Radiation Treatment - Day Seven

All day long, I've been remembering Dr. Seuss' Hop on Pop. Wish I still had it, but it was probably donated long ago. We all loved that book, and many years ago our son and I both loved Hopping on our Pop in play.

But today, the hopping was from place to place. So, with apologies to Seuss, today's hopping has stopped and we are glad, because boy oh boy, what a day Dad had.


Not my Dad, of course. My son's dad. The Ex. My new child.

Our appointments were later in the afternoon than usual, so The Ex thought he might do some service calls. He is technically still working full time. (When I told our local Hospice that, they nearly laughed and told me to call back when he was more in need).

He got up at the usual dawn (yawn!), did his usual things; got dressed, sat at his desk and did stuff. I don't know what stuff exactly, since his stuff is separate from my stuff, and I don't want to be peering over his shoulder while he does whatever he's doing at his desk. I know when to give him some space. But I wondered when he'd ever go "do a call," because his pain increases as the day wears on and I'm trying to do my own job through all this. I could've used a little time alone to work.

Apparently, calls were being routed around him, as none came into his handheld device until about noon. Eventually he went out and completed his call, but by then it was time for Valium, Dilaudid, radiation therapy, and a brain scan. Ho hum. Just another part of the day that Dad had.

By the time we arrived at the Radiation OncoShop for The Ex's "lasering" (today's term for the big zap), he was floating along, barely able to keep his eyes open if he wasn't actually engaged in conversation, and even then... it was iffy.

He is heavily medicated for chronic pain, and the Valium were in preparation of the brain scan to follow radiation. I was able to nab the car keys from him after radiation, but he REALLY hates not being in complete control of everything and everyone, and he would drive me all over town and curb if I let him.

Let's stop there for a sec and analyze that: Here's a formerly powerful personality who firmly believed he had every answer to every question that's ever been posed to Mankind; a formerly powerful physical specimen who's always worked hard to stay in shape, despite a few vices some of us military brats inherited from our parents.

If you had asked him before Feb. 26th, he would've told you that he might have made one mistake in his whole life, but that was an error. And except for a very few-but-consequential lapses in his perfection, he might've been right about that.

Now, he is almost lost. It breaks my heart. I almost wish he were still a little mean, but at least he is frequently grumpy, so it's still just like the old days, sometimes. That actually makes me smile now.

We got through the two procedures without much duress, and though he was nodding in and out, he asked me to take him to visit his friend (a holistic health practitioner).

We talked about juicing, raw veggies, blood rocks (that remove negative whatevers when you carry them), and decisions about getting The Ex to use his benefits and stop working. Sadly, The Ex wasn't really there with us. I'll have to tell him all about it tomorrow morning. Mornings are the only times I get to see Reasonable-Clear-Thinking-Ex. At other times, he is the opposite, except for the "ex" part.

I've been concerned lately because I am scheduled to leave for a week in mid-April for a trade show for my job. I have been thinking that we would need someone here to fill-in for me, but The Ex insisted he would be okay alone. Remember, he knows everything. And he's too well for Hospice.

After we got home, The Ex fell into his usual routine of kitchen cleaning, coffee-making for a.m. and other futzing (HIS choice, I swear! He doesn't have to do ANY of that stuff!), and I stepped outside to my little 23-foot RV to make some calls. It's only 20 feet away from the door, but I handed him a phone and told him where I was going, and to call me if he needed anything -- using the phone as sort of a technological sick bell.

A short time later, I was chatting to my husband, when I heard the fire detector inside the house. I ran to the house, only to find a pot of tea in a sauce pan -- boiled dry with the teabag turned to ashes and the house full of smoke!

No, there's no way he's staying here alone -- ever again. If I absolutely can't be here, I will find a substitute with a fondness for lovable grumps. There's gotta be one out there somewhere.

He swore off the Duragesic patches this morning, but by tonight the 80 mcg oxycodones plus many, many 30 mg dilaudid were not easing his pain, and he has gone back to the patches tonight.

He is so miserable! The radiation oncologist said it could be some time yet before the radiation affects the mass that's pressing on his spinal nerves.

Meanwhile, that doc was going to call the oncologist/ internist and discuss The Ex's med and pain situation. At this time, with patches and probably a dozen dilaudids today, he finally seems relieved, but that could change at any minute. Breakthrough pain... it must be absolutely awful!

This is all so unfair. In reality, we all have always known that The Ex was never perfect, and though he's always been grumpy, it's almost always been lightheartedly so.

Except for my son and me, I don't think he ever hurt anyone or anything in his life. And with us, well, I don't think he meant some of the things he said and did. He was overly cynical, critical, strict and harsh, and he drank too much, but he was not usually physically abusive. We forgave him long ago, anyway, and he forgave us, as not one of us is without sin.

We all moved on and tried hard to stay close as a fractured family, despite the changes in our lives. Now we are fractured-but-duck-taped together, and we'll all get through this together.

I'm here as a loving friend and partner through his journey. My, how things have changed, and yet somehow, some important things have not.

When I was in high school, an English teacher proposed this thought-provoking statement: "The Child is the Father of the Man. What does that mean?"

Back then, I wracked my brain to get around this idea, and now... today at least, it is perfectly clear. Perhaps it was an idea that was too mature for my young brain at that time. I dunno.

I am so glad the day Dad had is finally over. He is resting comfortably, between pain spasms every 30 minutes or so that last about a minute. I'd give anything if we could all just Hop on Big Strong Grumpy Pop in play again.