Hey, it's good to be back home again

TL;DR: Vic's kidney function returned to normal and we came home Friday.

Full story: Well, we made it through that.

After lots of fluids and antibiotics and tweaking medications, Vic's creatinine went down to 1.75 and he was deemed fit to be discharged.

As always the best part of Vic's hospital stay was this:

Georgie, the therapy dog. He visited twice. Because #dogsarethebestmedicine

It's still a long road. I would have liked to see him stay one more day to get a little stronger and to get a little more mentally "there." Without the tube, Vic really has to focus on his calories and his hydration—and he also has to get exercise to avoid a repeat of this week's pneumonia while staying oxygenated, which seems to have become a bigger problem than it was before.

Fortunately, we have a pretty awesome oncologist—he's so Zen. Now, if something is wrong, he'll make sure it gets addressed stat (I can use that word because of my extensive medical-TV-show-watching experience), but otherwise, he is the calming voice of reason. So while I was uncharacteristically panicking—"WHAT IF HE GOES HOME AND DOESN'T EAT ENOUGH OR DRINK ENOUGH OR EXERCISE OR WHATEVER????"—he's all, "Meh, what's the worst thing that can happen? He doesn't eat, he doesn't drink, he comes back here, and I order a feeding tube. Problem solved." It was such a "duh" moment for me. It's not like he'll die at home, because I'm there. If he goes south again, obviously I'll just take him back.

The oncologist then said all this to Vic, ending with "It's all up to you, buddy." He might not have said "buddy," but I think he wanted to. I think Vic understood what he was saying, but with his mental state, I'm just not sure. I asked him several times before we went home, "Do you understand what you need to do to stay home?" And he said yes, but when I asked him what he needed to do, he just didn't answer me. It's really maddening, but then I can't really be mad, because his brain isn't working right yet.

And deep in the recesses our our minds, there's still the nagging "Why didn't they give us the option of "wait and see"? Wait a few months for a PET scan and see whether there is still cancer there? Since there was no cancer in the tongue they removed, the PET scan would have been clear, and we could have avoided all of this. I know, I know—hindsight is 20/20, but we weren't even offered that option. Maybe there is a tiny cancer cell in the part of the tongue they removed, and maybe it would have grown while we were waiting, but it seems unlikely that in three months, it would have grown enough to require the removal of more than half the tongue.

We have been told that we're not supposed to think that way—it will drive us crazy. But it's hard. Dr. Song said he was committed to Vic's quality of life, but so far, it eludes him. And I know—it's only been two months. This is a year-long recovery. But it's hard.

OK, that's as dark as I want to go. You know I like to be the picture of positivity, strength and resilience. So as always, I'll leave you with something positive: a Bella video. I went home from the hospital for dinner on Thursday. Bella hadn't had a walk since Monday. I did not want to take her for a walk. It was cold. It had snowed that day. I had a cold. I was tired. But my step-sister-in-law had reminded me months ago that exercise is essential to maintain your well-being when all around you is crashing down, so I thought if I took a video of Bella getting ready to go on her walk and sent it to Vic, it would make me happier to do it. It did, and the walk was restorative. (Thanks, Amy.)

I've had a lot of people sending thoughts and prayers through the blog, texts, email and Facebook; offering to do things for me; reminding me to take care of myself; and putting those validating "likes" on my Facebook posts. I have a whole "gratitude" blog post coming, but until I have the energy to get it up, let me just say "thank you" here. I'm so lucky to have such a wide-ranging support group. 💗