Up until Thursday things had been going fairly well, if plagued by exhaustion after a wretched Tuesday where my father bit off more than he could chew on a service call. Moving to the full dosage for the second cycle of chemo meant it was time to start seeing side effects. Out of control acid reflux and hiccups arrived by the end of the week, making it nearly impossible for him to sleep. Yesterday it got worse, a lot worse.
One of the most common side effects of chemotherapy is nausea and vomiting. The latter hit my dad in escalating waves throughout the day with nothing staying down. Not familiar with being ill or with side effects, he’s flailed around blaming other things. Making things worse is that he never associated anti-nausea medication prescribed with the vomiting.
As in since he wasn’t feeling nauseous, he didn’t take the medicine.
Sigh. Between dealing with cluelessness and misery while unable to do anything about it, I’ve been extremely frustrated. At least the hiccups are now under control thanks to an emergency run to pick up a prescription of thorazine yesterday. Apparently it is used for that too, little did I know.
So I’m home, skipping church in order to keep an eye on him. He’s finally found some slumber which makes me hopeful he’ll get over this. Now to wait to see what happens.
One thing that worries me about my father is that he’s not gotten it into his head that he has to fight to win this battle. Instead, he’s been passive. That’s the wrong attitude for surviving any threat. Since I’ve had to fight to function to any degree my entire adult life, I lack empathy when it comes to dealing with non-warrior attitudes. This is something I need to work on.
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