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July 13, 2000
Bone marrow draw, port implantation, spinal
draw, and then chemo.
The kid has been through a lot this week.
And now his phone is off-ringer - because
he didn't want to talk to anyone. He has potassium in his urine (think
a bladder infection - full tilt - and you can get the pain level). This
is from the medication.
And he has had nausea. Some.
He's feeling better now So they tell me. I
go over in a few more hours.
I tried calling him, panicked, and called
the nurses.
Yesterday he was walking with me, took a detour
to the balcony (without telling me). I spent 15 minutes hunting for him
and panicked. He was trying to get back in the one-way door - IV pole
and all. I wanted to strangle him. The nurses were looking for him to
give him medication. I was having a seizure.
I don't want to be there too much - because
he is 18 and likes not to be mother-smothered. So I have to be careful
to leave him some dignity, some independence - because the disease won't.
I gave him the notebook computer - for when
he's well enough to use it. I brought videos - I'll get more.
He has books and magazines. For when he's
up to it.
But the nurses say it's the end of a week
and just sinking in. Impatient to be done with this and it's just starting.
And now he is on the full drug regimen. First day of the full blast. He
is wrecked.
They have to show him how to get dressed with
the IV hanging from his chest. He's in a "skirt" (hospital gown). I have
PJs and a robe and sportswear shorts - so he won't flash the staff. He
has beautiful manly hairy legs. He gets whistles.
I have button-front shirts in the car - along
with the camping stove and propane bottles. The stove and bottles are
for the other kid who is going camping - he had a slight fever so he can't
be at the hospital. Once he's better, we hope he comes on one of the two
nights I have gym and recovery.
Exhaustion has set in.
I know this because I backed into a pole in
the parking lot. I'm driving with a headlight out. I put my keys down
and forget where they are. I spend 20 minutes looking for my eye glasses
- a sign that I am out of it.
The cats yowled at me for two hours. I gave
them salmon. To shut them up.
I did manage to brake test my car 65-0 in
SECONDS yesterday morning when some yahoo spun out on the freeway six
cars in front of me - of course I was then late for a meeting. It is a
miracle that I looked up and saw the brake lights - they were small -
I was fuzzy. Good reactions! Not my time.
And coming back from the hospital some other
clunch bought the farm by rolling over on the same freeway. There was
another rollover this morning. Did summer tweak some gene in these guys?
Is it necessary to do 75 in a 55 MPH zone?
OK OK So I do 80.
But it's only over the Dunbarton in the dead
of night on the way to the hospital - I don't want to be on that freeway
when the earthquake hits. (Pacific Ocean below.)
I am thinking about fetching some playing
cards. And hand-held toys for him to fiddle with.
He asked for weights. The little ones.
I will get those for him tomorrow.
Anything to ease the stress.
It's amazing how things that were important
before aren't. We think in increments now.
He is still having a bad day when we get there.
My older son took me for coffee (and discovered he had no cash! HoHo!)
and then led me a new way to get from work to the hospital. It was he
who found the headlight out.
I get water and medication down him. They bring
a bevy of injections.
I need to touch him. His head. His feet. His
legs. Anywhere there is no tube or bruise or incision. I am compulsive
about it. He sends me to sit down. I sit in increments.
He allows me to touch him - some. Not a good
sign. Usually teenagers want clear separation of mother and state.
After a transfusion (platelets) (did I spell
that right), I get him up and into a tee shirt and shorts, I put socks
on him and get his slippers. We and his IV pole walk - about 20-25 minutes.
In the sun for a stroll. Down the hallways. He needs this for medication
to work.
I get him back to bed but he cannot eat anything.
He also fusses at the tee shirt - he wants a button front instead. I help
him change.
I get him 7Up in a cup. I buy a second can.
He ran out of bottled water - and so did they. I will haul bottles in
tomorrow.
He rests - he doesn't want to talk. He is
stressed - I assure him that his health is the only concern. He wants
to worry about me. I tell him it is his turn.
I will not outlive my child. This is not something
he wants to hear.
Good. I tell him then he'd better do everything
they say so he can get well.
He assures me that he will.
Later he asks if he has to have any more of
those surgical procedures. Not for two more weeks.
And I will be here.
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