fond farewell to a friend

Two weeks ago today I said goodbye to my beautiful eskie boy Sam.

Sammy

I had no idea how things would go but I knew that I wanted to be strong for him. I wanted him to have a peaceful, dignified death and I didn't want him to be frightened or upset by what was going on.  Looking back, I think that I was able to give him that.

As you know, Sam had been diagnosed with heart failure caused by a mass which was growing in his heart.  The presence of the mass was making the good part of his heart work double time, causing it to be enlarged and fluid was collecting around his heart and in his lungs. 

The little cough he had over the summer was getting worse.  On the advice of his vet, I had doubled his medication after a particularly bad night but I knew that the end was getting near.  I didn't want him to die alone, on the floor in the house somewhere, having coughed himself to death in the night.  I wanted to be there with him, holding him tight and letting him know how much he was loved. That is exactly what happened.

On his last day, he was pretty weak.  The coughing spells were getting deeper and closer together.  There were a few times when I thought that he may not make it to his 6 p.m. appointment at the vet. He made it though.  He had a whole breast of boneless chicken for his dinner that evening and, for the first time in weeks, no meds.  He wouldn't be needing them.

He was his goofy self on the drive up there.  My friend John drove as I wasn't entirely sure of how I'd be.  On the way to the vet, it was dark and a little rainy and I remember the night Sammy came home with us for the first time.  It was a dark and stormy Thursday evening too, just before Easter so we had a four day weekend to spend with our new doggy.  Seemed like a million years ago and 5 minutes had passed at the same time.

When we got to the vet, which is in a rural area, we had a little walk around so he could sniff everywhere (as Tim, another eskie guardian says, "reading the pee-mail"), leave a pee (and a poop) and do a little post-poop happy dance in the wet grass.  There were a couple of women in the waiting area when we entered the vets.  Sam was a good looking boy and there aren't very many eskies around here so as I was used to seeing, they were all over him.  He went right up to them to say hello and I told them he wouldn't be going home tonight.  Their faces just fell and I explained that he had cancer in his heart and it was time. 

I had talked to the vet and read about how the process works, he'd be given sedation, fall asleep and then be administered the drug to stop his poor, sick, heart.  The whole thing would take between 10 and 20 minutes.  Sam, of course, had other plans.  He was hopping around, standing on his hind legs for hugs, smiling and kissing me.  I smiled back and kissed him and hugged him and talked to the vet.  We got him settled and Sam was given the first shot.  He took it like a champ (it can sting I was told).  He didn't fall asleep though, not at first, not after 5 minutes, not after 15 minutes...it took my boy 40 minutes to stop fighting the sedation and fall asleep.  I think part of it was he could hear John's voice out in the waiting area and he kept turning his head toward the door.  I just held him close to me and talked and sang to him, for 40 minutes. 

I sang him all of the silly songs I made up for the dogs and told him how much I loved him, about how much all of his friends loved him, how much we would all miss him... I gave him a "punch in the head" from my brother (it was a really cute thing Patrick and Sam did together)... I talked about some of the adventures we'd had, about doggy friends and cousins who he'd known (who were gone now ...Bella, Basil, Bubbles...).  I even reminded him about the incredible super-dog, Mighty Spartacus of Massachusetts... I really don't believe in an afterlife for people but I like the idea of the Rainbow Bridge for dogs so we talked a lot about that, about how he'd see all of those dogs and Mark when he got there.  I sure hope I'm totally wrong and that place exists because Sam totally deserves a place like that. 

When it was finally over, I called John in.  We both kissed Sam goodbye and left.  I felt strangely peaceful after and I realized that it was because for the first time in weeks I wasn't worried and terrified.  Sam wasn't coughing or possibly in pain or frightened and everything I was so concerned about was over now.

The house has been weirdly quiet for the last two weeks, even with three dogs still there.  Sam was a bit of a jerk about barking and I would have to haul his butt into the house at least once a day to stop him barking at another dog in the neighbourhood who was also barking (he never started it but always wanted to end it).  Gracie was really sad and out of it the first week.  The second week was a bit stranger for her and the little girls because my roommate was away so they've been home alone while I've been at work.  She's due home this afternoon and I"m sure that those dogs won't be letting her out of their sight for a while!

