Today was the day Dad was supposed to get the all clear on cancer. Instead, initial test results indicate the lymphoma has spread elsewhere despite the tumor melting away. We’ll have more information tomorrow, but barring some other reason for all the spots showing up on the PET scan it doesn’t look good.
If the cancer has returned, it paints the decision by the family to cancel the last round of chemotherapy in a very bad light. As it stands, my father will have to have the feeding tube surgically implanted before any new assault on the cancer can begin. It may be a different cocktail of drugs from RCHOP and might be combined with radiation. Everything is again uncertain.
He’s also begun vomiting dried traces of blood again. Whatever is going on in the stomach, it isn’t remotely good.
Meanwhile, he’s lied about taking the drug to restore motility to help his stomach function again. Not only has he not increased the dosage like instructed over a week ago, he’s been skipping on it. I’m more than a little angry about it.
Suffice it to say that things are getting more difficult rather than easier. Dad’s stunned and might take fighting the cancer more seriously.
Me? I’m tired and discouraged. Nothing has gone right since the second round of chemo and the whole affair has been nightmarish. Lately the emergencies have been such a drain that I’ve gotten nothing done in the way of cleaning the house or writing for the blog.
Somehow, I don’t think that’s going to improve. I want to be wrong.