Day 22 Here we go

 

❤️

And......GO!

Cancer treatment says it's go-time. Oh, we've been going alright, but cancer treatment wants to take it up a notch. You know all those things (side effects) that have happened so far? Childs play. The real guns are coming out and they are firing hard at David's eyes. He awoke with his left eye seeing only in shades of grey, and I don't mean the movie. As I watched him winking and covering one eye, then winking some more, rubbing his eyes all with an alarmed look on his face, I winced at the thought of this. His senses have all been affected, with his vision only being mildly blurred thus far. But now, this. When radiation is shot all over your face and neck, there's no escaping the damage. Decreased salivary production, dry mouth, sores in his mouth, roof of his mouth raw, sore throat, skin burned, nasal passages fried, and dry eyes. This is only the tip of this iceberg. 

As a recap, David's radiation is from his skull base (above his eyes) all the way down to his upper palate of his mouth. Then, it starts again at his neck, to get the lymph nodes there. This type of radiation has a "spread" that is not preventable, but they do their best with his mask and mouthpiece to only radiate the areas needed. But the "spread" of the radiation photons touch on areas unintended, and create undesirable damage to his ears and eyes in particular. They say if you come out of this without ringing in your ears (tinnitus) or decreased hearing (he already wears hearing aids) then it's certainly a plus. Then, if you escape the radiation rays from your eyes, that's the real miracle. When they are trying to shoot all around your eyes (where the sinuses and cancer is/was) it's going to be hard to prevent damage to the eyes. The question will be: is it short term damage to his eyesight - or long term. Ahhh, I feel that queasy feeling in the pit of my belly lurking, just typing that. 

As I watch David, I see him morphing into someone trying to tackle 52 things coming at him all at once. This time, not work related. With his new worrisome eyesight wavering, his lack of taste and smell almost 100% gone, he will still vocalize some interesting nuggets of information. He can't taste the food at Whataburger, but can still just barely taste cottage cheese. Interesting. He can't taste the comfort frozen dinner (childhood thing, I'm thinking) but he can taste a hint of the unsweet tea he drinks with it. He notices that his eyesight changes as the day moves on. Sometimes worse and sometimes better. He says he can feel his sinus cavities filling with scabs and making his nasal passages feel full. The blessing in all this is that he's able to rest and recoup much of the time, as he's taken off of work to focus on healing. It's a benefit for which we are both so very grateful for. 

Schedule please

This week looks a lot like the other weeks, except it's Week 4 . I'll recap: 

Monday - Radiation 

Tuesday - Labs, Radiation, appt with Dr R (radiation oncologist) and then chemo

Wed - Radiation, then Nutrition (now weekly) Telemed appt

Thurs - Radiation

Friday - Radiation, then Dr Lu (chemo oncologist, every other week) 

How are you all feeling? 

Such a good question, thanks for asking. I'll speak for myself mostly, as I imagine David may want to express his own thoughts and feelings, as well. I'm joyful while reserved. I'm fragile, while steady. I'm happy, grateful and hopeful. I'm not sad. That's not a good word for it. I'm selfish, wanting to be back at home and comfortable. I'm concerned for David and his well being, and pray for his healing. I'm comfortable in our apartment, as it's perfect for us both. I feel safe, which is always important. I feel surrounded with love and support. I pine for my farm animals and pray for their safety while we are away. And as much as I want to ponder what the future has in store, I'm just hanging on to what each day holds for us, as the here and now is the only thing we have. Our future is what today brings.

Often times, I may want to verbally offer a prescription of 1 can of Suck It Up to those who I deem need it. Mostly, I end up doing this only in my head, as things would likely get ugly otherwise. But I now find myself prescribing it to myself, on a daily basis. I also remind myself that never has God panicked and thought......she's ruined everything. So, what I do each day is my best and if it's good enough for God, it's good enough for me.

I have also developed new and unusual things I find myself doing, during this unique time we are moving though. For example, when I begin my trek from Houston to Gunter or vice versa from Gunter to Houston, the first hour in the car is spent with glassy, moist eyes and a lump in my throat. I've been known to cry in the quiet of my car, all while Barack Obama reads his book, A Promised Land, to me. I always mourn leaving our house (and animals) in Gunter as much as I grieve leaving David in Houston for the weekend. It's an odd force that pulls me both ways and leaving either location is a cause to tear up. Every time. So what I do is give myself the first hour in the car to let it all out, and then the rest of the time is for Barack and I to enjoy. It's a ritual now. 

I also rely on Phoebe Judge, narrator of This Is Love and Criminal podcast(s). She's been my second go-to person of interest while spending hours on the road, and you may know her well, too. There are so many wonderful things to listen to in this day and time. Endless, really. And as I move down the road in the wee early Saturday morning hours or the late Sunday night drives back, not only do I miss most of the traffic, but I enjoy many wonderful hours of listening to books and podcast. As The Littles, Sugar and Maybe ride along, they are my companions who also look forward to a Buc-ees stop, and esp like the rocking motion of the car to lull them to sleep in-between stops. Well, not Sugar so much, but she does her best to tolerate the loud noises of trucks and road noise as much as she can. Hang in there, Sugs. This is a growing time for everybody involved.

It’s time again for all the sounds of the Texas Medical Center district in Houston to dance around in my ears once more, the ambulances, helicopters, trains, trams, buses, and hustle and bustle of cars, and we settle in and feel extremely content in exactly where we are. 

Happy Monday to you all,

Cyndi

RIP, my sweets. Till we meet again. 

We consider each chicken important and vital. We miss those who leave us, as we know them well, yet we do realize that chicken life is fragile. Just as our own life is. We just didn’t realize how true that statement was before. Now we know. 

Chicken socks ☮️💝🐔 (Thank you, Cindy and Becky!)

No more chickens on the apartment patio, for now 😉