Thursday evening you say you have come to a decision. We are getting a divorce and you are filing papers on Monday. You will be moving to the desert. You say you've always wanted to live in the desert. (Wait a minute! Aren't you the guy who breaks into a lather when the temperature hits 80?) You say you don't like the way I treat you???? I don't appreciate ALL you have done for me? I can't forgive you for ????? For what, the gambling? Not contributing to our family when you got your inheritance? Taking tens of thousands of dollars from our investment account behind my back? Losing over $200K on poker? And on that count, you're right. You have continued to engage in behaviors I cannot forgive. Try as I might, I can't. And I've tried. I thought the triple bypass and my help in nurturing you back to health had caused you to have an epiphany. I was wrong; it was only temporary. Leopards don't change their spots.
On Friday morning I called an attorney I had interviewed right before your triple bypass. I signed the papers and put his retainer on a credit card. Cut my losses. Cancer, triple bypasses, diabetes, bipolar disorder. Those alone are more than enough. I'm not signing on for gambling again. The fax machine at work wouldn't put the papers through. I didn't want anyone in the office to find out what I was faxing. What kind of woman divorces a man with pancreatic cancer? I missed the deadline for filing on Friday. Over the weekend I got our home fax to put the sheets through. Papers were filed on Monday. You ask me if I would accept service of divorce papers. I tell you not to worry; I'd already filed. Would you accept service? You thank me for saving you $350.
Tuesday morning you create some bogus spreadsheet of our assets and how much you would get in monthly spousal support. You come up with a total of $7333 a month. You must be out of your mind. You have me on the sheet as making both retirement and a salary at the same time. That's quite a trick! Did anyone ever tell you that you don't get retirement from a job before you quit working it? How can you get more money a month than I bring home? You lead a rich fantasy life. You want a spousal support agreement by June 1. Hold on there! June 1 is Tuesday. That won't be happening. And I am sooooo glad I have hired an attorney.
My life has become dark. I live under a big, thick, heavy, gray cloud. It weighs down on me, exhausting me. My eyes feel heavy. I want to go to sleep. Everything is such an effort. I go to work but the joy is gone. And I have the tantrumers. Only one is there but the homeless child sees the gap and wants to step in. Now he is acting up, being difficult, trying to capture my attention. I get it little guy. Your mom abandoned the family. Your dad is taking care of you and your two younger brothers. You were living in a van and now you live in a shelter. You hate women but you love them. You don't want to work but you want my attention. I have a husband like that. I know your story. But please give me a break. My life just crumbled. Please don't ask me to be the paragon of patience I have been. I don't want to be, but I will if you insist.
Saturday, May 29, 2010
Rip it out of my chest and throw it in the street
After two days of no communication, you tell me you won't gamble until we've had a conversation about your gambling. I hope you are thinking, thinking about how you are finally going to protect me and provide something for me. Throw me a bone, will ya?
Kyle's grandmother gets rooms comped at a big casino where she loses big money on a regular basis. We had made plans to go there for Mother's Day weekend (while you are still thinking about how you can protect me). You ask me if I will go. I say let's take a pass on it; casinos put bile in my mouth. You promise that if I go, you won't gamble. Despite your impeccable history as an inveterate liar, I somehow sense that this time you are telling the truth. I was right, you were. We went, we stayed, you didn't gamble. The room was beautiful. Laura did my hair: highlights, lowlights and a cut. We dined. We swam. I played slots and you catered to my every whim. You, Laura and Kyle treated my like a queen. It was truly a weekend centered on me. I had a terrific time. And you even paid for everything.
Ah, but we didn't have the 'conversation' yet. Who is supposed to initiate this type of conversation? You? Me? I ask you what you have come up with as a plan to protect me. You say the only thing you can think of is that we get a divorce, split everything down the middle, and then keep living together. I say 'no can do'.
Finally, after almost three weeks, I suggest you and I get a divorce, you sign over all the assets to me, and we continue living together as husband and wife, through thick and thin, I will be there for you till the very end. You say that won't do. After all, there are so many things you aren't happy with.......