While making the decision and saying goodbye to my Sammy was probably the hardest thing I've never done, I know it was absolutely the right thing to do for him.  I miss him like crazy but given what we were dealing with, I wouldn't have done it any other way. 

my heart is so heavy

I cannot believe that I have to say good bye to you, forever.

Sammy and Me

You were always my boy.  Always.  Gracie was Mark's girl and you were my boy.

You've been my constant snuggler, my seeker of tummy rubs, my elbow humper.

I love your big, beautiful, bright shining brown eyes and smile as wide as the ocean.

I'll miss your biscuit cream and white fur, the softest, sweetest smelling cotton ball fluff that attaches itself to anything and everything and caused me to invest in so many lint rollers over the years.

I absolutely cannot believe that I have to say good bye to you, forever.

Cancer is stealing you away from me, it's a fucking thief.  It took Mark already, why you too?

You don't like everyone but the folks you do connect with you love fiercely.

You absolutely love me.  Or at least you love the lady who gives you food and tummy rubs.

You are my protector, my defender, my barking jerkball at times.

How much time have I spent yelling at you and dragging your butt back into the house over the years because of your out of control barking at back yard intruders, real and imagined?

You live in the moment though so you never seemed bothered when I was upset and honestly, I couldn't stay upset at you for very long.

Sam, you were the first dog who ever owned my heart and I will love you forever.

I cannot believe that tomorrow, I will have to say good bye to you forever.

I am relieved that the medication I've been giving you has given you a good quality of life the past few weeks.

I am relieved that you're happy and oblivious to what is going on around you.

I am so delighted to see you smile and run toward me for a treat or a scratch, like you have since you were a puppy and came home with us for the first time.

I watched you last night and again this morning, from inside the kitchen, as you lay outside on the deck in your favourite spot, oblivious to the cold, enjoying your view, watching over your yard like you have done for years.

I am sorry that you're not going to see the snow again buddy.  Snow is just about your favourite thing.   You love to lay in it, eat it, run through it, roll in it, you're a regular snow boy and I almost can't believe that you're missing it this year.

Oh Sammy... my special nap buddy, my monkey bum boy, my wiggly butt guy, my stealth cookie dough stealer, my buddy and my best friend.  I love you Sam.

I love you now and will forever....my beautiful, sweet, goofy, brown eyed, fluffy butt boy.

My Sammy is sick

Sammy

Since April, Sam's had a bit of a cough on and off.  When we went to the vet for his annual checkup in April, the doctor listened to his heart and lungs and didn't hear anything irregular.  We both sort of thought it was down to Sam's seasonal allergies (he inherited that from me).  Toward the end of the summer, the cough got a bit deeper but was still pretty intermittent.

Over the past couple of weeks, it got pretty bad.  Again, the weather has been strange, windy and hot and my allergies have been bad so I sort of thought that his might be too but I was keeping a close eye on him.  We started to notice some weakness in his legs.  They would tremble sometimes and he started taking little breaks on walks.  The strangest thing was that he was off his food a bit (still ate but picked at it, only got really excited if it was something sort of smelly).

The weekend was pretty tough and I got him back into the vet yesterday.  I wasn’t sure what we were dealing with.  I thought it could be heartworm (he’s on a preventative but who knows right?), possible COPD (not uncommon in senior dogs and he’s 10 now), a flu/pneumonia or lung cancer.  It turns out that when he saw the vet, his heart was beating out of control, he had arrhythmia.  Not good.  Many dogs have heart murmurs but arrhythmia was uncommon.  Sam went for a chest x-ray and the results were alarming.  His heart his severely enlarged.  This could be caused by a couple of things:  heart disease or a malignant tumour in his heart.  If it’s heart disease, that’s treatable and if he responded well to medication, he could have some good years ahead of him.  If it’s cancer, well, that’s bad.  There is also a possibility, regardless of which thing it is, that he could die suddenly at any time due to his condition.

