Ex's Brain Radiation, Day 12 of 15

Here we go again. Day 12. Twelve down, three to go. Are you as weary of this as I am?

Wait, don't answer that. It's hypothetical. That means I ask, and you think about it, but nobody answers. This means you! :-)

So, for the twelfth weekday in a row, once again, we spent the morning sitting at our computers at our respective corners of the livingroom until Ex can't stand it any more.


He's usually ready by 11:30 for our 1 p.m. appointment. He always looks nice in his dress shorts and casual collared shirts.

Today, though, his feet are so swollen, I don't know how he walks on them, much less squeeze them into any of the 14 pairs of identical walking shoes that he keeps in his closet.

He's gained ten pounds; he thinks from the cookies he's been baking for himself (from frozen grocery dough) whenever he feels the urge. That could be part of it, but the docs tell me it's the Decadron, a steriod prescribed to reduce swelling in the brain.

I have to hope there is no swelling around his tumor, because so much of it seems to have escaped to his extremities!

So, we waddled into the clinic, and eventually we were led to the back of the office, where I stop at my personal waiting area -- a little nook that lights up when I walk in, located near some changing rooms. Here, I answer emails on my phone while the Ex goes behind the big iron doors for tumor zapping.

But, this isn't the twelfth time I've sat here. I had to stop and think. Actually, this is about the twenty-fifth time, if we count the fifteen radiation treatments to his spine and hip in the spring. (I missed a couple; our son accompanied him instead).

It used to take longer in the spring. His treatments now are only 46 seconds.

The door opens and I hear the jingling of stuff going back into his pockets, then the tap... tap... tap... of his cane, slowly coming back up the hall toward me. It's only 20 feet to the treatment room, but his gait gives me plenty of time to wrap up what I'm doing and be standing ready to walk him out.

The mesh pattern on his face left by the aligning mask is more pronounced, and I notice it lasts longer that it did when this round of treatments started.

Ex remarks on his weight gain. "guess I've had too many cookies," he whispers. "even my mask is getting too tight!"

We amble toward the reception desk and out the door, and I ask, "So! Where would you like to go now?"

"to publix," he whispers.

Oh joy. I suck in a deep breath, smile and say, "Alrighty then!"

I can't think of a single thing we could possibly need at the grocery, but, mine is not to question why, mine is to drive so he can buy!

It wasn't so bad really. It was a nice day; it was good to be out.

I dropped him off at the door and parked the car. Even the handicapped spaces are too far away for him to walk in alone. That's not true every day, but it seemed like a good idea today.

Never has a man walked the earth who was a more adept grocery-shopper than my Ex. But today, he had to think hard about where things were. I watched him, searching his memory -- where is the charcoal again?

We had about three items in the basket, including the charcoal, when he announced he'd gathered everything on his list. I never saw a list, but, by God, we had one and it was complete!

Then, I ask, "Would you like to just walk around a little longer?" He nods, and continues on his way, throwing one fat foot after the other down the isle.

We walk, very slowly, up and down the isles, reading the labels, noting new products. We point a lot in the grocery. I can't hear him, and he can't hear me. Thankfully, we have our own sign language that seems to comes naturally.

As we walk, a light dawns in my thick head. I can't get the Ex to walk with me around the block, but I can get him to walk all day in a grocery store! A-ha!

I think I shall not dread these trips to the grocery anymore. At last, I see purpose in this dreary task I've always avoided. This makes sense, and I can handle it.

Later today, Ex's Angel friend came by on a motorcycle. Ex used to repair Honda's, but he allows his friend to park his Harley in the driveway anyway.

Earlier today, I emailed this friend about a possible motorcycle ride for the Ex, a bucket list item he'd mentioned a while ago.

I don't know why it didn't occur to me until today to ask his friend to help, but now, It looks like there may be a ride for Ex coming very soon. And these motorcycle gangs -- even Christian clubs like this one -- don't do things in a small way. Ex is likely to be treated to a ride for some time and distance, along with 20-30 other bikes.

Naturally, he won't be driving his own bike, but there are some trikes and sturdy Gold Wings that Ex's friend said would do just fine as a bike for two, even if one of the two riders is a little dizzy.

Next Wednesday, my husband arrives. Now THAT will be an interesting post, as my husband and the Ex have never met. Can you believe that? (again, hypothetical -- no answer required).

As I look forward to next week with some considerable anxiety and anticipation, I am happy to say goodbye forever to Day 12. It's good to have another treatment day behind us, and all in all, it was a good day to be alive -- for both of us.