NotChemo Day 5, Radiation Days 19-23: Dog Days

Hello, friends and family,

Well, another week has gone by, and things are still movin' and shakin' in the Love house. This week has basically been a continuation of last week: symptoms piled on top of symptoms, treatments piled on top of treatments. I, of course, think he should to everything his doctors and nurses tell him to. And as we all know, I am always right. (Except when I'm not.) He thinks he should only do things that make sense to him, things that will kill him if he doesn't do them. (And anyone out there who has ever been sick, you know that's what you want to do as well.) So when we go to the doctor (as opposed to him going by himself), I become that horrible know-it-all tattletale we all know from elementary school. It goes like this:

Vic, proudly: I am up to five cans a day.
Patty, sternly: He's supposed to have six.

Vic, silent: [he's silent]
Patty, not silent: His radiation nurse suggested a saline drip.
Patty, not silent: His throat hurts.
Patty, not silent: He has mucous.
Patty, not silent: His tummy hurts after feeding.

You all know me. You know what it would be like to be married to me. So at this point in the blog, I'd like to insert a moment of silence for you all to offer a little pity/sympathy prayer to Vic. ;-)

[moment of silence]

Anyway, in the past, my issue has mostly been about feeding. This week it was about hydration. So the oncologist ordered a saline drip on Wednesday and Friday, and when the nurse came over to schedule it, Vic said, "I don't think I really need that."

Patty, not silent: Yes, you do.
Vic, quietly: I can just "drink" more.
Patty, superiorly: But you won't. You'll just leave bottles of water all over the house with one sip taken out of them and think you're drinking more.
Vic, quietly angry: Fine. Whatever.
Patty, more superiorly: Look, maybe you will drink more, and if that's the case, you can call and cancel the drip. But if you don't schedule it, and you don't drink more, then you won't be able to get in.
Vic, angrily angry: Then I can schedule one on Monday.
Patty, the know-it-all: And be miserable all weekend? Fine. Whatever. You're the patient, do whatever you want.
Nurse: You know, this is the issue that families fight about more than anything else.

A few minutes later, as I was waiting for Vic to get out of the bathroom to go to his radiation, the oncologist walked by and said, "You know, this is a really hard treatment, and it just rips families apart. You'll be OK." And a half-hour later, the radiation doctor said, "Have we talked about spousal tension?" And we're all, "WE ARE NOT TENSE!" ;-)

So I've tried to back off a little since Wednesday. He thinks I may be bugging him one less time a day, but I am certain it is two less times. Because that's just the kind of wife I am.

So, the pictures for this week (sorry they're not very good—I forgot to have Vic bring his camera, so these are from my phone.

First, his NotChemo bag for the week: sea lions and fish. I suppose it's stupid to get so excited to see what stickers the nurses put on each day, but I still do.

And the patient, sleeping through his treatment. Probably the best way to get through it. :-)

I do want to add a note about one other challenge we faced this week: the death of my former boss, Mark Brand. Mark was my first boss out of college, took a chance on me when no one else would. We worked together for five years, during which he mentored me and allowed me to find my own way and eventually spread my wings and fly away. Vic and I remained close to him and his family, although as with many relationships, it had turned into a Facebook/e-mail/holiday letter thing. But perhaps only a minute after I sent out the notice that Vic had been diagnosed with cancer, Mark was on the phone to find out how we were and to give us an insider's view of cancer—for that is what eventually took Mark from his friends and family. That's what kind of friend he was—there whenever you needed him and at a moment's notice. He sounded fine that day, only a month ago, so it came as quite a shock that he has been taken to the hospital and was in critical condition and as another shock when he slipped further and further away. And even when you know death is coming, it was yet another shock when we received the e-mail that he had passed away.

So I am inserting a second moment of silence to honor my friend, Mark Brand.

Mark J. Brand, December 29, 1949–August 9, 2011

Our hearts go out to his lovely wife, Maxine; his beautiful daughters Rachel and Ali (and Ali's husband Noam, of course); and his made-of-steel mother, Evelyn; his brother David, whom Mark cherished, and David's family; as well as the rest of his family, friends and students.