Kyle's grandmother gets rooms comped at a big casino where she loses big money on a regular basis. We had made plans to go there for Mother's Day weekend (while you are still thinking about how you can protect me). You ask me if I will go. I say let's take a pass on it; casinos put bile in my mouth. You promise that if I go, you won't gamble. Despite your impeccable history as an inveterate liar, I somehow sense that this time you are telling the truth. I was right, you were. We went, we stayed, you didn't gamble. The room was beautiful. Laura did my hair: highlights, lowlights and a cut. We dined. We swam. I played slots and you catered to my every whim. You, Laura and Kyle treated my like a queen. It was truly a weekend centered on me. I had a terrific time. And you even paid for everything.
Ah, but we didn't have the 'conversation' yet. Who is supposed to initiate this type of conversation? You? Me? I ask you what you have come up with as a plan to protect me. You say the only thing you can think of is that we get a divorce, split everything down the middle, and then keep living together. I say 'no can do'.
Finally, after almost three weeks, I suggest you and I get a divorce, you sign over all the assets to me, and we continue living together as husband and wife, through thick and thin, I will be there for you till the very end. You say that won't do. After all, there are so many things you aren't happy with.......
Break My Heart
How strange life can be. Some people say, "You plan. God laughs." And that certainly would be the case here. I didn't even plan; I guessed at what would happen. You got diagnosed with cancer, and I thought there would be a descent into cancer hell. The only variable, I thought, would be the rate at which we took the dive. I wondered what it would be like, how long it would last, what medical elements would come into play, how you would handle it, and what my life would look like as well. Really, God, I wasn't making plans; I was planning to cope. Maybe that in itself was a 'plan'.
But then at a point in our journey, cancer took a back seat. On April 28, two days before our 22nd wedding anniversary, you called me at work. You didn't want to lie anymore. You didn't want to put Laura in the middle. You wanted to come clean. Knowing that I would be seeing my therapist in 45 minutes, you wanted to let me know that you were playing poker again. In fact, you always had been playing poker, you always would, and 'that is just the way it is'. Nuclear bomb falls on kindergarten teacher in Southern California. All is destroyed, devastated. Building demolished, vegetation obliterated. Will there be any survivors? The mushroom cloud rises up into the atmosphere tall dark and ominous. Can't you see it? The fallout flattens everything in its path. All is dark, gray, ruined, there is no going back. Life as we have known it will never be the same again. You hand me a broom. Go clean it up. Deal with it.
I tell you that I am stunned, crushed, hurt. I see I have enabled you to gamble. I pay the bills. I go to work. You gamble. I scrounge for summer funds. I take extra jobs. You gamble. I tell you that from now on you will pay your medical coverage and there will be big changes around here. After all, we've just suffered a nuclear holocaust. I ask you to be thinking of how you are going to protect me from any damages that might arise from your gambling. What if you are thinking, "What the heck, I'm going to die, one last hurrah, I'm going to play in this high-stakes game"? Or, you just decide that throwing money on a table is the way you want to spend your final days? You would need to think of a way to protect me and provide for me. There's no life insurance. There's no retirement plan with my name on it for widow's benefits. For once, protect me and provide something for me.
I let our anniversary slip by unnoticed. I have no desire to celebrate.
I tell you that I am stunned, crushed, hurt. I see I have enabled you to gamble. I pay the bills. I go to work. You gamble. I scrounge for summer funds. I take extra jobs. You gamble. I tell you that from now on you will pay your medical coverage and there will be big changes around here. After all, we've just suffered a nuclear holocaust. I ask you to be thinking of how you are going to protect me from any damages that might arise from your gambling. What if you are thinking, "What the heck, I'm going to die, one last hurrah, I'm going to play in this high-stakes game"? Or, you just decide that throwing money on a table is the way you want to spend your final days? You would need to think of a way to protect me and provide for me. There's no life insurance. There's no retirement plan with my name on it for widow's benefits. For once, protect me and provide something for me.
I let our anniversary slip by unnoticed. I have no desire to celebrate.