We were sent home with some drugs to try.  He’s taking Vetmedin (Pimobendan) which is used to manage congestive heart failure.  He's getting one 1.25 mg pill every 12 hours, one 20 mg Furosemide (similar to Lasix, treats build of fluid due to heart disease  - he presently has some fluid in his lungs that was seen on the X-ray) and one 5 mg Fortekor (benazepril hydrochloride) which is used to treat heart failure.  Next week we’ll go back for another X-ray.  They will be able to tell if the medication is helping and if it doesn’t seem to be doing anything, Sam will need an echocardiogram so we can find out if there is a growth or not.

It’s scary.  I was a mess driving home from Sydenham.  I cried pretty much all of the way home.  He’s been such a good sport.  Sam’s being great about taking his meds and is being his good old goofy self (which makes this easier and harder at the same time).  I have no idea what the next few weeks are going to be like for him (or me) but I’m going to spend as much time as possible with him while we figure out what is going on.  He can be a bit of jerk at times but he’s my jerk and I love him.  Since Mark died, he gets onto my bed every night and keeps me company.  I can’t imagine what I’m going to do without him but I’m trying not to think about that right now.

Reflections on a shitty week

I shouldn’t say that the entire week is shitty because it’s not over yet.  This leads me to wonder what next?  What other horrible news can I wake up to, tomorrow morning?  Which of my favourite musicians or actors or writers have died?  Which of my friends or relatives has been given a diagnosis of some horrible physical affliction?  Which group of innocent people who are just out in the world, trying to live their lives, will be bombed or shot at just because they are in the wrong place at the wrong time?

This week should have been good for me.  I’m getting ready to move and, for the first time since Mark died, I am feeling excited about something.  I’m looking forward, working my plan, getting things in order.  The only fly in my personal buttermilk this week was a small flu/cold bug which has slowed me down a bit this week. Stuffy noses aside, physically, I feel pretty good.

Emotionally, I’ve been all over the place.  Monday, I woke up and read that David Bowie had died.  How could he be dead?  On Friday, his birthday, I saw that he (or whoever looks after his profile) was active on Spotify, playing his new record.  He was all over the media, Angie was in the Big Brother house in the UK.  Surely this is a joke, the Onion gone mad.  Alas, it was true.  Several reputable new sources confirmed it.  My heart, once again, felt smashed.  Not broken necessary, but very badly mangled.

On Tuesday, I read Stuart Murdoch’s reflections on the death of David Bowie.  You can read it here:

http://www.belleandsebastian.com/diary/january-12th-2016-the-next-day

I left the following comment (although it looks like they don’t publish them) in response to Stuart’s great post:

Thank you for this Stuart.  Too often we do forget to count our blessings.  After we suffer a loss, we frequently focus on what is missing from our lives rather than what we once had.  Yesterday, I walked around feeling like I had been kicked in the stomach.  I lost my husband suddenly in August and learning about David Bowie's death dragged me back to those first few days after my husband died.  On very bad days, I sit on my sofa and cry and stare at the box on the mantle that his ashes are kept in.  On good days, I remind myself of how lucky we were to have had 16 years together when there are some people who never get five minutes of what we shared.  The same can be said for David Bowie.  He was always in my life, in the soundtrack of it, making me feel like I too belonged, that I wasn't alone on the planet.  You and I were lucky to have shared a part of our lives with David Bowie and we need to celebrate that once we've finished mourning.

This morning, I arrived at work and discovered that Alan Rickman, lovely, talented, amazing, best actor of all time, Alan Rickman, had died.  I was alone in my office and said aloud, “NO!” when I read it.  Again, making sure I checked several sources before believing it.  How cynical we are now that we can’t just read something in one place and believe it.  We’ve been lied to online so many times that we need to fact check everything.  I do anyway, I’m sure if you are reading this, you do that too.

