Still a Long Road to Travel

It’s a Monday and I’m dead tired as usual. Things have moved ahead of schedule in regards to my father’s cancer treatment. His last chemotherapy session was canceled last Thursday so he is done after five rounds of the misery. Now we are waiting on the GI specialists so that something can be done about his nonfunctional stomach.

In fact, that’s why we asked to have the last round of chemo canceled. Dad has hit the wall in putting up with not being able to eat, spending half his life hooked up to the feeding machine, and choking constantly on phlegm or reflux. Getting stronger for whichever surgery is decided on is a must and he’s lost too much ground already.

Now he has a chance to recover, if he’d stop over exerting himself. It takes next to nothing to do so, yet he gets delusions of being able to do things like mow grass with the push mower. Of course that results in him getting weaker and crankier, setting off another cycle of difficulty for him.

A Week Gone By

Things have been hectic the past week, hence the lack of posts. My sister arrived late on Memorial Day and stayed through until Friday night. Between mowing the lawn and teleworking, she also got  some paperwork moving forward on getting some kind of financial assistance for Dad. Cancer racks up amazing bills even with Medicare insurance and then there was the horrific heating bill due from the very harsh winter.

We’d previously gotten things moving on the latter and some help will be coming via SEMCAC with the possibility of more from the state of Minnesota. Initial application for help to the local county social services has produced a denial letter and we’ll have to follow up on that since I’m not sure what all my sister applied for in Dad’s name.

A rare bit of socializing for me occurred on Friday, the first in months was made possible by her being able to watch him. My friends, the Kuglers, had me over for dinner and conversation for a welcome break. Fun was had and I found myself very tired once I arrived home.

Things being the way they are, that socializing came at a penalty.

Memorial Day Thoughts

My first thought about today’s holiday honoring fallen American soldiers was not about their sacrifice, I’m sorry to say. Instead it was muted surprise that the date had advanced so far into 2014. Time flies when you aren’t having fun. Thoughts did turn toward the real meaning of the day, but more on that later in the post.

Yesterday was a rough day starting out with another minor emergency with my cancer stricken father. After the overnight feeding through his nasal tube, it stopped up completely for a good hour after finishing. I’m supposed to flush it with a 60ml syringe and it back blasted after 10-15ml of water. Second attempt blew open the secondary port on the tube. Talking to the nurse on duty, I was told to bring him in to the ER again within four hours of the failed flush.

There went plans to teach Sunday school at church and we ended up at Gundersen again. He had about 8 inches of tube coiled in his stomach, yet the end was in the right place in the small intestine. The nurse called from home had no problem flushing him and pulled the extra length out leaving the tube dangling quite a bit. That’s actually turning out to be handy in regards to flushes and feedings.

She also gave me smaller 20ml syringes that generate more pressure plus adaptors to get a more snug fit into the port. With that, we headed home and I collapsed in bed from total exhaustion.

When the same thing happened again this morning, I was not pleased. Multiple failed attempts to flush complete with water blasting out the secondary port had me stewing. This time I didn’t call in or take Dad to the ER, choosing to wait and see if things would change after an hour.

Turns out it took a little more than an hour, but I was finally able to flush the tube. Something odd is going on with it and it may be related to Dad sleeping on his back rather than at least 45 degrees upright like he should. As it is, my plans of going back to bed and getting some rest didn’t pan out this A.M. which means I get to inflict this post upon the virtual world.

Back to the title topic!

In the spirit of Memorial Day, I’m going to list the war films that I own that accurately depict the sacrifices of our service men. I recommend them to anyone who wants to understand the sacrifices made to protect our country and aid others.

In no particular order:

• Patton
• Tora, Tora, Tora
• Blackhawk Down
• Hamburger Hill
• The McConnell Story
• The Bridges at Toko-Ri

Three television series also make the cut:

• Victory at Sea
• Band of Brothers
• Dogfights.

I do own other war movies, but these are the realistic or factual ones. Sorry, I don’t think watching the superb Kelly’s Heroes qualifies as observing Memorial Day. It should be a day of sober remembrance, not just an excuse to cook outside with family and friends.

PARENTAL NOTE: Blackhawk Down, Hamburger Hill, and Band of Brothers are all R rated for good reasons and contain nudity, prolific profanity, and realistic gore. They are unflinching in showing the horror of combat and immoral behavior of soldiers.

It’s Always Something

“All in all, it was a good day.” – My father.

