The Caregiver

I'm lucky to be writing this now. Fortunate to have waken up in my own bed only with bruised muscles, a mild abrasion on my right arm, a left arm that I can almost raise to full extension, and a Volvo sitting in a lot awaiting a representative from the insurance company to decide its fate.

Irony of ironies. In my job description, I'm essentially the one who makes the decision on whether or not to hold school or cancel classes. My first consideration is the risk factor to my teachers. Many of them drive greater distances than the boundaries of Bethesda. They hit the road well before the students and often sufficiently after they have gone home, time to face even more treacherous road conditions than their students.

On my way home last night from the evening classes I thought we could fit in before the storm made road conditions dangerous, I hit a patch of ice, slid across four lanes of highway, came to rest in the right lane just in time for an 18 wheeler to pound into the passenger side door. The engine had stalled out and I had a second or two of watching the truck bearing down on me, make contact, and push me 20-30 feet.

So, a quick recap of some Groundhog Day highlights:
1) AM appointment with Faina at the oncology center.
2) Get home: Toby the cat's illness has advanced, his breathing is labored, quick run to veterinarian who presents options, including euthanasia, which we go ahead with.
3) Highway mishap. (Roadside rescue - David Q - Get home, pop open a Lucky Cat IPA, the caption on the inside of the cap - "You're In For A Surprise" - L'chayim)

Thirteen Days In

Faina is now thirteen days into her first post-surgery cycle of chemotherapy. The plan is for three three-week cycles. The chemo is supposed to get progressively more difficult as there is a cumulative toxic effect. The treatment is hitting her a lot harder this time around, but she has no doubt that she will make it through the nine weeks. Tomorrow will be a hydration appointment at the oncology center. Next week, the second cycle will begin with the three letter bomb, ECF. Throughout, she has a Walkman-like pump steadily administering the F of the three, fluorouracil. In the still of the night, or at quiet moments, the pump's intermittent dosings break the quiet like a subtle reminder of its presence.

It has been interesting having Margo home mending from her bunionectomy at the same time. Together they have burned through every DVD or On Demand offering of Dexter and are working through Michael C. Hall's earlier work, Six Feet Under; the HBO production set in a funeral home. Yea, put that image in your pipe and smoke it.

Faina is still working on the whole eating thing. Not having a stomach anymore re-writes that playbook. Certainty is out, unpredictability is in, big time. Sometimes foods go down easy, othertimes she is practically catatonic, just lying still waiting for a wave of discomfort to pass by. The five course meals of old are out, lots of small meals are in; concerns about weight are out, noshing over the course of the day is in; Coffee is out, tea is in; Sugar is out, honey is in; Crackers are in; almond biscotti is in; and, to her even greater pleasure, gin and tonic is still in. Every morning her night table bears the signs of a nocturnal field trip to the kitchen, a banana peel, an apple core, occasionally a wrapper of one kind or another.

Every day is a gift, a new adventure, a never ending string of surprises.