Saturday, May 15, 2010
Well, THAT'S Good News
Mother's Day weekend was like a beautiful dream for me. You took me to Agua Caliente out in Palm Desert where Kyle's grandmother gets rooms comped every month. Ours was luxurious with one of the few balconies in the hotel. We were on the seventh floor overlooking the swimming pool. When the sun rose in the morning (on the other side of the hotel, thankfully), we had a breathtaking view of the snow-capped mountains to the west. I tried to take photos of them but they looked hazy. You explained that even though the mountains looked clear and majestic to us, the wind was kicking up a lot of sand and debris in the distance which caused our photos to look fuzzy. You, Kyle and Laura catered to my every whim. It was so unusual that there were times when I felt indecisive. (You're asking me what I want to do? I get to decide?) I truly enjoyed myself. You even humored me while I played nickel slots.
School on the other hand has been a living nightmare. Were it not for seasoned, competent and resourceful administrators, I don't know what I would have done. What I do know is that I wouldn't have been able to survive these past few weeks if my former administrator had been in charge (God rest her soul, no disrespect intended, but I went through it with her once four years ago and she didn't help me at all yet continued to pat herself on the back every time I met with her, telling me how much support she had given me...) This year I have two students who returned from Spring Break having had some sort of trauma. We know the source of one child's trauma, but I think the other child's mother is holding out on telling us the whole story about her son, lying by omission. They are both tantruming and learning from one another. Now they are both throwing furniture and books and destroying property as well as running from the classroom. On Wednesday, B ran out the back gates of the school, down through the neighborhood streets while being chased by five adults. At one point he stopped in a yard and started pulling out the plants, the rain gutters from the house, and the pickets from the fence. The adults wouldn't touch him, the homeowner called the police, the office manager finally picked B up and removed him. The police arrived at school and called the PET. B hasn't been back since then. His mom has summoned her mother from Arizona to come and shadow him for the remainder of the school year. Neither one of these boys wants to be at school. They both want to be at home with their mothers. Neither mother can have that. It's sad. I am sad for them. I set up a behavior system with K but he still has trouble with anger. He brings me an orange domino when he needs to 'cool down' and a red domino when the work I have given him is too hard. We set up a 'cooldown corner' for him in the classroom. When he brings me the orange domino, he is to go to the 'cooldown corner'; when he brings me a red domino, I will go to where he is working and modify the assignment for him. I hope the system works. On Friday I think he unplugged all the computers in the school computer lab. The tech guy came in my room afterward, and the look on his face was heartbreaking; I didn't know what to say or do. I thought my aide and I were watching the kids. Could K have slipped away under the table for a second to unplug everything? I met with the second grade teacher whose class has lab after mine. She helped me think of a way to find out. I will try it tomorrow. We have study team meetings on both these boys next week. I think B needs a special school. I don't know what the PET recommended but I do know that once the police call in PET, it's out of our hands. Flying furniture, ripped-down bulletin boards, angry children, they make me sad. I know it's not about me; they want their mothers, I can never replace their mothers. But I am still sad, and I am frustrated I am not able to help them stop.
On the health front, things are happening. You had a CT scan on Monday. On Wednesday your oncologist told you the tumor is shrinking. The chemo is working. Well THAT's good news! In time you will be able to have the SMA bypass operation to help circulate blood to your intestinal tract. But Saturday you told me the doctor also found a goiter and lesions on your lungs. He said he wasn't worried about either. This doctor doesn't fib. So I guess we should believe him.
