Superwoman

As a complement to the man of steel, Supergirl was his equal. She could leap tall buildings, stop a locomotive and all the good stuff. People are not quite like that.

Feeling a bit better, she decided to try a bit of work. It is good for the psyche and adds purpose to a life, right? So off she went for a bit of work. Monday was good with a three hour stint. Everyone was glad to see her and she had a number of well wishers. It was good for the soul.

Tuesday, still feeling fine she went off for the next round promptly at 8:00. I called around noon. I got voice mail. Finally around 12:30 I get a call.

"Are you alright?"

"I'm fine. I feel good and its okay."

"You sure? You wouldn't lie to me about this? You still need to take it easy."

"I'm fine, come and get me around 2:00."

Two o'clock came and I picked her up. She was fine but tired and that night she slept like a log. Wednesday she stretched it and Thursday the same. I was not happy but it is her decision. She is not my "patient" and I am not her "nurse". I do however have to deal with her decisions.

Wednesday night our son decided to get drunk, not just a few beers but snot slinging drunk. Drooling drunk, rubber legs and I can't walk drunk. Coming home from the bar he fell down the stairs and was loudly raving. I was up, he was down, his mother was up and worried. Sleep was denied. Finally after a long battle with a drunk and weepy moose calm returned. A few hours later we were up. Thursday, work started late for everyone but work she did. Chemo round two loomed Friday. Picking her up Thursday she looked tired and worn. A meeting dragged on for 3 hours! I had a boss who would hold meetings in a room with no chairs and no A/C everyone was given 15 minutes to state their case and the entire agenda was completed in less than 2 hours for a large hotel staff.

Friday came and chemo starts at 12:30. Work began at 9:00. I promised to be there at 12:30 and I was. She was sitting in the easy chair recliner and looked weak and drained and nauseous. I found out that she had thrown up on Thursday and did not tell me and had thrown up today. Her staff took her down to the infusion center and they were administering fluids and electrolytes to get her up to the point they could perform chemo. I was a bit upset.

"Look superwoman, you have to slow down."

"I know."

"You can't work at the same pace as before."

"I know, I know." (Obviously trying to blow me off.)

"It doesn't do anyone any good if you are here sick and unable to work. You can't even get treatment! What do you think you are doing?"

"I'm going to sleep now."

Chemo normally lasts two hours. Friday took five.

Hats

The hats came. She opened the box and looked at them along with the scarves. She played around with them - a ball cap, a beret, a scarf and a winter hat. The girls looked at them and sat on the bed with her looking at the hats, commenting, admiring and playing with them. Then she put them up on the doll case that faces our bed. There they sat, staring down at us and a reminder of the things to come. The haircut came next and it was cute and short, a perfect summertime hairdo. It fit her and made her look up-to-date and feminine, not 20 but not 50 and not stuck in the '70s.

It started slowly, and we saw small amounts on the pillows and in the drain. Then we noticed that her pyjama top had more every morning. It is now everywhere. Her hair is falling out rapidly and completely. The hats are a help in public but at home it is hard as they sit and stare and the hair just falls like rain.

It is amazing how much of our identity is tied to our appearance. Yes, I know that is obvious but it is the obvious things that are making such impact. Our youngest child said that now Mommy's hair looks just like Daddy's. That resulted in both laughter and tears.

The good thing is that it means the chemo drugs are working and you get to buy more hats.

Of Straws and hope

We have certain milestones that give us hope and we look for them much as ancient wizards read runes and looked for signs in the heavens. We try to divine them and look for meaning in them as a sign of hope of things to come. One such sign came into our lives.

At the beginning of treatment the Oncologist said that the primary tumor "fed" the smaller tumors in the bone and that by killing the primary and drying up all the estrogen in her body, we would get rid of the ones affecting her bones. One particularly nasty tumor is lodged on her spine and is eating away at the bone material on her spine. This of course has caused extreme pain. It affected her walk and caused so much pain that we had to use a wheelchair as she could not walk.

We had the usual assortment of pain killers - morphine, Oxycontin, percocet. They would mask part of the pain and she could walk with a rocking gait, dragging her right leg along as much as employing it. Every step was painful and you cold see it in her face. Climbing even the smallest stair step was arduous. It was shear pain in action.

Last week she walked towards the car and I noticed that she had a smoother but still rolling gait. She also was not grimacing as she took steps.

"Hey, you're walking better." I said. "How do you feel?"

"It doesn't hurt as much. I can walk a bit better.", she replied.

I waited and watched as the next several days went by. Each day I looked to see if she was moving easier and more fluidly, normally. It appeared she was and each day I told her and asked if she was feeling better. Every day the reply was the pain is better, much better.

Saturday she said she was pain free and not taking pain meds.

I look into my crystal ball, throw bones and divine the signs. Perhaps I am grasping at straws, perhaps things are getting better.