things you tend to forget about once you're out of the situation. But then you're in it again, and you're like, "WTF. How could I have forgotten this?" Part of life's plan, I think. To make you forget those little unpleasantries so you'll foolishly decide to do it again. Procreate, I mean.

It's totally common for me to go 3 go 5 days without pooping. I try not to dwell on my lack of bowl movements. It's just the way things are when you're pregnant. No big deal. It's just that when I do finally poop, it's kind of horrifying. Horrifying in that it's the color of creamed spinach, and it's taken 3 to 5 days to exit my system.

toilet terrorist

It goes without saying that cleaning the toilet's the worst. There are few things that beat its germ-ridden disgustingness. But it's that much more horrifying when a urine bandit lives amongst you. You know this villain, it's the mysterious anti-hero who's super powers include getting urine ALL OVER the toilet. Everywhere.

Like up on the rim under the seat itself. On the underside of the seat. On that back part where the seat screws into the bowl. Down the sides of the bowl where the toilet connects to the floor. Even, miraculously, horrifyingly on the f'ing wall next to the toilet.

I used to think my husband was the pee bandit. Now I'm not so sure. Granted, he's got the equipment that would best lend itself to the bandit's trademark leavings.... But now that we're living with a larger number of toilets at our disposable, I'm thinking Superdoodle's the culprit. Her bathroom terrorism has been known to reach epic proportions.

At times she can even get poop on the toilet's rim. Yes. Poop. I don't know how she does it. Just that she does, and it freaks me out. Her butt's so little and that opening is so open. It's come to the point that I've had to hold toilet lectures a la my father circa 1986, complete with wiping re-training and apparatus mount and dismount techniques.

So far, it's not working.