Not What I Expected

May 14, 2008

When I went to bed last night, I had calmed myself considerably. I accepted that Erin's news, though unwanted, was not unexpected. Parents in relapsed NB-land have a talent for living their life while waiting for the other shoe to fall. We didn't have a concrete plan yet, but I reminded myself that we had more options to choose from than we did three years ago when Erin relapsed. I knew I would sleep well. A restless night on Monday, followed by a long and psychologically draining day at clinic, rush hour drive time, and those three glasses of wine almost guaranteed it.

Sleep came quickly and lasted until 2:14, when Erin's hand gentled me from my dreams with the news that she didn't feel well. I figured back pain had waked her and that she needed a massage and some cuddling. I had it partially right. Her back did hurt, but it didn't take me long to adjust my perspective. What convinced me? the vomit. Erin spent most of the next eight hours cycling between the sofa, the toilet, and Walter's big green chair (normally green, not stained green). We've had such an easy go the past few years that it took until sunrise to remember that I had a cache of zofran (the miracle anti-puke) drug stashed away for just such occasions. She managed to hold the second one I gave her down long enough for it to do the trick. An hour later she kept a tylenol down and an hour after that her celebrex. With the barfies and the back pain under control, she caught a nap around noon and woke a refreshed woman. A quick call to her nurse, Beverly, at UPA confirmed that this virus was a come-and-go type and that she was most likely "done" with it by mid afternoon. Whew!

The whole experience was surreal. . .sort of a realistic preview of any heavy chemo option that we might choose. If we need to follow that routine we will, but I think we lean towards finding a path more similar to the one we've followed so far: minimize the amount of time away from school (Erin's first priority) and maximize the amount of time she feels well (Erin's fourth priority). For the record, when we asked her, she said her second priority was for it not to be too much of a burden (her words). I asked her whether she meant a burden to us or to her, and she said to her, but that she didn't want it to be a burden to us either. How could I dare tell her that I wouldn't consider it a burden to cut off my right arm and drink the blood if it would cure her?

Since Erin didn't go to school, I stuck pretty close to her side, venturing away, whenever I could to check the e-mail and see if Dr. Russell had started answering the questions I had barraged her with last night and early this morning. You're probably a whole lot more disciplined that I am, but I can tell you that checking mail every seventeen seconds does not make it arrive any faster. In fact, it wasn't until around 2:00 when Tracy Ash called to check on us, that I learned that Wednesdays are Dr. Russell's day off. Well, it's not what I expected, but it's a more palatable explanation than any of the other dozens of others that I had considered to explain why she wasn't responding.