Damn Good Tea for Two

Today began grandly.  We woke early.  I got Sherry a snack of banana pieces and raisins to take the edge off of morning hunger and made us each a cup of tea.  She sat up in the recliner where she is now sleeping, and I settled into a chair next to it, handed Sherry her tea and set mine down on the desk so it could cool a bit. We laughed about how we had just celebrated a trip from the recliner to the bathroom and back--a trip that was both timely and successfully navigated--by shouting, "WE'RE DAMN GOOD!" and breaking into laughter about the absurd juxtaposition of our grand intensity and the smallness of the act.

We sipped tea and enjoyed conversation, mostly about recalling and reliving some of our many interesting experiences.

After tea it was shower time.  The simple exertion of getting in the shower and washing reduced Sherry to a state of exhaustion.  It was hard to get her out of the shower because she just couldn't offer me much assistance.  The raw grief in her words, "I just can't do anything!" tore an empty place in me.  I dried her and dressed her using the minimal assistance she bravely offered.  She was doing the best she could do.  Usually, getting her fleece pants on backwards would have been funny.  This time it just left me upset with myself for getting it wrong.  I knew that now was a time for me to get everything right, and flubbing such a simple thing disturbed me.

Our first doctor appointment was at 10:20 am.  Because things took so much longer than usual, I had to hurry Sherry through her oatmeal.  I bundled her up and got her walker, thinking it would be sufficient to get her out to the truck.  It was, but barely.  Getting her into the truck was another matter.  The hard part was turning her as she sat on the seat, so her legs were inside rather than hanging out the door.  We managed, but grimly.  There wasn't a celebration.  We were merely adequate.

Getting out at the Cancer Center was a bit easier, but still posed a challenge:  how to move her legs without twisting and possibly hurting her torso?

We thought we would complete our doctor appointment with our oncologist, entertain ourselves in the waiting room until the Avastin treatment that was scheduled for 1:00 pm.  That's not what happened.  Our oncologist ordered an ultra sound to determine if Sherry had any blood clots.  Her ankles and feet had been swelling in spite of us keeping them elevated in the recliner with a pillow all night and virtually all day.  The earliest they could get us in was 3:30 pm.  So, we decided to go home to eat the snack I had brought to the Cancer Center supplemented with some chicken noodle soup and call it lunch.  We got to the lunch at home, but not after managing the rigors of getting from the truck and back into the house.  I used a wheel chair and the ramp through the garage door and into the kitchen.

I called for help.  Our family physician was kind, responsive, and helpful.  He lined us up with medical transport, which we used to and from our afternoon and what turned out to be tests and appointments that stretched into the early evening.

Sherry does have a blood clot in her left leg.  We have a new medication, Lovenox, that I will administer once a day.  Love knocks?  Door images?  Hard knocks?  Luv-ee-nox is how the medical folks pronounced it.  Fine with me as long as they leave the love in.

We will resume Avastin treatments tomorrow after a two week gap.  Resuming is not without potential hazards, the primary one being brain bleeding.  When walking though a mine field of risks its hard to assess:  risky blood clots, risky brain bleeding, risky tumor progression...then there's all of those pages and pages of potential side effects that accompany every prescription.  A decision is a decision; we won't look back.

What I know is being a good caregiver is not about me providing all of the care.  An essential ingredient is knowing and acknowledging my limitations and ensuring that proper care is obtained and administered. To that end, and to sustain the "WE"RE DAMN GOOD!" I ordered a hospital bed for our front room that will face the picture window that overlooks the pond.  That will make most of the transfers much easier.  I will also be using medical transport until Sherry's condition improves to the point when we can find fun, or at least safety, in the coming and going in our own vehicle.  Our driving about will now be one of the experiences whose recollection I hope we can enjoy over cups of steaming tea.