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.
Apparently, yesterday’s thumbs-up started tipping southward at some point overnight, and by noon today it’d gone all the way over. This time, I can’t blame Thymo (aka Eff You I Love You). Nope; this time it’s Tacrolimus, a med that prevents organ rejection. Dad got his first dose of it late this morning and almost immediately yakked it back up. So now he gets to have it intravenously, which tethers him to his IV pole (aka Hazel, his dance partner) for 20 hours at a pop. So, that sucks.
Mom and I left the hospital for a few hours this afternoon (because life just keeps going). We headed back around dinner time, and Dad (and Hazel) greeted us at the elevator! He was on his 20th lap around the floor! And then he ate dinner! A real, actual dinner: baked chicken, rice, and carrots! Oh, and six Good ‘n Plenty! (Because what stem cell transplant recipient couldn’t benefit from some candy-coated black licorice?)
(If you know me well, you know I’m not a fan of exclamation marks, so the fact that I just used five of those guys in one paragraph ought to tell you how incomprehensible that all seemed.)
Now, Dad was told three times today that he’ll feel terrible, awful, no-good for a week following Day Zero—in part because his immune system will be bottomed out, but also because of Good and Important Drugs with Truly Awful Side Effects. He’s tolerated the other chemo meds well, so we’re keeping our fingers crossed that he’ll feel just fine, thank you very much.
In the meantime, we’ll secure our lap belts and shoulder harnesses and cuss under our breath as we climb the next hill. I’ll let you know how tomorrow’s ride goes.