Thursday, June 30, 2016

June 30, 2016

Wake up on a beautiful Pacific Northwest Summer morning with a mission: Get Randy's Chemo Port. Routine Stuff. I have one. We'll be the Wonder Twins. It'll be awesome. Not really. But...ya know...I gotta keep moving forward.

Thank you boys for rolling with it. I know you're tired because you played so hard at the lake yesterday for 5 hours.

Thank you Stacie for coming over at 7:10 am and watching the boys. You are my rock.

Thank you mom and dad for teaching me to drive so many years ago so I could get him to OMC safely.

Thank you Stef for calling me at 10:20 am and telling me Randy seized on the table. That I needed to get to the hospital right away because he seized. Fuck. RIGHT? GIVE ME--GIVE US--A BREAK!!!!

Fuck you cancer. I. Hate. You. 

Thank you Christine for taking the boys, no questions. I love you. Always.

Thank you boys for moving quickly. Getting dressed, shoes on, and out the door at 10:30 am. I don't know if they brushed their teeth, I recognize at 9:12 pm. 

Up the hill...into the mountains...beautiful sun shining Northwest day. Snow. Glaciers. Hurry.

June 30th. Vicki's birthday. I've known her 30 years this coming September. And the last day that medical marijuana is legal in the great state of Washington...? Yes. Because we the people made a mistake in November when we voted to change that. What were we thinking. Please change it back.

Christine meets me with the printer paper I asked for because I forgot his binder. I love you boys. Be good. Have fun!

Dropped off, down the hill, straight shot to the hospital. Stacie in the parking lot. Collapsed in a heap. "Why can't one thing be easy? Whey can't we be average?! I want to be average Stace. I don't want to be Wonder Woman. Why can't my family be normal?" I don't know, she said. My amazingly funny rock solid woman sisterfriend the epidemiologist does not know. And if she doesn't know...then I'm kinda fucked. 

Deep breaths. Walking. Crying. Moving. Head up. Look north. The sea. The sun. The seagulls. Inside. Stef helps. Always beautiful and smiling (and awesome eyebrows), Stef. Finds his nurse and she tells us: Room XXX (not really, but I'm not gonna publish his room number you guys, seriously.)

Up the elevator one flight. Because my knees won't hold me. Not today. I'm too He fucking seized. wobbly.

Down the hall. Stacie knows the way because she's worked there for over a decade. On the right. Water side. Windy. White caps in the harbor. Mount Baker in the distance. Canada. Let's go! Remember when we wanted to move to Holland? And open a coffee shop-hot wings-brothel all under one roof? Luis was gonna be the bouncer. Right? That woulda been awesome, you guys. 

He's awake. And he's pissed.

Not at you. At the situation. At the disease. 

Fuck you cancer. I. Hate. You. 

Blank looks. Lost. With each other.

What happened? They don't know.

How do you feel? I'm fucking pissed.

Does Rob know? Yes. He's already been in.

MRI. Transport takes him away. Stace and I go to the cafeteria for lunch. Nothing. No appetite. Salad bar. Sunflower seeds are protein. Laura. They tag teamed me. Stace leaves. Laura and I go up when I'm done. He's not back. Collapsed in a heap. "I had my kids too late in life." Don't, she says, we have our kids when we have them. Stop. Because they will remember going to the lake. They will remember the fun times. They will be more compassionate men. We need more of that in the world.

The MRI shows there are spots that don't typically show up until a person is in their 60's or 70's and a smoker or a diabetic. Well...he's not that or that or that. THE FUCK!?!?!?

Start talking about transport to Swedish. Calling The Man ENT. Calling Neuro. Spinal tap. EEG. Keppra. Holiday weekend. He'll likely head over late tonight. Wait. What? Fuck. 

Fuck you cancer. I. Hate. You.

Bonnie walks in. All is right in the world for a split second because Bonnie is there.

What about Abby? Who's gonna watch Abby? Call the kennel. Call the Vet. Stace and Bonnie will collaborate. They'll take care of her. Stacie stayed with Randy while Bonnie and I go to my house.
We hit the parking lot. Collapsed in a heap. Again. And again. And again. I'm scared. I'm so scared. He's gotta live. He's only 48. Is his cancer so aggressive it's already spread to his brain?  

Fuck you cancer. I. Hate. You.

At my house to pack everything the boys will need for who knows how long. Meds. All of them. Ice cream. Both kinds. Wet suits. Swim trunks. 3 each: shorts, shirts, boxers, socks. Crocs. Bread. Think she's got room in her fridge for 1/2 watermelon? Gotta get their doboks because they're walking in the parade for Hapkido on Monday. 

To Christine's. Up into the mountains. Beautiful Pacific Northwest summer day. Hurry.

Boys, I need to go. Again. I'm sorry. I don't know how long you'll be here. Be good. Please help. Be a good listener. Good report. Yes you can do the computer when we get home. I love you both. Love your brother. Stick together. Thank you because I love you too.
Down the hill. Again. Up the elevator. Again. 

Fuck you cancer. I. Hate. You. 

Laura. Tag teamed with Stacie. They switched on him. It's all good. Thankful neither of us was alone for very long today.

Different energy. Goodness. Positiveness. The Neurologist at Swedish looked at the MRI and while he needs to be seen in Seattle, it's not urgent.

But the spots on his brain. And he had a grand fucking maul seizure. What about that!?!?

We'll know more once we talk to The Man ENT, and since Randy's going to see him on Wednesday, we'll see if they can do an EEG at that point.

What about the chemo port? 

We'll see if The Man ENT can put one in when he's there.

Goddamnit. I asked him to do that. Nobody ever fucking listens to me. And the spots on your brain? 

I don't know, but it's not cancer because it didn't light up like cancer does on an MRI.

I bet their petechiae scars from when you had staph endocarditis in December 2004.

So he's not going to Seattle tonight. And you're not going tomorrow. Good stuff.

Yup. Good stuff. 

And the house is quiet.

Horribly quiet.

As much as I feel like they're killing much as stress as they much as I feel like I'm going fucking crazy...I need my boys home. 

So can we please just stop with all of this. 

I need, my family needs, a little mercy. 

Please universe?


No comments:

Post a Comment