Radiation Treatment - Day Eleven

Effects from the radiation hit today, and they hit hard. I can't think of anything funny about it. Well, maybe the "Ah-Ah Bowl." More on that later.

The Ex slept late, felt sick when he awoke, and sadly, did not have the energy to bother with his work shirt and pants and shoes, or sit at his desk, or play with his hand-held device as he has every day since his diagnosis Feb. 26, 2009.

He didn't want to go to radiation, and I tried to encourage him to go. Seems like, if the doc said he should have 15 treatments, 1 a day for 3 workweeks, we should do that. But I wasn't sure WHY he should do that, and this afternoon I think he was a little mad at me for making him go.


Maybe he's had enough. Maybe they've poisoned his tumors already. Maybe it's time to stop. There's only 4 treatments left, but I am not sure I can get him to go tomorrow.

Late in the day, after he hadn't been able to keep down a morsel of food or drop of water since he awoke, I called the onco-internist -- got her quick this time! -- and she Rx'd phenergan and composine. He had the phenergan first, and held off on the composine until he was more confident that he wouldn't throw it up again.

He was miserable and it was ugly. I wanted to reach out and take it all away; absorb some of myself if I could.

I can't tell if he hates it when i feel his forehead, but he doesn't complain. He was running a low-grade fever this a.m., 99.2 and he feels warm to the touch again tonight, and I know he's cold. The a/c is off and it is about 76 in the house.

I'll check on him every hour or so to make sure his temp doesn't go whacko one way or the other.

Also today, he developed a cough. The whispiness in his chest that I noted to a friend over the weekend has grown into what sounds like someone with a bad chest cold.

Damn! What if it's pneumonia?

He is finally sleeping. First time in three weeks that he's been to bed before 11:30. He's sick, and tired. Absolutely spent. And I'm a little behind deadline for some things at work, but I hope I can catch up now that he's resting. Wanted to get this written, but I really must get back to work.

I wonder how many caregivers are out there who, like me, don't have a lick of medical training (not counting 6 months spent as a patient back in 1983)?

We untrained caregivers have only the lessons learned as others have cared for us. For example, the "Ah-Ah Bowl."

When I was a child and anyone got sick, out came the "Ah-Ah Bowl." It was a great big aluminum bowl used for the purpose of bedside barfage. I think one of my brothers also used it to exercise a lazy eye by rolling a colorful marble round and round inside and watching it roll.

It was widely known in our home as the "Ah-Ah Bowl," and it was common to hear this question after announcing a tummy ache... "Do you want me to get you the Ah-Ah Bowl?" Gross, huh?

Well, when the time came to settle my folk's estate, we got to pick through their stuff and keep what meant most to us. A grand-daughter wanted the little rocker that she sat in next to Grandpa, somebody else wanted The National Geographics. My kid, who was 7 or 8, said "I've always liked Grandpa's refrigerator!"

He didn't get the refrigerator. He got the fun TRASHCAN with the round top and cover that goes round and round! (Goofy genes run deep, I guess).

I didn't really WANT the "Ah-Ah Bowl," per se', and I certainly never asked for it, but I ended up with it anyhow and it came in very handy today.

Despite all this sickness and fatigue, there have been no complaints of pain today. He has taken no medication for breakthrough pain at all. He only has the Duragesic patch on.

So, we had chronic pain and now we're racing down the barfy homestretch to the end of radiation treatments.

Oh God, let us please be careful of what we wish for, but it was the pain motivating him to go to radiation therapy. To end the pain. I mean, if he really needs those 4 more treatments. I'm not going to push at all tomorrow. Unless I change my mind. No I'm not. Yes I am. No I'm not. Yes I am.

Roses are red, violets are blue, I'm a schizophrenic and so am I.

Not really, but wouldn't THAT be a neat trick? I wouldn't mind exchanging this reality for another one; one on an Ideal Plain where friends and lovers share fun, cheer and joy; one where parents are well enough to get on your nerves, and good, decent exes and fathers live forever.