Today has been remarkably nice. I haven't had a Saturday off for a few weeks and not having to set the alarm last night felt nice. Cole and I went to the store and stopped by work for my schedule. He was extraordinarily pleasant to be out in public with.
Eddy's car water pump went out over a week ago and he's yet to receive his parts to fix it. Today he tore it down so that when the parts come he'll be able to jump right in to the installation. I brought him lunch home from Wendy's and not even an hour later he was throwing up and stuff. And by "and stuff" I mean pooping. It is past 11pm and he still is sick. He barfed in this wood garbage basket I have up in our bedroom, I could barely put it in a plastic bag to go out to the trash without puking myself. He's gonna hafta buy me a new one. He's burning up too. Hopefully he'll feel better soon. I've been very productive with him being sick, I cleaned out our pantry, did the dishes, laundry, etc. He'll be happy when he can finally manage to make it downstairs.
I think I'll watch some stuff from the DVR and then go to bed, on the couch. I just cannot bring myself to sleep next to potential throw up and diarrhea. Poor guy. I love him, just not his bodily fluids. If I had a bell I'd give it to him to ring if he needed anything. But I don't. That makes my apprehension to sleep by him a little less mean, right?
Oh, at Walmart today this woman came up to me, put her hand on my shoulder and spoke in an onion-y smelling voice. She said something about me having two kids, her not able to have any because of scoliosis and mental delays, etc. I just grinned and nodded and kept repeating "thanks!" Her breath was horrid. I'm pretty sure she was admiring my little family, but MY GOD she smelled. Anyway.
Love to my peeps.
Saturday, March 21, 2009
Thursday, March 19, 2009
A title does not come to mind...
Today kind of sucked and kind of didn't. It started out yucky with Eddy being a little bitchy at me. See his car is broken down at the moment, we are sharing a vehicle, and somehow this makes me the problem. But I rationalized with him and he saw the screaming bright white light and, POOF, wasn't a moron anymore. I can't handle it when people are not nice for a bad and/or no reason. It makes me MAD. I'm like, "Stop being mean!" But not in a pleading sort of way, more in a threatening to stomp your toe type of way. Good thing we had to share a car and weren't in the same place or he would have a hurt toe right now.
Dad had to go the doctor's office today for another CT scan and stress test. They are now saying that his asthma may be a problem in participating in the Interleukin trial. The scan and stress test shall determine. Two months post diagnosis and he still has yet to have any sort of treatment. And now what he's been waiting to do may not happen?! My mom sounds on edge and I pity the fool that crosses her next. It feels really helpless at the moment. We go out for a visit in a little over a week. I just don't know what to expect...
Work was fun today. As usual!
And I leave you with this:
"There is no off position on the genius switch." - David Letterman
Dad had to go the doctor's office today for another CT scan and stress test. They are now saying that his asthma may be a problem in participating in the Interleukin trial. The scan and stress test shall determine. Two months post diagnosis and he still has yet to have any sort of treatment. And now what he's been waiting to do may not happen?! My mom sounds on edge and I pity the fool that crosses her next. It feels really helpless at the moment. We go out for a visit in a little over a week. I just don't know what to expect...
Work was fun today. As usual!
And I leave you with this:
"There is no off position on the genius switch." - David Letterman
Wednesday, March 18, 2009
Current events
I'd say the most prominent, thinking time user-upper in my life right now is my dad. He, being the strongest, most reliable, knowledgeable, insightful, and loving person in my life, has been diagnosed with cancer. Renal cell carcinoma. That is kidney cancer. He is in the IV stage of IV stages and it has metastasized to his lymph nodes and encompasses a big vein (can't remember the name).
A month ago a doctor gave him 6 months to live without any treatment and up to 18 months to live with a drug that only promises to slow down the progression of cancer. A week ago he was approved to join a clinical trial using Interleukin-21, a possible cure. All other patients in the trial have had a nephrectomy (the removal of the kidney), but due to the cancer being spread out near his veins, surgery would be highly dangerous. So he is truly the guinea pig in this trial within a trial. The outlook is not wonderful, but he seems hopeful and ready to give it a go. He'll be in the hospital receiving the treatment for one week, two weeks off at home. Rinse and repeat. After two treatments they will scan the tumor and if it has shrunk, will continue. If it hasn't he will be put on the drug that slows the progression of the cancer and we will watch him go, something I never comprehended as even possible. The clinical trial will be no fun, the doctor told him to expect to feel as though he is experiencing the worst flu symptoms ever.
