It was Col. Mustard...in the library...with the port

Peg met with an infectious disease doc this morning, who agreed with our primary doc that her chemo port is not only the source of her infection, but probably has been for a long time. That explains why she's felt so lousy for so long.

A port goes just under the skin below her clavicle. The tube goes directly into the vena cava, the main heart artery. This is what it looks like...purple anodized aluminum. When Peg went into remission in October 2010 her first port came out, and is now in a drawer somewhere. The new port went in last May when she was re-diagnosed. She'll probably have to get another one at some point to facilitate chemotherapy.

She sounds better today and says she feels better. No word on when she's coming home, but she's up for (limited) visitation, prefaced by a phone call to make sure she's up for it. There's no way to turn off her room phone and calls can be disruptive (on top of the parade of hospital folks coming in and out the door), so if you have a hankering to call or see the Pegster get ahold of me first...thanks.

One day at a time

The flowers Peg has around our front door are waiting for her to come home, as are we.

Peg's doc is honing in on the source of her infection and the specific antibiotics to treat it. He says she'll feel much better when they get it dialed in. She was a little zoomy tonight, but I think it was fatigue...she got a shower in today, which she said was "heaven," but it zapped her.

 Zoë's been slogging through Upton Sinclair's The Jungle and has been regaling us with the gross parts (and there are sooooo many gross parts). She's been with me every time we visit Peg and is such a lively, fun kid. Tomorrow we're going to do a daddy/daughter bike ride on the American River Trail.

Peg's back in the hospital...

Day two. Thursday she went in for her first chemo since the colostomy surgery and her white cell count was up, as was her temperature. That's a "get out of chemo" card...but also a "we're admitting you so you don't get Septicimia" card. She's on wide-spectrum penicillin and an IV drip to get her fluid levels back up.

Zoë and I saw her earlier tonight and ended up picking over her food. She had some clam chowder, half a banana and part of a peach. We hoovered up the rest (beef, potatoes, cake...) Her appetite is better, but she's lost a lot of weight and has some serious catching up to do, at least 2,000 calories a day.  The goal now is to get her ass home where she can relax and recuperate.

She's not ready for visitors just yet. I've intentionally not given out her phone number...she needs to rest and any activity--even getting out of bed to sit in the chair to eat--wears her out. When she's up for it, I'll let y'all know.

Zoë goes college hunting

This was taken by her friend Olivia at Pismo Beach. She checked out Cal Poly in San Luis Obispo. "Meh" on the college, but a great trip to Morro Bay, Cambria, Pismo Beach and the Hearst Castle. Next up: UC Santa Cruz and UC Berkeley with family friends.

We've cleared out the week Zoë's off school next week and Spring Break. There's no way for Peg to travel for awhile. She gets poohed just going to the doctor.

Peg was scheduled to restart chemo today, but rescheduled for next Thursday to give herself another week to get her strength back. I think it's a good call. Her appetite is already better than it was two days ago.

The scientific curiosity known as "The Appliance"

Also one of the rejected nicknames from "Jersey Shore," although "The Situation" is certainly applicable. It's a plastic bag with a recloseable end, and a wide rubber adhesive-backed disc that fits over the stoma--that's the off-ramp from Peg's colon freeway that says, "Hello, world."

The home health nurses came out today to show us the cool tips n' tricks on how to swap out the bag, which has to be done every 3 to 5 days. Interesting little science project, because the gizmo needs to be trimmed very closely to the stoma. You have to make a template to trim the appliance. Not hugely different than when I was making model rockets in seventh grade.

Peg is getting stronger every day. Still not eating enough to play catch-up with all the weight she lost, but our motto here is "tomorrow will be better." And it is.

She's home!

Peg was discharged this afternoon and is snuggled into her favorite spot, the couch in our living room. It was sunny and 68 degrees when they wheeled her out to the car--the perfect antidote for being stuck for six days in a hospital.

She's pretty woofed, which is to be expected four days after major surgery. Last night she didn't get solid sleep after they checked her vitals at midnight. Probably best to hold off on visits and phone calls at least until tomorrow. I'll let you know when she tells me she's up for it. Right now it's sleep, sleep, sleep.

Peggy's condition

First blog entry in a year. Lot of catching up to do with this blog. I had every intention of restarting it last year, but once again, a false start; my heart just wasn't in it.

A lot has happened just in the last week. Peg wasn't feeling well--constipated, no appetite for almost a week. Then she couldn't keep food down. We got in to see Dr. Bobolis Monday and she admitted Peg to Sutter Roseville right away. Peg had a CT scan at 12:30am, and Tuesday Dr. B. consulted with Dr. DeMar (surgeon). They determined Peg had a blockage in her small intestine.

Peg had an NG tube all day Tuesday (a tube into her stomach inserted nasally that gradually removes the contents of the stomach), which had no effect on the blockage. At 10pm that night, Dr. DeMar met with Peg, Zoë and I to recommend surgery.

At 7:30 yesterday morning, Peg underwent a colostomy, which went very well. The surgery took about 40 minutes. I spoke with DeMar just afterward and he said Peg had about half the girth from the night before, and that once the anesthesia was out of her system she'd see immediate relief.

She's resting comfortably now, sitting up some and taking brief walks. There's some discomfort from the surgery and getting her system moving again, but she has as much pain medication as she needs. Her room is right across from the nursing station and the staff here is wonderful. It's a single room with a convertible sofa; someone could spend the night with her but she feels well-cared for and okay by herself.

No visitors yet, and no phone calls. She just needs rest.

About two months ago, Peg's left kidney was showing signs of a tumor near the ureter that was preventing it from draining, so she had an outpatient procedure to put in a nephrostomy tube (a tube that enters the kidney from above and empties into a bag she wears on her waist). It was disappointing to learn she'd now have to have a colostomy bag as well. The upside is that she'll be able to enjoy eating again without discomfort and be able to put on the weight she's lost.

Of course, with our sick senses of humor, we had to name the bags. The urine collection bag is "Bilbo," after Bilbo Baggins from Lord of the Rings. And the feces collection bag was a no-brainer: "Newt" (Gingrich): annoying and frequently full of shit.

Peg also has a double hernia from the original surgery in 2009, which causes her a bit of discomfort, but she still walks about a half hour every day.

Her chemo regimen is working-- three weeks on, one week off. Her CA125 (cancer marker) numbers went from almost a thousand to 400 in just two months. She'll be off chemo for the next few weeks to allow her body to heal from the surgery.

I'm posting this from her room. When I get home and have access to photos, I'll start filling you in on what else is going on. Zoë drives my giant truck to school every day and loves it. She's taking all A.P. classes and aces them because she's got Peg's genes. Just started high school swim season, which will continue through the start of rec swim in May.

I'll sign off now. More to come.