The New York Times posted their obituary for Alan Rickman here:

http://www.nytimes.com/2016/01/15/obituaries/alan-rickman-dies-at-69.html

Again, I left a comment on their post which I will share here:

In the last 5 months I have lost my husband, David Bowie and now Alan Rickman to cancer. It's SUCH a thief. I have said this a lot since my 63 year old husband died suddenly in August, cancer steals those people we love from our lives. Alan Rickman had an amazing talent. I was introduced to him via "Truly, Madly, Deeply" and have followed his film career ever since. One of my favourite Rickman roles was as Metatron, the voice of god, in Kevin Smith's Dogma. If god did exist, I would imagine that her/his voice would sound like Alan Rickman's. Oh that voice... cannot imagine that it's now silenced. What a loss, for all of us. My deep and sincere sympathies to his family and friends.

Add Lemmy to the list and it’s been a bad month to be an artist of a certain age who originated from the UK who I respected and admired.  Who is next? What horrible thing will slap us in our collective faces tomorrow morning?  I’m almost afraid to find out.  I will though, wake up tomorrow to find out what it is.  As I promised myself when Mark died, I’ll continue to get up each morning and keep moving forward.  It’s not always easy but it’s something that I have to do.  Unfortunately, it’s something that David Bowie’s widow, Iman and Alan Rickman’s widow, Rima Horton will have to do too.  They, like me, have lost their lovely husbands far too son and have joined a club, a sisterhood, that they would have preferred to have never joined.  Trust me, I know I can speak for them on that because I have yet to meet a widow who was happy about it. 

Mark Leslie Collis

Mark's obituary was published in the Toronto Star and the Kingston Whig-Standard today.

COLLIS, Mark Leslie (Chef Mark) - of Kingston, age 63, died suddenly on Sunday, August 16, 2015 at Kingston General Hospital. Mark will be forever loved and missed by his wife Peggy Shanks and his beloved dogs Gracie and Sam. Mark will also be remembered affectionately by Michael and Theresa Shanks (Amherstview), Patrick Shanks and Cynthia Deveau (Ottawa), his uncle Nate Collis (Toronto), members of the Collis, Shanks and Forbes families and a large network of friends. Mark is predeceased by his wonderful parents, Joe and Ida Collis, his brother Barry Collis and his ex-wife, Mimi Braidberg. He was an exceptionally talented, classically trained French Chef working in Toronto for many years, creating delicious meals at Fenton's, Vittorio's, Zaidy's, Carlevale's and Bemelman's Restaurants. Mark opened his own restaurant in Toronto, La Bionda which was well known in the late 1980's for its open kitchen and creative cuisine. In the 1990's Mark was able to combine his passion for food with his love for music through his catering company "Touring Kitchens." Mark cooked for many of his musical heroes including Roger Waters, Dr. John, The Neville Brothers and Leon Redbone (to name just a few). By the end of the 1990's he had met Peggy, moved to Kingston and opened Ida's Kitchen. In recent years, after retiring from cooking, Mark worked as a cab driver. A celebration of Mark's life is being planned for the fall. Mark's family would like to thank all of the medical professionals who provided such excellent care to him during his illness. In particular, thank you to Dr Tu Van Banh, Dr Hugh MacDonald, Dr Sulaiman Nanji, Dr James Biagi and all of the staff at the Cancer Centre of Southeastern Ontario. As an expression of sympathy, in lieu of flowers, memorial donations to the Kingston Humane Society (http://kingstonhumanesociety.ca/) or CFRC Radio Queen's University (http://givetoqueens.ca/cfrc) would be appreciated.

Mark - Some Sad News

Hello everyone,

I know that I have spoken to some of you on the phone already but I wanted to let the rest of you know that Mark passed away earlier this morning at the Kingston General Hospital.

He'd had a pretty rough summer with his health.  It seemed to be just one thing after another.  In the last week or so, he started to exhibit symptoms that his liver was in bad shape.  We received the
results of his most recent CT scan on Wednesday, August 12.  We were told that the tumours were quite involved and they suggested that he restart chemo as soon as possible.  As soon as possible was to be tomorrow (Monday, August 17).

In his heart, I know that he really did not want to do chemo.  Because he'd been feeling so crappy though, the chemo provided a promise of relieving some his symptoms and the doctor was confident that Mark would respond well, and perhaps even be back to work by mid-September.