School on the other hand has been a living nightmare. Were it not for seasoned, competent and resourceful administrators, I don't know what I would have done. What I do know is that I wouldn't have been able to survive these past few weeks if my former administrator had been in charge (God rest her soul, no disrespect intended, but I went through it with her once four years ago and she didn't help me at all yet continued to pat herself on the back every time I met with her, telling me how much support she had given me...) This year I have two students who returned from Spring Break having had some sort of trauma. We know the source of one child's trauma, but I think the other child's mother is holding out on telling us the whole story about her son, lying by omission. They are both tantruming and learning from one another. Now they are both throwing furniture and books and destroying property as well as running from the classroom. On Wednesday, B ran out the back gates of the school, down through the neighborhood streets while being chased by five adults. At one point he stopped in a yard and started pulling out the plants, the rain gutters from the house, and the pickets from the fence. The adults wouldn't touch him, the homeowner called the police, the office manager finally picked B up and removed him. The police arrived at school and called the PET. B hasn't been back since then. His mom has summoned her mother from Arizona to come and shadow him for the remainder of the school year. Neither one of these boys wants to be at school. They both want to be at home with their mothers. Neither mother can have that. It's sad. I am sad for them. I set up a behavior system with K but he still has trouble with anger. He brings me an orange domino when he needs to 'cool down' and a red domino when the work I have given him is too hard. We set up a 'cooldown corner' for him in the classroom. When he brings me the orange domino, he is to go to the 'cooldown corner'; when he brings me a red domino, I will go to where he is working and modify the assignment for him. I hope the system works. On Friday I think he unplugged all the computers in the school computer lab. The tech guy came in my room afterward, and the look on his face was heartbreaking; I didn't know what to say or do. I thought my aide and I were watching the kids. Could K have slipped away under the table for a second to unplug everything? I met with the second grade teacher whose class has lab after mine. She helped me think of a way to find out. I will try it tomorrow. We have study team meetings on both these boys next week. I think B needs a special school. I don't know what the PET recommended but I do know that once the police call in PET, it's out of our hands. Flying furniture, ripped-down bulletin boards, angry children, they make me sad. I know it's not about me; they want their mothers, I can never replace their mothers. But I am still sad, and I am frustrated I am not able to help them stop.
On the health front, things are happening. You had a CT scan on Monday. On Wednesday your oncologist told you the tumor is shrinking. The chemo is working. Well THAT's good news! In time you will be able to have the SMA bypass operation to help circulate blood to your intestinal tract. But Saturday you told me the doctor also found a goiter and lesions on your lungs. He said he wasn't worried about either. This doctor doesn't fib. So I guess we should believe him.
Friday, April 16, 2010
A Collection of Days
Last night I dreamed we were in a large apartment complex in the desert. It reminded me of the place where we took our last hike when we were out there in February. Between the buildings in the complex, between a back building and a front one, there was a large unlandscaped area. We were on our way to pick up Laura. As I headed out between the two buildings there was a big black puma coming through a small wash. It was large, it's coat was glossy, and it was walking toward me. I got in the car and told you. You said, "There's a puma? Where?" But then I woke up.
So much has happened these last couple of weeks. Dad has been in the convalescent facility until this afternoon. I have gone there almost every day over these two months. Carmi and Nonong have been there twelve hours a day but during the nights they are gone, and Dad gets up and falls. He forgets he's gone to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He forgets what time of day it is. He'll fall asleep at 7 pm, wake at 9, and wonder where his breakfast is. He's had two falls, neither of which were documented by the staff in incident reports until we pushed it. Carmi and Nonong will be doing 24-hour shifts for at least the next couple of weeks. If Dad settles down and gets off the Vampire Schedule, we'll be able to go back to 12-hour shifts.
Quincy has been in the house for much of the last two months. He has a growth on his paw and we're hoping it will heal over and get a hard paw-like skin on it. That seems to be taking too much time. We put all kinds of bandages on it and make booties out of my collection of unmatched socks but after each time we think he's healed, it opens up and starts to bleed again. It seems to be getting larger, and our neighbor, the vet tech, says it will need to be removed. Oh, boy! More vet bills. We need a vet in the family.
Kyle was able to wrangle a new phone for you from Sprint. It arrived today and you spent several hours figuring out how to use every little function it has. You should be sitting pretty; it's the latest and the greatest.
You have reached the point where you are starting to dread your chemo days. You look forward to every other Tuesday with trepidation. You are starting to get neuropathy in your hands and feet. You reached into the freezer at the grocery store to get some ice cream and were greeted by shooting needle-like pain in your fingers. It has been getting better within a few days after your chemo treatments but lingers a bit longer each time. You are more sensitive to both heat and cold now. The doctor says that sometimes people get neuropathy permanently after chemo.
