Saturday, July 18, 2009

Today's our 22nd wedding anniversary






Peg and I were joking this morning by phone about our "romantic getaway," visiting in a hospital. There will be time enough for us to celebrate properly.  But on this day it's good to remember that Peg is on her way to recovery, our marriage is strong, and we have a beautiful daughter and cherished friends and family.  

I thought you'd enjoy seeing some of our wedding photos.  We got married in a fever, hotter than a pepper sprout (no, sorry, that's a line from an old Johnny Cash song).  We got married in the outdoor courtyard of a little French restaurant in Denver.  Peg's friend Gail's husband was a Methodist minister, so we asked him to perform the ceremony, although neither of us are Methodists.

Our wedding cake was a pyramid.  I fabricated the bottom layer out of foam core, and the support shelves from Plexiglas.  The woman who baked the cake estimated that the bottom layer alone would have fed 200 guests, and we only had 110, so she frosted what was essentially an upside down box.  That's Margie, Peggy's maid of honor, on the right. 

We took the photo of our wedding rings a few days after the ceremony, hiking at 11,000 feet in Peg's beloved Rocky Mountains.  I think it says a lot about our new life together.  Hold hands. Aim high.  And breathe.

Friday, July 17, 2009

Day 3 (the great escape)

By the time Security caught up with her, she was halfway across the parking lot, sprinting behind her IV cart, hospital gown flapping in the wind...

Just kidding.  Too hot for that anyway (93 degrees at 8pm).  But she's got a lot of energy.  Zoë and I motored around the hospital hallways with her tonight.  She's tethered to an IV stand, but it doesn't slow her down a whole lot.  She slings it into the bathroom, shoved it aside to retrieve a dropped pen, and is adept at maneuvering it around the tight space between her bed, the wheeled table-thingy that swings over the bed, and the sofa-bed against the wall.

My moment of Zen: when we arrived, Peg was sitting in the chair, eating dinner, with the IV cart coincidentally parked in front of her as if she were watching a TV show instead of a glowing digital readout.

I asked if she'd watched any TV (the only show we watch at home is The Daily Show with Jon Stewart, about twice a week).  She said she tried out the remote and got stuck on a weird hospital channel with nonstop video of a fish tank with horribly bland "uplifting" music, which she imagined must be one of the punishments inflicted in hell. Have you ever seen Kenny G and Satan in the same room?  Think about it.

Dr. "B," her oncologist, is on call this weekend, so if Peg needs anything, her own doc will be there.  Big fan of Dr. Bobolis.

Tomorrow and Sunday Zoë will be in Woodland (about an hour from here) at Swim League Championships.  I will be catching up on three weeks of postponed client projects.  And our sweet Peggy will be mentally plotting her escape from the Joint.  She'll be home a week from today.

Day Two (part 2)

It took five hours last night to finish the chemo drip, but by 11pm they were done and Peg had a good night's sleep.

She asked that when Zoë and I come out that we bring some 14 gauge wire, wire cutters and pliers.  She wants to make an armature for a sculpture made of Sculpey (colored clay that hardens in the oven).  As anyone who's seen her little creations knows, she's really got a gift for it.

Thursday, July 16, 2009

Day Two (part one)

Don't freak out-- this is not a photo of Peg's setup, just some weird thing I snagged off the Web. Her IV drip has three dispensing units contained in a gizmo the size of eight lunchboxes lashed together, about four feet off the floor on a six-wheeled stand.  It weighs a lot.  But Peg pushes it down the hallways for exercise, and pulls it into the bathroom sans assistance.  She's determined to do as much for herself as she can.  Peg's no weenie.

Today, at her request, we brought her an art box with Sculpey and tools, a sketch pad and colored pencils, and a portable DVD player with assorted chick flicks (her beloved "Pride and Prejudice," "Sliding Doors," and "Shakespeare In Love").  

As I write this, she's getting the second infusion of chemo, which is a direct chug-a-lug into her abdomen.  She'll lie on her back for a couple of hours, shifting positions every fifteen minutes. This is where the rubber meets the road, or more accurately, where the chemo meets the tumors the surgeon felt he couldn't remove safely during the surgery.

Needless to say, we won't miss the little bastards.

Wednesday, July 15, 2009

Day One

Today starts a chapter in Peg's recovery that's a whole 'nother animal.  She's off to a good start.

She was admitted at 8:30 this morning to Sutter Roseville Medical Center, a beautiful state of the art facility about ten miles from our house.  We immediately took to the staff, and we all started making bets on how much fluid would be drawn out of Peg's swollen belly (the associate nurse nailed it at 3.5 liters; the rest of us guessed 4 to 5).  