Yesterday turned into a minor crisis event when Dad’s feeding tube malfunctioned. First clue something wasn’t right was the slower than normal rate of liquid food being pumped into him with it taking an hour longer than usual. It was his vomiting up the horrible stuff that caused alarm, because it meant the tube might be in the stomach, not the small intestine. Flushing it resulted in water back blasting the syringe out of the adaptor on the tube which would indicate a blockage or crimp somewhere.

Phone calls to the oncology and nutritionist departments followed with the latter responding. Checking the tube for crimps discovered none and the recommendation was given to bring Dad into urgent care, which we discovered is a department of the emergency room. Before leaving, it checked the tube one last time since Dad was choking and gagging on it.

It wasn’t long before he was uncontrollably heaving and unable to catch a breath. One thing about emergencies that fascinates me is the time dilation effect experienced. Thoughts race at faster than normal speeds, at least for me, which leads to an increase in calculations – not to mention movements. Slipping on the last pair of vinyl gloves in the box we have, I carefully and very quickly pulled the tube out so Dad could travel while still breathing.

With that done and him no longer in distress, we headed for La Crosse and the ER. After a long wait, he was wheeled to the clinic building and the fluoroscopy unit to have a new NJ tube put in. After briefing the RNs involved, I went to the waiting area expecting it to be awhile due to difficulties involved the first time compounded by the possibility that the night’s feeding had ended up in the stomach.

Sure enough, it took a great deal of time and effort including pumping his stomach which was filled and unable to drain. But the new tube is in. We’ll be monitoring it closely since we suspect that if this happens again a surgically implanted one will be necessary. Last night’s feeding went well according to Dad and was the most restful one in days. We’ll be modifying his feeding routine to shorten it from being 12 hours straight at night. The new schedule will be 11PM to 7AM nominally, then noon to 4PM.

If you are wondering why my father said what he did at the beginning of the post, it has to do with the fact of how well he physically handled the day. While it was “a challenge,” he got outside under his own power and even burned trash. He was up and down going to his PC transplanted to the dining room as well. Energy and activity levels were up despite the major malfunction.

Silver linings, to be sure.

Second to Last

Normally the three words “second to last” has a negative connotation ameliorated to a mild mercy by simply not being “last.” Yet there are exceptions to that wretched feeling and that’s when the words are used to describe being near the end of a series of trials. That’s where Dad is after his second to last chemotherapy infusion yesterday.

Make no mistake about it, he’s still miserable and terribly, terribly weak. Side effects from antibiotics have made things even more challenging than before to the point of his discontinuing them two days before the end of the course. I’m not happy with that, but as he slowly gets stronger he gets harder to deal with. It’s ironic that when he’s at his lowest he’s the easiest to deal with when caring for him at home.

Some progress has been made in that he’s gained a couple of pounds despite the side effects, his white and red blood cell counts have improved into acceptable ranges, and he’s more ambulatory now. My father has walked to his appointments at the clinic rather than having to be wheeled everywhere like earlier in the month. After such a steep decline, any regaining of lost ground is most welcome.

Going Backwards

Update: 

Dad is home and we await results of a chest x-ray and the ultrasound. The EKG wasn't a perfect reading, but didn't reveal anything significant from what I can decode.

We're back to feeding at a lower rate per hour to see how that goes.

Then there was a big discovery once at home that I made. Tessalon Perle is the medication prescribed to quell the hiccups. On the prescription, it says to take 1/2 or 1 pills up to 3 a day as needed. Guess what pill should never, ever be cut or ground up?

The known side effects at WebMD and Wikipedia read like a check list of many of Dad's symptoms that currently prevent him from drinking or swallowing anything. So that one will be out of the rotation to see if certain condition improve -- especially since it has failed to suppress the hiccups the last few days.

As a side note, my father's voice is getting a little better and had been up until yesterday. After the transfusion, it seems to be slightly stronger. He's been anemic due to the chemo, so no wonder he's been weak.

Update 2:

X-ray results show the feeding tube is where it is supposed to be. Unfortunately, it also revealed a mild case of pneumonia. Going to have to pick up antibiotics tomorrow.

Original post:

Dad is in terrible shape and the scheduled chemotherapy has been canceled. That doesn't mean we are free from Gundersen Clinic today.  At the moment, my father is receiving a blood transfusion due to a low red blood cell count and a host of debilitating symptoms.

Prior to that an EKG and ultrasound tests of his heart were done to assess whether there is a problem there. Results are pending, so the waiting game has returned.