Tomorrow at work two things will happen: 1)the K teachers will meet with the district literacy coach who will euphemistically ask us why our kids are so low and 2) we will finally find out who our new principal will be. It's crazy hair day at school. But every day is crazy kid day.
So much has happened these last couple of weeks. Dad has been in the convalescent facility until this afternoon. I have gone there almost every day over these two months. Carmi and Nonong have been there twelve hours a day but during the nights they are gone, and Dad gets up and falls. He forgets he's gone to the bathroom and brushed his teeth. He forgets what time of day it is. He'll fall asleep at 7 pm, wake at 9, and wonder where his breakfast is. He's had two falls, neither of which were documented by the staff in incident reports until we pushed it. Carmi and Nonong will be doing 24-hour shifts for at least the next couple of weeks. If Dad settles down and gets off the Vampire Schedule, we'll be able to go back to 12-hour shifts.
Quincy has been in the house for much of the last two months. He has a growth on his paw and we're hoping it will heal over and get a hard paw-like skin on it. That seems to be taking too much time. We put all kinds of bandages on it and make booties out of my collection of unmatched socks but after each time we think he's healed, it opens up and starts to bleed again. It seems to be getting larger, and our neighbor, the vet tech, says it will need to be removed. Oh, boy! More vet bills. We need a vet in the family.
Kyle was able to wrangle a new phone for you from Sprint. It arrived today and you spent several hours figuring out how to use every little function it has. You should be sitting pretty; it's the latest and the greatest.
You have reached the point where you are starting to dread your chemo days. You look forward to every other Tuesday with trepidation. You are starting to get neuropathy in your hands and feet. You reached into the freezer at the grocery store to get some ice cream and were greeted by shooting needle-like pain in your fingers. It has been getting better within a few days after your chemo treatments but lingers a bit longer each time. You are more sensitive to both heat and cold now. The doctor says that sometimes people get neuropathy permanently after chemo.
Tomorrow at work two things will happen: 1)the K teachers will meet with the district literacy coach who will euphemistically ask us why our kids are so low and 2) we will finally find out who our new principal will be. It's crazy hair day at school. But every day is crazy kid day.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
Wednesday, April 8
This has been a difficult last few days. I have felt uncomfortable and criticized. You have said things to me that make me feel you think I am a bad person. It harkens back to feelings I used to get, particularly from my stepfather. I would be cruising along through life, and then from out of nowhere he would start in on me. "That girl is so rude. She's so stuck-up. She blahblahblah....." And I get this horrible deja vu feeling that I am bad and I just don't know it. You (and my SF) are letting me in on this very special secret. Don't I know? Isn't it obvious? How can I not see it? It is becoming clear to me that you are feeling very insecure. As was my SF; he just didn't have a good excuse for it like cancer. You have made comments to the effect that you think I act inappropriately with Laura's boyfriend and that the network of friends I have might be attempts to replace you. I admit to having some degree of 'anticipatory grief'. I admit to being terrified of what I will feel when you are gone. I admit to being confused about our future. I admit that there are times when I'm not so strong. I fear loneliness. I always have. I wish I didn't. You say that when you are gone, I can 'replace' you. I wish it were that easy. My therapist says that men do that all the time. I see that. Bob, at church, lost Pat in June after 52 years of marriage and incredible closeness, constant togetherness. He met another woman on the cruise he took to scatter her ashes. He's now on another cruise to scatter the rest of Pat's ashes, and this new woman will be helping him. I just couldn't do that. I couldn't replicate the intimacy I need in a marriage like that. Too much, too fast. It would be a recipe for disaster for me.
Easter Dinner was lovely and we had two guests. I like small dinner gatherings. They are comfortable. Again, I didn't feel I had to put on any appearances. The food (hot chicken salad, corn pudding, green salad and lemon chess pie) all turned out remarkably well. Yep, I was cooking from scratch, a rare and satisfying event. You were quite impressed and complimented me a lot on the meal. Everything turned out perfectly, and all of us were extremely happy with the food. Flowers from the massive bulbs on our front walkway made the table look beautiful.