About 11 she had the portacath put in (the tube that goes from her collarbone area to just above the vena cava, the main artery just above the heart).  She says that went really smoothly.  She was on "twilight" anesthesia, where she was fully conscious but relaxed.  They did the paracentesis right afterward, to Peg's great relief.  Buh-bye, one and three quarters Pepsi bottles worth of abdominal fluid.

At 5pm they started the 24-hour chemo drip.  She's on Benadryl, so she thought she'd just doze tonight and be up for visitors in the morning.  Tomorrow afternoon at 4:30 or 5:00 they'll do a fast infusion through her abdominal port, which will last for about two hours.

Once again, Peg has excellent care, only this time in cushier digs.  Mercy San Juan, where she had the surgery, is like the U.S.S. Enterprise, the WW2 aircraft carrier.  Sutter Roseville is like the U.S.S. Enterprise 1701-D from "Star Trek: The Next Generation."  Mercy was built in the 50's; the wing Peg's in is a year old.

If you can consider being in a hospital getting cancer treatments "normal," tomorrow should be a pretty normal day for Peggy.  She's got a lot of energy, her eyes are bright and her snarky sense of humor is very present.  Friday is a crap shoot in terms of how willing/able she'll be to receive calls and visitors.  She'll let me know what she needs... and I'll let you know.  I read all the blog comments to her, which she enjoys.  If you have trouble commenting (as I know some folks have) just email me and I'll get them to her that way.

Tuesday, July 14, 2009

Chemotherapy starts tomorrow morning

About to get on the roller coaster.  Keep your hands and feet inside the ride at all times.

At the rate Peg's filling back up with fluid, her oncologist wants to start right away to avoid getting in a cycle of having to do a paracentesis (draining fluid from her abdominal cavity) every few days. As the chemotherapy attacks the tumor cells, her body will start producing less and less excess fluid.

Peg says she's ready.  Chemotherapy is no picnic, but she's looking forward to getting past this phase in her treatment and doing what all dragonflies do: change, grow and take on a new phase of life.

Chemotherapy goes in three week long series.  There will be six of them, about 4 1/2 to 5 months total.  Days 1 and two she's hospitalized overnight, then comes home.  Day 8 she's hospitalized overnight again.  Days 9-21 she's recuperating at home; the last 10 days here she'll probably be able to do fairly normal activities (like we've ever been normal...).  Then the treatment cycle starts over again.

The first 24 hours is a slow IV drip of one kind of medication.  She'll also have a paracentesis done tomorrow, so she'll be a lot more comfortable.  She can walk around, visit and sit in a chair if she likes. They'll insert a "portacath" near her collarbone that will stay there for the entire course of treament.  She already has an abdominal port that was placed during her surgery. Thursday they will introduce chemo through that port directly into her abdomen and through the portacath, and for that she'll be sedated to keep her comfortable.  Friday or Saturday she'll probably come home.

They'll be monitoring her constantly and carefully for nausea, and are ready to keep that to a minimum with increasing levels and types of medications, which is another reason she needs to be hospitalized.

Her hospitalization will be different than what she just went through, so her needs will be different.  Probably won't need the overnight care that was so important for her recovery from surgery.  We don't know at this point when she'll want or need regarding visitors or phone calls. I'll have wi-fi access at the hospital and will update the blog as things unfold.  Stay tuned... thanks.

Sunday, July 12, 2009

Taking a breather in the garden



We've let the vegetable garden slide lately (which is how we ended up with a zucchini the size of a Louisville Slugger).  Our friends Gordon and Candence spent this afternoon toiling mightily to get it dialed back in, and it looks so much better. Thought y'all would enjoy seeing how it's coming along... hard to believe in April it was nothing but walls, dirt and weeds.

We've got strawberries, duh-maters (tomatoes, for those of you not from Nebraska), patapan squash, crook neck squash, zucchini, eggplant, taters, carrots, cucumbers, melons, bell peppers, jalapeno peppers, basil, pole beans, an herb garden and a lemon tree. There's a solitary volunteer sunflower, and small birds sit on the leaves close to the stem and peck at every part of the leaf but the veins.  We're scratching our heads over that one. No bugs on the leaves-- they're gobbling the green stuff.

Peg felt well enough to hang out a bit with the gardening crew, and she seems stronger and sharper every day.  We enjoy taking walks in the morning and evening, and she's not wiped out following exercise like she was a few days ago.