In the course of a the couple months that this has been revealed I have denied, cried, feared, and attempted to plan around all possibilities. What makes me feel even more jumbled is being in Idaho, 700+ miles from him. Trying to figure out a way to move my family, sell the house, and remain employed is more than overwhelming.
He has become, in my thinking, this fragile and sad story, this weak and scared person. Those are words I thought I'd never be able to use to describe my dad. I love him more than I could ever explain. I am terrified that I will not be able to remember his voice once he dies and have taken to saving all of his voice mails. My grandma died 5 years ago and I can't remember her voice. It is like a distant memory hanging off of a single neuron in my brain and I can't grasp it, although there is some sort of tasteless aftertaste of her voice, maybe the insistence in my mind that I couldn't have possibly forgotten. That makes me feel ridiculously guilty.
I know that people lose and die every day. But somehow my situation is selfishly more important and painful than anyone else's. I am scared to hug him, not sure what to say, and this is all new and somewhat incomprehensible.
A month ago a doctor gave him 6 months to live without any treatment and up to 18 months to live with a drug that only promises to slow down the progression of cancer. A week ago he was approved to join a clinical trial using Interleukin-21, a possible cure. All other patients in the trial have had a nephrectomy (the removal of the kidney), but due to the cancer being spread out near his veins, surgery would be highly dangerous. So he is truly the guinea pig in this trial within a trial. The outlook is not wonderful, but he seems hopeful and ready to give it a go. He'll be in the hospital receiving the treatment for one week, two weeks off at home. Rinse and repeat. After two treatments they will scan the tumor and if it has shrunk, will continue. If it hasn't he will be put on the drug that slows the progression of the cancer and we will watch him go, something I never comprehended as even possible. The clinical trial will be no fun, the doctor told him to expect to feel as though he is experiencing the worst flu symptoms ever.
In the course of a the couple months that this has been revealed I have denied, cried, feared, and attempted to plan around all possibilities. What makes me feel even more jumbled is being in Idaho, 700+ miles from him. Trying to figure out a way to move my family, sell the house, and remain employed is more than overwhelming.
He has become, in my thinking, this fragile and sad story, this weak and scared person. Those are words I thought I'd never be able to use to describe my dad. I love him more than I could ever explain. I am terrified that I will not be able to remember his voice once he dies and have taken to saving all of his voice mails. My grandma died 5 years ago and I can't remember her voice. It is like a distant memory hanging off of a single neuron in my brain and I can't grasp it, although there is some sort of tasteless aftertaste of her voice, maybe the insistence in my mind that I couldn't have possibly forgotten. That makes me feel ridiculously guilty.
I know that people lose and die every day. But somehow my situation is selfishly more important and painful than anyone else's. I am scared to hug him, not sure what to say, and this is all new and somewhat incomprehensible.
The inaugural address
I've started a few blogs, lost interest, deleted them because the thoughts and topics were so varied, odd, even absurd. This is my new, free therapy, and I am newly committed. Maybe it will also succeed in being entertaining, and I can also feel important.
Brief introduction:
I am 27. I frequently forget my age. I hate bad spelling and will be ashamed if anyone finds it on this blog. I struggle with trusting people and initially hate most people. But I smile and people never catch on. I am a parent of two, a girlfriend of one, friend to a small circle, and a relative to quite a few. I don't feel that my outwardly appearance accurately reflects who I am. But who I am changes somewhat frequently. I chose my blog title of "Compartmental" because it not only represents a moment in my life that I was at a loss for a word and used a big confusing one, but because I have many mental compartments and I'm kind of mental. But who and what is truly normal? I think people like me for the most part. I think I am a genuine person. I should not necessarily be classified as a good person.
As this blog continues I will further elaborate, but I feel like this is a pretty accurate baseline description of me.
Brief introduction:
I am 27. I frequently forget my age. I hate bad spelling and will be ashamed if anyone finds it on this blog. I struggle with trusting people and initially hate most people. But I smile and people never catch on. I am a parent of two, a girlfriend of one, friend to a small circle, and a relative to quite a few. I don't feel that my outwardly appearance accurately reflects who I am. But who I am changes somewhat frequently. I chose my blog title of "Compartmental" because it not only represents a moment in my life that I was at a loss for a word and used a big confusing one, but because I have many mental compartments and I'm kind of mental. But who and what is truly normal? I think people like me for the most part. I think I am a genuine person. I should not necessarily be classified as a good person.
As this blog continues I will further elaborate, but I feel like this is a pretty accurate baseline description of me.
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