Laura had to come into town today to have her dog's teeth worked on. She and I spent time together. I told her you thought I was being inappropriate with Kyle. I wanted to know if she thought that way too. She was shocked. She said she and he love the way I am with them, that he feels welcome, accepted and liked by me, that I am not the least bit inappropriate. On the other hand, he doesn't feel very comfy with you.
You have told me that having cancer is making you feel 'less than'. You feel less than a whole person, less of a man, less of a human, less capable of being who you want to be. I feel like you are watching me. Yet, I understand how you must be feeling. I can begin to put myself in your place and feel your sense of powerlessness. But after all these years. And all we've been through. And I've been faithful to you the entire time, even when we were separated, even when I was disgusted and furious with you. I mentioned your distrust at the Good Wives' Club. They could understand. I was able to reach a new level of safety with them last night. One good thing that came out of it was that they reminded me that there is significant evidence that chemo causes personality changes. One person said her husband is 'short', meaning impatient, now compared to before he started chemo. You, too, are being short. At dinner you told me you want to go over our expenses again. You just can't understand where the money is going. I told you we've already been over this, that I have the taxes to do. I don't want to go over the monthlies. I can tell you where the expenses are. Then you said I was ruining dinner. You wanted to write it down and that was that. This is just one example of your shortness but more importantly, of your insistence lately that we do everything your way. And when I have tried to disagree, you tell me I am being unreasonable, difficult, I am ruining a 'happy' situation. You even called me a bitch once. The GWC reminded me that chemo can interfere with moods and that a lot of cancer patients suffer from depression. In light of the possible effects of this new chemo, I think you need to call your doc for a meds adjustment.
Easter Dinner was lovely and we had two guests. I like small dinner gatherings. They are comfortable. Again, I didn't feel I had to put on any appearances. The food (hot chicken salad, corn pudding, green salad and lemon chess pie) all turned out remarkably well. Yep, I was cooking from scratch, a rare and satisfying event. You were quite impressed and complimented me a lot on the meal. Everything turned out perfectly, and all of us were extremely happy with the food. Flowers from the massive bulbs on our front walkway made the table look beautiful.
Laura had to come into town today to have her dog's teeth worked on. She and I spent time together. I told her you thought I was being inappropriate with Kyle. I wanted to know if she thought that way too. She was shocked. She said she and he love the way I am with them, that he feels welcome, accepted and liked by me, that I am not the least bit inappropriate. On the other hand, he doesn't feel very comfy with you.
You have told me that having cancer is making you feel 'less than'. You feel less than a whole person, less of a man, less of a human, less capable of being who you want to be. I feel like you are watching me. Yet, I understand how you must be feeling. I can begin to put myself in your place and feel your sense of powerlessness. But after all these years. And all we've been through. And I've been faithful to you the entire time, even when we were separated, even when I was disgusted and furious with you. I mentioned your distrust at the Good Wives' Club. They could understand. I was able to reach a new level of safety with them last night. One good thing that came out of it was that they reminded me that there is significant evidence that chemo causes personality changes. One person said her husband is 'short', meaning impatient, now compared to before he started chemo. You, too, are being short. At dinner you told me you want to go over our expenses again. You just can't understand where the money is going. I told you we've already been over this, that I have the taxes to do. I don't want to go over the monthlies. I can tell you where the expenses are. Then you said I was ruining dinner. You wanted to write it down and that was that. This is just one example of your shortness but more importantly, of your insistence lately that we do everything your way. And when I have tried to disagree, you tell me I am being unreasonable, difficult, I am ruining a 'happy' situation. You even called me a bitch once. The GWC reminded me that chemo can interfere with moods and that a lot of cancer patients suffer from depression. In light of the possible effects of this new chemo, I think you need to call your doc for a meds adjustment.