Last night, he was having a lot pain in his back and abdomen and was having difficulty breathing.  Mark was taken by ambulance to KGH and I know that the team there did everything that they could to help him.  They were able to get him breathing a couple of times but were not able to get his heart started again due to extremely low blood pressure.

I was told that he probably didn't experience any pain while they were treating him.  I told the doctor that Mark spent a good chunk of his life in pursuit of not feeling any pain so he would appreciate that.

I feel completely numb at the moment.  I knew that this cancer was going to kill him but I thought we'd have more time.  I also thought that when he died, it would be peaceful and I'd be there  (I stayed behind to sort the dogs out and arrived at the hospital about 40 minutes after he did - I think he died just before we arrived).

I want to thank you all so much for the love and support you've shown us during Mark's illness. He'll be cremated and a celebration of life will be held in the fall.  I'll make sure to keep you posted about that as I figure out what is happening.

While his passing his sudden and shocking, I know that Mark wouldn't want you to be sad.  Pull out your copy of Wish You Were Here or watch A Hard's Day Night and think about how much joy Mark brought to us over the years, through his sense of humour, his amazing food and his colourful stories.

I love you all, thanks again for everything.

A Cancer Story 3.0 - the saga continues

The past week has been a bit of a blur for us.  We sent this message out to our family and friends last night.

Hello everyone,

It’s taken us a full week and a bit to get our heads and hearts around some news we received last Monday, concerning Mark’s health.  Apologies for not getting this out to you all earlier, we just needed a few days to process everything.

On June 15, Mark had his six-month check up at the Cancer Clinic.  His last appointment, in December, was okay.  At that time, his liver looked good.  The chemo had done it's job.  They are also keeping a close eye on his lungs.  We were told that he had a few spots on his lungs but considering his age and the fact that he’d smoked for a long time when he was younger, spots on a lung are not too concerning.

Last week, we were hoping for status quo.  To be honest, I was a little nervous about his lungs.  Neither of us had any reason to expect that there would be any problems with his liver.  He’d had the surgery, he’d done the chemo.  All should be good right?  Wrong.  We were told that he had a grape sized tumour in his liver.  Surgery was not going to be an option this time.   Our next step is chemo, again.  This time, he’ll do a similar type of chemo (presented in a similar fashion, 2 hours in the clinic, then carrying the chemo bag for 48 hours – once every 2 weeks).  Big difference this time is that he’ll be doing it for the rest of his life.

It felt like the words “the rest of his life” were hanging in the air, like inside a bubble, in a comic book.  Mark and I looked at each other, wide eyed and frankly pretty upset and Mark asked how long that would be.  The doctor said that Mark could probably have 3 good years but 5 years good years was probably not to be expected.  Gut punch.  I just wanted to crawl under my chair and cry.  I could tell Mark wanted to do the same thing.  We had not anticipated this kind of news, never ever.  In between, we heard that he still had healthy liver tissue (good news) and his overall health is very good (they seemed surprised that he was feeling so well).  We walked out of the clinic in a fog, completely in shock.  I don’t remember much about the ride home but we were pretty upset.

Once we got home, we made a few phone calls to folks who needed to know right away.  I’m not sure that anyone even understood much of what I was saying, I was that upset on the phone.  Of course, we didn’t really sleep that night.  The next day, Tuesday, we went to see our family doctor and share the news with her (she’d not yet received a report from the Cancer Clinic).  She seemed as shocked as we felt.  Fortunately, on Tuesday night, we both slept a bit better and awoke with a plan in mind.  It’s a good plan, we’re still working out the details of it but for now, we think it’s a good plan.

