A Rugged Saturday

The ocean waves are rhythmically crashing outside the window. I *should* probably be out walking on the beach, but instead I am lying in bed at the hotel because I feel like crap. We are here to pick Karissa up from camp. Three weeks gone already!

Yesterday was physical therapy, and Malia left, and I had radiation treatment #23.  The day started out slowly. The effects of treatment build up through the week, so Friday mornings aren't great. It was hard to see Malia leave, too. Like Nancy and Mary and Natalie, she has made such a difference for us. It is like magic. The dishes get into and out of the dishwasher. The laundry gets washed and dried and put away. The chicken bucket and compost bucket get emptied.

In the evening I had my first bout of bad behavior. I passed out. Kelly ended up yanking the whole trach out. It is a strange sensation. I can hear him call my name. I can feel him shaking me, but I cannot get enough oxygen to respond. It was a long night of coughing, gooping, and swelling. Not very restful.

As I mentioned above, I woke up this morning feeling like crap. I was covered in goop and my right eye was swollen shut.  My shoulders are screaming. My neck is completely locked down, to the point I can barely lift my head. Not fun.

We are going to the coast today so I feel like I should get up and get going. Except I can't. Moving hurts. It takes me the better part of an hour just to drag myself out to the table to eat.

While eating, I faint again. Again, I can hear Kelly calling me and shaking me, but I absolutely cannot respond. Kelly pulls out the entire trach, but it is stuck, or was, stuck down to my neck by all the goop. The pain, and the clear airway, bring me around.

After all this oxygen deprivation, I am shocky. Freezing cold. Can't think straight. Kelly bundles me into bed and gives me muscle relaxers and Motrin. Legs elevated, covered up. But I still have to think about breathing. If I stop thinking in, out, in, out, I stop. And a little voice in my head asks if this is the end. It is so easy to just stop thinking about it and let it stop. But I want to live.

I tell Kelly I am afraid if I fall asleep I will just stop breathing, so he sits next to me on the bed to watch me. Finally my neck releases a tiny bit and I can breathe and it seems like I am getting some oxygen at last. I become functional enough that I can get dressed and pack and crawl into the car.

I slept off and on in the car. Now an evening of room service, ocean sounds and cable television await to distract me from feeling so crappy.

Joel got his PET scan results. Like me, his options are becoming more limited. But there still are options. That is what we will focus on. And hope and pray for the best.

Something to think about: if there was a cure found for cancer, what would it have to cost? Using my bills, I can estimate that chemotherapy runs around $10,000 a dose. When I am at the cancer center, the chem chairs are often full. Say 15 doses a day, times $10,000 apiece. Five days a week. That doesn't figure in radiation, or doctors charges, or any other things. Eugene is a pretty small town, although it draws from a larger area. But multiply this across all the cancer centers. Cancer treatment is big bucks. How much would a cure have to cost?

Hopefully I will feel better tomorrow. We pick up our girl in the morning and I know she will be wired for sound.

Until tomorrow,

Kiara