The deterioration has become alarming. Almost as alarming as Dad's appearance. Doctors, nurse, and staff who've seen him before get such a look on their faces -- I'd describe it as a mix of shock and dismay.

Between his appearance and the hiccup induced weird sounds he makes, he had the other cancer patients looking very uncomfortable in the waiting area. My father was probably a reminder of how bad things could get.

He's as weak as a newborn kitten and has to have help dressing himself. This is a radical downturn after a promising Tuesday where he overexerted himself. Not that he really did much, but going up and down the stairs was a bit too much. Yesterday I moved his PC downstairs to reduce temptation.

Though last night's feeding through the tube failed at the halfway point, we will continue the regimen. No choice in the matter since he's become unable to orally ingest anything without choking. Everything is like pulling teeth, it seems.

Somehow I've managed to keep from falling apart health wise. The last two weeks have been brutal and flirtations with lower respiratory problems have shut me down at times. Since Dad has become such a handful, the realization that there can be no more time or efforts devoted to my health or interests has become something that cannot be ignored.

Last night illustrated that when I played a video game and couldn't figure out why my father was trying to slam shut the bathroom door repeatedly. Because his behavior has been erratic, my assumption was that he was having trouble with the humidity swollen door.

Then he showed up at the doorway to my room trying to shout with his fried vocal chords. He'd somehow managed to unplug the pump from the feeding tube and had been trying to signal me for help. Apparently part of it involved thumping SOS in Morse code.

So no more gaming, watching movies, or listening to music will be possible until he gets much stronger. If he does, the latest setbacks make me think that end game preparations need to begin in earnest. No matter what the outcome, contingency plans need to be made.

More later as the situation develops.

Pumped Up

Normally being pumped up is considered a good thing. However, when you have to have your food pumped into you it isn’t an ecstatic mood that is felt. After many delays, clerical errors, and suffering, my father is finally hooked up to a feeding tube and pump here at home. Osmolite 1.5 Cal is the liquid food of choice. Good thing it is bypassing the tastebuds and even better thing that I had already eaten before opening the cans.

First feeding is 16 hours overnight, not counting any breaks. Since he’s far too weak to set up, maintain, or flush the tube, I’m going to have to keep an even more constant eye on him. If things go well for the first two hours, I’ll sneak out to buy some cat food at Kwik Trip.

Now that the regime is laid out, I’m wondering how anything is going to get done outside of the house. Up to 18 hours of feeding a day is on the schedule for the first week! Much of this is due to slowly ramping up the milliliters per hour rate to something faster. If not done, the body may not handle the fluids well.

I’m going to have to check with friends to find a urinal, there’s no way he’s wheeling the pump all the way to the bathroom or disconnecting from it himself. This house is not designed with invalids in mind, having been built in the 1800s. The last two days have been exhausting in every way possible, but I hope that he can gain some strength now.

Right now he looks like an animate cadaver. This all took way too long from the last ER visit thanks to the ridiculous hoops that have to be jumped through to meet rules and regulations. Dad is so weak now that I wonder if he’ll ever recover.

However, I have seen seeing starving animals make a turnaround into bright eyed critters. I can only hope and pray that this will be the case here.

Tube

Having finished yet another consult with a different specialist, a plan is in place to insert a feeding tube into my father. An attempt will be made to run one down through his nose and if that fails a surgically implanted one will be required. Anything more drastic will have to wait until chemo is long over with.

In the meantime, we are sitting at a small waiting area across from the department's check out desk. A mistake in the computerized order form means it has to be resubmitted just to get another consulting appointment schedule.

Remember when computers were supposed to make everything happen faster?

That question probably dates me, doesn't it?

I'd throw a third question in here, but progress is being made on the scheduling. That ruins my riffing for now. Thursday morning the tube down the nose will be tried, so only two days from now.

Printout time.

Waiting

It is a dreary Sabbath day with gray skies and the promise of rain returning as I type this post. Dad hit rock bottom in a sudden turn on Friday that led to another visit to the emergency room on Saturday for a bag of saline to deal with dehydration. With the full liquid diet becoming unbearable to him due to no appetite or will power, a feeding tube will need to be surgically inserted some time this week. Monday is the day we’ll know when.

Malnutrition is causing problems, ranging from swollen feet to an inability to keep warm. We were fortunate that the oncology specialist handling my father’s case happened to be on call this weekend and the doctor on duty ran into him. Since the endoscopy results show the cancer completely gone, the remaining two chemotherapy sessions may be halved in dosage or even dispensed with. Prednisone will be removed from the RCHOP no matter what is decided.

