I've resisted the temptation to blog on unremittingly bad bouts of pessimism. You see, there hasn't been much to be optimistic about lately. I've been fairly happy, spending time with Amanda and Alastair, but things just haven't been good for a while.
Amanda's typical neutropenic fever didn't happen typically. Usually she gets hit hard by the chemo about 8 days after getting home, and then at day 10 gets pulled back into the hospital with a fever, and stays there for 3 days. Well, this time she's just been bed-ridden on and off for about 2 weeks. Last Monday she went in for an overnight to get an extra dose of the biologic element of her last chemo, and she's been fighting nausea and and lethargy ever since. She's hardly eating, losing weight, and the random bleeding continues.
Yeah, I'm officially worried. I've told her I'm going to start marshalling her: forcing her to eat on time and to consume reasonable portions or switch to a liquid protein diet.
A couple of weeks ago Alastair brought a wonderful case of bronchitis into the house, and the three of us have been passing it around liberally. He and I are mostly done with it, but Amanda seems to be getting worse and worse, often coughing to the point of gagging, and this morning coughing so hard she couldn't breathe.
Now it turns out my stepmother has shared in the delectable soup of bronchitis, as has Amanda's mother. Both have sought medical treatment, and in the case of my stepmother, the test revealed a spot on her liver that may well be cancerous.
Good news all around.
So I've been reluctant to say anything. Generally I like to temper the bad news with some glimmer of hope, but frankly I'm not seeing one.