So, in general, I’m trying not to eat junk*, but after Dad’s appointment with the oncologist today, I decided a celebration was in order and I picked up a dozen sugar bombs from the best donut shop on the planet: Donut Drive-In. (If you’re from St. Louis and you’re about to argue with me about World’s Fair, that means you probably haven’t actually tried Donut Drive-In, so shhhhhh.)
Welp? Dad’s back in the hospital. Yeah, I know: “Booooooooo.”
Dad’s home. It’s so good. And it’s a little scary.
Chemo-induced mouth sores are no joke. And there’s not much more to say about that.
In other news…
Big news: Dad got his last dose of chemotherapy today. And Jessica, today’s nurse, declared it to be his last dose ever. I love the optimism. There’s just so much damn hope in that place. It’s contagious, and I adore them all so much.
Since we’re basically in wait-and-see mode, I likely won’t post every day. Soooo, assume no news is good news. Or, at the very least, not overly concerning news. In fact, just now the nurse said, “Well? I guess I could get some vitals on you or somethin’.” The way I see it, if Amy has to think hard to come up with something to do for Dad, he’s doing jussssst fine.
Day Plus One (yesterday) brought just a couple of minor hiccups—low grade fever, nagging headache, and aggravation of a completely unrelated-to-CMML issue. But by the end of the night, everything got resolved, and when I texted Dad this morning to ask how he was doing, his response was, “Grreeeeat!”
To those of you who’ve been praying or meditating or sending good juju into the universe, thank you. And don’t quit, okay? It’s working.
So, today was pretty uneventful. <happy dance> I mean, other than Dad getting his transplant. </happy dance>
Quick update on today: Dad’s doing super-great. He ate three meals, walked 16 laps around the floor, rinsed with saline three times (to avoid getting mucositis, which causes nasty mouth sores), used his spirometer (to exercise his lungs and prevent pneumonia), and started working on a puzzle I brought.
And the phrase of the day is: roller coaster.
I got a text from Dad early this morning: Sour stomach. Nothing’s helping. Bring bottled water.
This morning, two doctors and a couple of nurses told Dad that yesterday was the worst of it. Dad wasn’t buying it at all, and I was only cautiously optimistic. I don’t know why we doubted what they were saying; these people simply don’t engage in sugar-coating. If it’s going to suck, they say so. So when they say, “Today will be better,” we should know they mean it.