Time Isn't Flying

Once again a long day at Gundersen has begun, with an endoscopy about to be performed on my father. Like all things medical, preparation and paperwork take up hours before the main event. These days, I've come to believe this is more draining than the more dramatic events.

After the procedure is over, we'll have a much clearer picture of what needs to be done to get his stomach functioning correctly again. An update to this post will cover the results of the exploration.

UPDATE: While final results and analysis have yet to be given, the pictures indicate that the opening of the stomach into the small intestine is tiny. Once again it was impossible to pass through it for a deeper look, this time due to the opening being far too rigid to pass anything by. This would fit with the scar tissue theory.

Biopsy samples were taken for CMV culturing. Initial suggestion is a feeding tube inserted into the small intestine, but Dad wants to continue trying the full liquid diet. Hopefully more will be decided once all the data is in.

The last few days have been particularly hard due to the ongoing nutritional issues and growing difficulties with Dad's behavior. Irrational outbursts and fuzzy reasoning has made him a handful to deal with. I'm being run into the ground in the process.

Side effect of medication mixed with poor sleep and no real food is not a good combination. I suspect many a family member or caretaker have gone through this hidden cost of cancer. Severe illness affects far more people than just the one struck ill.

In the end, all you can do is endure and try to help. The hardest part is learning when the loved one is not fully in control of their faculties. They certainly aren't able to tell themselves, so conflict is guaranteed.

So much forgiveness is required. Patience will get exhausted eventually, so forget about relying on that exclusively to get through things.

Roundabout

Besides being the title to a great Yes tune, the word “roundabout” describes those dreadful circular traffic intersections urban planners are in love with. For those lucky individuals who have not had to deal with one, the idea is that a series of exits are provided on a one way circle that you go round and round about. Supposedly this is more efficient and safe than regular on and off ramps, but get trapped in one heavy traffic on one…

Well, that’s what it feels like dealing with my father’s condition. Still losing weight on the full liquid diet (no solids at all), he is now scheduled for another endoscopy to see why nothing is improving in his stomach. That will be two weeks from now, so the agenda is to somehow increase his caloric intake and weight. So far that has not worked out.

Possibilities for dealing with his stomach range from using a stint or a balloon to widen the opening to the duodenum to a permanent feeding tube inserted into the small intestine. Possibilities, since they need to see what’s going on down there via a camera. Not fun to contemplate, though.

The cycle of appointments, blood drawings, and bills continues to around and around with an exit nowhere in sight. Next week is another chemotherapy infusion session and I can only pray it doesn’t hit him as hard as the last two.

Dad shaved most of the scraggly remains of his beard off, so his chin is now visible for the first time in over three decades. That is going to take some time to get used to, I must say. Adding to the changed appearance is his being down to 123 lbs. He’s becoming terribly skeletal.

Last night we went to the local movie theater in Spring Grove to watch Captain America: The Winter Soldier. It turned out to easily be the best of the Marvel super hero movies and quite a thriller. Good character development, acting, political commentary, and action put it close to a Chris Nolan Batman film in quality. Well worth checking out for those who haven’t seen it yet.

It was also a decent distraction for Dad, stopping his hiccups for awhile on a very bad day for them. That and all the running around today for appointments, groceries, and wood pellets has worn us both out. Now to get through the rest of the week.

Raggedy Man

It has nearly been a week since my father’s third chemotherapy session and I wish I could report he is energetic. having been hospitalized for a week burned up what reserves he still had leaving him completely worn down. Hiccups returned after the session and he’s been fairly miserable since. Sleeping is erratic, and when combined with his refusal to deal with being ill, has caused him to really feel terrible the last few days.

Since his hair is slowly falling out, Dad has gotten very raggedy looking. Being unrested and grouchy (mainly to do with the full liquid diet) has made him look even worse. There’s no fooling people on how you are doing when the veins on your head look like the stand out several inches.

He’s going to have to accept his inability to do things or drive himself straight into the grave out of pure stubbornness. It has made me ponder the fact that stubbornness is just another name for stupidity. Rest is what he needs even if he doesn’t want to.

Meanwhile, I hit the wall last Thursday during the chemo and haven’t had energy to spare. I’m staggering through everything I have to do. That’s when I’m able to stagger at all – most of yesterday I spent in bed.

