A Great Gift

A family friend has given a great my family a great gift: Two sweet, strong, incredibly capable Fijian ladies have taken up residence in my childhood bedroom in my parents’ home. They are there to assist my father with whatever he needs, such as being lifted to sit up in bed (he cannot do that for himself any longer), and ancillary tasks including changing sheets and even emptying garbage, thereby relieving my mother of many mundane household duties.

The gift to me is alleviation of stress knowing my dad is being well cared for ’round–the–clock (not that my mom did anything less than a stellar job) while my mom is free of a myriad demands, small and large, and the risk of further injuring her back. My mother also will have precious and essential time to herself—which she needs at the very least to come to terms with the life–changing events we are experiencing.

My heartfelt and sincerest “Thank You!” to our benefactor!

Happy Birthday Betty! (Mom)

February 27th, is my mother’s birthday. Contrary to my general policy, I think it would be nice for my mom to hear from you today. Call her at [removed] or, preferrably, e-mail her at [removed] (click the preceding link to launch your mail program and create a mail addressed to my mom). I hope she can enjoy it for at least a few minutes.

O2 Little*

My dad requested oxygen in late November, when just climbing the stairs to his bedroom became a major exertion. For nearly three months, three green cylinders, a trolley, regulator, hoses and nose tubes languished in the corner of his bedroom. Partly because he had a temporary overall improvement after beginning chemotherapy, but also, I know, out of pride and desire not to concede to his disease. By my observations, the latter reasons sustained his abstainance for much too long.

The tanks languish no longer. In fact, within days of his first use of them, his need has grown such that, rather than periodically refilling the empties, the tanks will be summarily replaced with an oxygen concentrator machine, which will ensure a steady, unending supply.

^*For the non-scientists among you, ‘O₂’ is standard chemical notation for the oxygen we breathe.

Hisssssssss...

The onomatopoeic title of this post refers to the sound of the oxygen that finally started flowing from the several green tanks of oxygen that were delivered at the end of November. Just in the past three days, my dad completely exhausted his first cylinder and began his second. A replacement cylinder will be ordered Monday morning. Practically any activity leaves him laboring for breath.

He is mostly staying in his bed. He is still unable to eat but at least he is drinking a bit. The one possible improvement is that the swelling of his hand has visibly diminished. Though my dad said that the amount of swelling goes up and down. The cause of the swelling is still indeterminate.

Deja Vu

Hi,

I’ve posted similarly to this before but I find it good to repeat the essential information every now and then: If you want to reach me, please e-mail at [removed]. You may also call me on my cell at (1+) [removed]. Please remember I am in the United States Pacific Time (PT) zone. That’s eight to nine hours behind western Europe and a similar interval ahead of much of Asia.

I can convey messages to my parents and also advise you when it is appropriate to visit or call my parents. I would prefer that you do not call my mother as she is swamped.

Thanks,

Brian

Sisyphus

Well, maybe not even that. Whatever ground he gained during the week post the addition of an anti-nausea drug to the increasingly ponderous collection he ingests daily seemingly has been lost. He is in bed, weak and unable to eat. His hand is swollen as much as it ever was. He is afraid to be left alone, leading to my mother to try to ensure that someone is there whenever she is not. (Upon arriving at his house today, I found his babysitter to be Elizabeth Agrilla, his longtime assistant. She was taking good care of him.)

Really, there isn’t anything else to say.

Pluses and Minuses

Spirit-wise, my dad is improving. I think he’s benefiting from a new anti-nausea medication prescribed on Tuesday by Dr. Canin. He actually ate something today. For several weeks he has been eating little. My mother and I think that that is the cause of much of his chronic weakness of the past several weeks: a simple lack of adequate nutrition. Hopefully now that he is feeling better, for the first time in about a month, his appetite will return and he can begin eating his way back to relatively better health.

As it is, he is so weak that merely going upstairs to his bedroom is completely exhausting. It’s even more strenuous for him than it was in November. Moreover, he is left utterly winded. It took probably five minutes or more for him to recover after I helped him up to his bedroom this evening. In his frustration he invoked the prospective use of the oxygen that has sat in the corner of his bedroom for over two months. He also admitted to me, albeit after my coaxing, that perhaps it is at last time for him to begin sleeping downstairs, in the guest bedroom. I know he will miss his beautiful bedroom with the spectacular view of San Francisco and the Golden Gate Bridge, in which he’s slept for over thirty-five years.

Finally, his left hand continues to be swollen. Upon the recommendation of Dr. Canin, my mother has wrapped it in an Ace bandage. I guess to try to restrict further swelling and to force some of the genetive fluid out of the tissue. My father blames an infiltration of Taxol for the edema–like symptom. However, being that his last infusive chemotherapy was now more than four weeks ago, my mother, his doctor and I all are dubious of this belief. But none of us can think of any other cause. I thought it might be another bloodclot but an ultrasound proved me wrong. My mom has a follow-up call with Dr. Canin tomorrow.