2 Down, 10 To Go

Dad has 2 rounds of chemotherapy under his belt.  The first one was rough.  They had problems with the port.  What should have taken 3 hours turned out to be an all-day ordeal.  But Dad was positive.  Patient.  Followed all the rules.  The infusion...no problem!  Then came the days after.  He has to wear a "fanny pack," we're calling it, for 46 hours after his infusion at the oncologist's office.  This pack pumps the final, 4th, drug into his system through his chest port.  He tries to sleep, but fights the pump for those two nights, and the pump wins.  Without going into all the details, I'll just say his first experience sucked.  It had to get better, right? 

Wrong.  Wednesday, of this week, was infusion #2.  Again, the port had some problems, but were remedied pretty quickly.  His question and answer session with the nurse took a bit longer than was expected, but all and all, things went more smoothly this round.  Wednesday night, again, no sleep.  Dad came into the office Thursday...a trooper.  He was tired, and the chemo is showing some ugly side effects.  Nausea has been pretty much non-existent this time, yay!  But his body aches.  His neck is so stiff he can't turn his head.  He can't take deep breaths because his chest is tight and heavy.  He can't drink anything that is colder than room temperature, and if he does, he says it feels like swallowing tree bark, or broken glass.  He's having some really strange food cravings.  His short-term memory has been affected...they call that "chemo brain."  Probably much like pregnancy brain, as I definitely experienced when pregnant!  Add all that together with two nights of no sleep...sorry, he said he did sleep from 4-5am this morning...and that equals one miserable Grumps :(  I wish I could make it better for him.  I wish I could tell him it's going to get easier.  But I can't.  It's part of the "game."  One that has to be played to live.  So, dammit.  He's going to muscle through it.  And I know he will be okay. 

And thank you to those of you I'm lucky enough to call friends...those who have been consistent checking in on my Dad.  With me.  Asking about his treatments, and how we're all doing.  It means a lot, and I appreciate the support.  It's a tough time.  One I don't wish on anyone.  Keep those prayers rolling in!  We're looking forward to celebrating BIG TIME in February, when this shit, and I do mean shit, is over.