It isn’t uncommon for the mid to late cycles in cancer treatment to be the toughest periods for the patient, so this wasn’t unexpected. Expecting is far different from dealing with it once it arrives, though. Fortunately, this is a quiet week with few demands which means it is perfect for healing rest.

At least nothing exciting is going on.

Something Approaching Normalcy

With my father home from the hospital as of yesterday, my hope is that events will approximate what we normally go through, albeit with many concessions to his health problems. Due to the financial drain of the past week, we won’t be doing much unrelated to medical treatments. Scrounging up money for more wood pellets is something I’m attempting, but it will be ten days before more money comes my way.

Financial problems are far from uncommon when cancer strikes and I’ve always been very aware of the fund raisers done for people in the neighboring small towns. Often it is for people struck during the prime of their lives with families to provide for. So it could be far worse. I just hope that more people are aware of this being par for the course than not when they deal with cancer victims.

Sadly, awareness is not a trait associated with modern Westerners, though I often find myself suspecting it is simply human nature to be oblivious to what’s happening to others. Well, aside from salacious items that make fodder for gossip.

Since activity will be down, that means a chance to get this blog back to normal. One movie review needs to be finished, another has complete notes taken, and a third is partially noted. A small amount of referral spam has been recorded with an intent to investigate as well. Updates on my father’s battle with cancer will continue, hopefully with less drama.

The outer world is definitely seeing an increase in international drama with the return of the Cold War, airplane crashes, jet fighter shoot downs, and continuing economic woes. Therefore, I may end up posting on what’s going on if something really big happens…

…but I’d rather ignore the world for a week. Less stress equals better health, so a plan to bombard Dad with mass distraction is in the works. Time for nostalgia like the Emma Peel years of The Avengers plus family favorite movies of the past.

Hurry Up… and Wait

Probably the most aggravating thing about serious illness is the uncertainty involved. One finds themselves waiting for test results, the doctor to explain things, the medication to arrive, and a many other aspects of medical care. Making it worse is the tantalizing prospect of a solution, progress, or even hope of going home from the hospital.

The latter is the current situation. Step by step Dad has been slowly moved up to a liquids only diet with talk of being release this afternoon. However, low hemoglobin counts are making this iffier. Once again we have hurried up only to wait.

Yesterday was a day of cleaning here at the Boonedocks. The kitchen was focused on to sterilize anything that could contaminate food. Thanks to the help of the Koch family, this became possible without completely destroying my health in the process. That refrigerator alone was a thing of nightmares that I dare not recount in detail for fear of upsetting those of a sensitive temperament.

I still need to clean the microwave, I just realized. Ah well.

Last night was when I started to hit the wall and so careful attention to efforts exerted is in order. Getting an infection going would not be good for being around my father during this stage of the game. Between traveling to Gunderson, sporadic cleaning, and running errands there isn’t much left of me.

With luck, Dad will be brought home later today by my sister, which will save a lot of my meager funds for gasoline that have to somehow stretch to April 3rd when my next Social Security deposit arrives. Also of concern is keeping the house heated. Wood pellets aren’t cheap or plentiful while the LP tank is getting low. Meanwhile winter weather has returned and will be around through most of the coming week.

So please keep those prayers and wishes coming, we need them. Thank you to all who have been doing that and especially those who’ve helped out in person. It is all greatly appreciated.

Spinning Wheels

The results of the PET scan revealed my father’s lymphoma no longer can be found, which means the tumor is gone and cannot be blocking his stomach. So that’s great news. However, they doctors still don’t know why his digestive system isn’t moving things along.

Once again, it is a waiting game. I headed home to prepare the house in case he’s coming back today or tomorrow, but haven’t managed to get much done. Energy levels start out low for me and they are even lower now making everything difficult to do.

Heading home last night was a bad experience despite getting good news on the cancer part of my father’s woes. Out on Houston County 4, I noticed large amounts of deer in the fields due to the snow cover melting away. At night, I rarely exceed 45 mph because the large vermin are very active thanks to a huge population. It still didn’t keep me from hitting one.

Draining Times

As I start typing this post, my father is being bombarded by energy particles in a metal shell. The PET scan is to determine whether the tumor in his stomach has changed size one way or another. The hopes were that it would be mostly gone after the second round of chemotherapy.

Since nothing has been exiting his stomach in a downward direction, there are a lot of concerns at the moment. Doctors have been puzzling over the case and many a theory broached, yet this is the test that will shed the most light on just what is happening. Surgery may be required if the RCHOP regimen has failed.