Friday, April 2, 2010
Spring Break, Week 1
The bike ride on your birthday was more than perfect. I was reminded of how superior our spring and summer route to Manhattan and Hermosa Beaches is to the winter route that barely goes beyond Marina del Rey. The comparison, in fact, is pitiful. Upon reaching Manhattan Beach, we enter a different world, a world of beach communities where sun, sand, piers, surfboards, and wide-windowed houses dominate the landscape. There the focus is on being one with the beach. It's Spring Break, the place is teeming with people intent on spending their time enjoying the ocean. I so marveled at the forgotten beauty of this ride that I felt compelled to call Beth and apologize for taking her on such a poor imitation of it when she was here. She must come back down so we can do the real thing. I can't let her miss out on this beachride experience. It will remind her of our days on Balboa Island. Laura rode with us and complained of her ass being sore. She was visibly uncomfortable, especially on the ride home. We stopped in Manhattan Beach and ate at Wahoo's. It's ambiance leaves much to be desired. The food is okay but was way too heavy on the cilantro. They need to slap a little sour cream on that stuff. Low fat is good but taste is imperative. Later in the day, I noticed that the back of Laura's hands had gotten sunburned. That poor child! She got my mother's complexion but not her distaste for the sun. The backs of her calves were also burnt. She was glad to get back on the road to the desert that evening. She did, however, stay for dinner before she left.
Tuesday was chemo day. We went to the oncology center and I learned how they hook you up. Since you had to stay for two hours for one type of chemo before you got your pack of 5FU to take home, I was able to go across the street to see Dad at the health care center. Gotta love that name 5FU. That's what I'd like to say to cancer. FU.
The oncological center is a feast for the eyes. Someone sure got it right. If you have to have cancer and chemo, then let's make a place that's aesthetically pleasing. And it made my eyes happy! If eyes could sing, mine would have sung 'Vissi d'Arte' from Tosca. The walls are filled with the most beautiful paintings, sculptures and collages. Large leather recliners where when you sit to get your infusions you face floor-to-ceiling plate-glass windows that look west to the ocean. They have pillows and blankets, and the atmosphere is intensely serene. You slept through much of your treatment, and Jose came in for his treatment near the end of yours so you two were able to talk.
We went home with you hooked up to your fanny pack of 5FU and who knows what else. You were to wear it for 46 hours and disconnect it when it starts beeping on Thursday morning. What I noticed was how soon the fatigue set in. You began to nap that afternoon and fell asleep in front of the TV somewhat early. Afraid that a dog or a wife might jostle your pack and sending toxic chemicals spewing all over our bed, you went alone to sleep in the middle bedroom. Again you felt slightly headachy and mildly nauseous. You chose not to do much exercise during those days but managed to function, running errands and taking care of small tasks around the house and at Dad's condo.
Tuesday was chemo day. We went to the oncology center and I learned how they hook you up. Since you had to stay for two hours for one type of chemo before you got your pack of 5FU to take home, I was able to go across the street to see Dad at the health care center. Gotta love that name 5FU. That's what I'd like to say to cancer. FU.
The oncological center is a feast for the eyes. Someone sure got it right. If you have to have cancer and chemo, then let's make a place that's aesthetically pleasing. And it made my eyes happy! If eyes could sing, mine would have sung 'Vissi d'Arte' from Tosca. The walls are filled with the most beautiful paintings, sculptures and collages. Large leather recliners where when you sit to get your infusions you face floor-to-ceiling plate-glass windows that look west to the ocean. They have pillows and blankets, and the atmosphere is intensely serene. You slept through much of your treatment, and Jose came in for his treatment near the end of yours so you two were able to talk.
We went home with you hooked up to your fanny pack of 5FU and who knows what else. You were to wear it for 46 hours and disconnect it when it starts beeping on Thursday morning. What I noticed was how soon the fatigue set in. You began to nap that afternoon and fell asleep in front of the TV somewhat early. Afraid that a dog or a wife might jostle your pack and sending toxic chemicals spewing all over our bed, you went alone to sleep in the middle bedroom. Again you felt slightly headachy and mildly nauseous. You chose not to do much exercise during those days but managed to function, running errands and taking care of small tasks around the house and at Dad's condo.
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