Thursday
Chad was quiet. He responded to my questions minimally, if at all.
He was sleeping most of the time I was visiting with him, so I didn’t feel I could accurately gauge how he was doing.
He did seem to have problems holding his head up and keeping his eyes open.
I called to check on him last night, and was told he was still quiet, resting comfortably.
Earlier in the week, I discussed his current medications.
His seizure medication, Depakote, was being administered rectally. That same day (I think), it was switched to an oral syrup. Turns out, the pill wasn’t being effectively dissolved – and Chad wasn’t receiving much medication. I’m shocked that he didn’t have a seizure.
The syrup was the next solution, but he had some difficulties taking it at first.
It’s thick and reminds me of cough syrup. He chokes on it regularly, so the nurses give it to him in small doses with sips of water in between. Sometimes, he takes all 10mL. Sometimes, not.
Friday
My mom is back at home as of this morning, so I am able to spend a little more time with Chad.
He’s been asleep today, for the most part. He has had a few periods of alertness, mostly because of pain.
He is restlessly moving his legs this afternoon, but he’s still not talking.
When I ask him a question, he usually just stares of into space with no emotion or facial expression present.
He is still refusing food, but has been drinking pretty darn well.
I am still so shocked to see his physique change so drastically.
Each day, he seems thinner and thinner to me.
His calves are skeletal.
His thighs are not much bigger than his calves.
And his chest and back. Oh, dear.
I can see his spine. Ribs. Clavicle.
His cheekbones are starting to look like razorblades – so sharp.
His eyes are sunken.
I just have a hard time seeing him this way.
I knew it would be hard. I knew it would be worse than I could have imagined it to be.
But this? I don’t even have the words to describe how much it stings.
My strong, able-bodied husband has been reduced to nothing — by cancer.
I hate, despise, abhor you, Cancer.
—
Tomorrow is the walk for Hospice — and I’m happy to announce that we shattered our fundraising goal of $1,500.
I don’t have a final amount at this moment, but it is well over $2,000.
Thank you — sincerely — to everyone who donated, registered or helped get the word out.
We are going to have an amazing day tomorrow.
And just so you know — $2,000 helps take care of a patient at Hospice of Wake County for 13 days.
Thirteen days! We’ve given someone comfort for nearly two weeks.
Being in the trenches, I can tell you that a weight is immediately lifted from my shoulders knowing that Chad is receiving the best possible care — made possible by so many caring, kind people. And teamLANFORD is doing that for at least one other family here at HOWC. It’s an amazing feeling to have a small part in giving back when others have so generously given to us.
Thank you.
Thank you.
Thank you.