Meanwhile, Dad is not looking good today. He's as gray as his hair due to a lack of sleep and dramatic loss of weight. Fortunately, my sister is here to assist in looking after him. My immune system has shown signs of wanting to go on strike, so I spent yesterday at home resting.

It has been especially difficult for my father the last 48 hours thanks to having a tube down his nose going to his stomach. Since nothing is making its way through his GI system, constant pumping of his stomach is required. This has been a miserable experience resulting in his not sleeping.

Hopefully they will give him something to knock him out tonight.

Back to the home front, the house needs cleaning and sterilizing -- no exaggeration. This morning the long process began and I hope to get more done so Dad can come home to a less infection causing environment. Cat litter boxes have been cleaned, initial stabs at saving vomit stained clothing and rugs tried, and most organic refuse disposed of. Next is cleaning out the refrigerator including a too old duck. The latter will have to be buried somewhere where the soil is sufficiently thawed.

All of this is presuming father will be coming home. The possibility he won't make it increases the longer things stretch on. That might upset some reading this, but being a true adult means facing reality head on preferably without flinching.

All will be dealt with as it comes, no matter how messy.

Dad has a large number of people praying for him and a top notch hospital taking care of him. That's something to be grateful for.

Emergency Room Blues

As I sit in the ER for the second time in two days, things are miserable for my father. Last night he ended up with 1.5 liters of fluids, an x-ray, and a new drug for the hiccups. It worked, but the vomiting continued and then things escalated by ten this morning.

While talking with my sister on the telephone, his speech began slurring and his words didn't make sense.

Another long drive to Gunderson with Dad reporting weird mental imagery and thoughts. Questioning revealed he'd taken the generic thorazine earlier on top of the baclofen he'd been given less than twelve hours before.

So while a stroke has to be ruled out, I can't help wondering if the menagery of drugs in his system are interacting in a negative way.

Right now, Dad is back from a CT scan and the investigation continues. EKG time. More to come later.

Later:
Tests show no signs of a stroke with the thorazin being the likely culprit for the disorientation, confusion, shortness of breath, and pounding heart episodes.

However, my father is still spitting up black material in his mucous. Yes, this is the messy side of reporting medical travails. Illness is an organic thing -- sometimes too organic. That mystery needs solving so that he can take in nourishment of some kind.

He'll be held overnight for observation.

I'd be ungrateful if I didn't mention the aid rendered by hospital workers of all stripes and by a friend who came over to give him a blessing. The help has been well appreciated.

Much later:
There are still no rooms available at the hospital and we are still in an ER exam room. Dad is doing better, but he's had no food or drink so we'll see what happens when that is allowed. At least he's catching up on missed sleep.

I wish I could say the same.

Time to recharge the Nook HD.

The Hard Part Has Arrived

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.

Endurance Run

Time to report about how my father is doing and just a few minutes before this post was started I had to perform the Heimlich maneuver on him when a cyclovir pill tried to kill him. No, this isn’t an attempt to be humorous.

Fortunately for him, I was in the bathroom next to the kitchen when I heard him choking and found him doubled over. Concerned that his stomach might have perforated, I quickly ascertained that it was simple choking and asked him if he needed me to Heimlich him. A nod was all I needed and I very carefully made an escalating trio of attempts very conscious of the dangers of rupturing the cancer stricken stomach. The third time the pill popped out and he was able to breathe again.

After that, I made sure he was okay and that there was no pain in the abdomen. I’ll be checking periodically, but the force used was carefully measured so I don’t expect complications. Heck of a way to end the day, yet it is consistent with how difficult the entire week has been.

Bitter Cold, Low Blood, and the Beating of Drums

I’ve fallen behind in posting, so I’m throwing together a variety of subjects into this one to save time. Surviving winter has become a priority thanks to another bitter cold snap dubbed a “polar vortex” by the know nothing media. –35 below wind chills along with wood pellet supplies being depleted locally led us to purchasing corn to burn in the pellet stove. Figuring out the rate to feed the kernels to the fire pot has been difficult, but at least we have supplemental heat to offset the incredibly expensive LP gas during this latest cold snap.

Speaking of temperatures, Dad is doing well with the chemotherapy, but his white blood cell count is down so he’s having to monitor his temperature in case of fever. If he runs a high temperature he is to head straight for the emergency room. Other than that, he’s still running me ragged.