Plan A

Regarding Mark’s health and the immediate future, he’s “taking the summer” as his oncologist suggested to enjoy himself.  He’ll have another scan in July and we’ll be able to see how quickly the tumour is growing.  Chemo will start in the fall.  The health part of the plan is two-fold:  let the chemo control the tumour and we’ll control the rest of the liver.  We’re going to do our very best to feed his liver the best kinds of foods and supplements that it needs to stay strong.  We’ve decided, and I don’t think this sounds naïve, to treat this as a chronic liver disease.   3 years, 5 years, 7 years, 10… no one ever knows for sure how long someone is going to live, whether or not they have cancer.  Cancer survival rates are a numbers game and someone has to beat them, sometimes.  Our job right now is to keep his liver as strong and healthy as we can, for as long as we can.

The other part of the plan involves simplifying our lives.  Over the next few months, we’ll be purging stuff at home and getting ready to put our house up for sale.  It’s just a little too big, a bit too much maintenance and too far from the hospital for us.  As much as we have enjoyed it, we feel that it’s time to get back into town, possibly into an apartment, something that is low-maintenance.  Like I said, simple.  We want to spend our time with friends and family and each other, not worrying about projects around the house (not to mention keeping 0.5 acres of lawn mowed).

For those of you who might be wondering what you can do to help, we have some ideas and will keep you posted.  It’s not easy to ask for help and so far we haven’t had to.  So many of you have offered help through Mark’s previous surgeries and chemo and for the most part, we wanted to do it on our own.  I think we’re going to need lots of help to get us through the next few months and we won’t be afraid to take you up on any offers.

In the meantime, know that Mark feels great, he looks healthy and, except for a grape-sized tumour in his liver, is doing just fine.  We’ll continue to keep you posted as we carry on with our plans.

Thanks so much for your continued support, we love you!

Mark and Peggy xo

waiting game

While we were waiting in the clinic earlier, I mentioned to Mark that it was 350 days ago that we found out his cancer had metastasized to his liver. Where did that time go!?

We are just home from Mark's appointment at the cancer clinic. I had forgotten how weird the energy is in that place. When you're in the chemo area, everyone is very positive and friendly. Perhaps because they are actively participating in their treatment and there is a lot of hope that treatment is working like it's supposed to.

Over on the other side of the building however, it's different. You have folks there, like Mark, who have completed chemo and are waiting to find out how they did. Other people are there for a six month or twelve month check up. What we saw today was a large group of newbies. They are the walking wounded who have recently received a cancer diagnosis, or are perhaps recovering from cancer surgery and are there for the first time for their chemo consultation. I remember how we felt the day we were in that position. It's a terrible, long, exhausting day. You're overwhelmed and terrified. We felt a lot of that energy yesterday.

We waited for almost 90 minutes to actually see the oncologist. The news was as we expected, no surprises. Mark has responded well to the chemo and he'll go back for another scan and bloodwork in June. For the foreseeable future, he'll be visiting the clinic every six months. I have no idea when you get to be officially cancer free but for now, he's done with chemo and surgeries, which is a very good thing.

check in

2014 has been a whirlwind year for us. It feels like just yesterday we got that call from the surgeon's office about Mark's liver cancer. At times it feels like we didn't accomplish a lot this year but in reality, we did. Well Mark did, I was just along for the ride really. A couple of weeks ago, he went for a scan. It took place about 3 months after his last chemo treatment. He is still waiting to feel normal again. Not sure if his old normal will ever return or if he is stuck with this new normal. The new normal has a lot of stomach upset and neuropathy in his hands. Compared to cancer though, I suppose it's a small price to pay. Tomorrow we have a follow up meeting with his oncologist. This is the first time we'll be seeing him since chemo ended and we'll find out the results of his scan. We're both optimistic about the meeting. The surgery went well, he completed his chemo and he seems to be feeling okay, all things considered. All the same, it's a worry. It'll be nice to have it out of the way and to know what his status is!

15 years

Poor Mark.  He's been absolutely miserable for days.

Yesterday, he went into work and actually got through the whole day but I really wished he hadn't.  Last night was very rough.  I didn't let him go into work.  He'd not slept at all and quite frankly, it would not have been safe for him to be behind the wheel in the state he was in.

Happy Anniversary huh?? Yes, today is our anniversary.  We met on this day in 1999, 10 years later, we did it up all legal and got married in our back yard, Sammy and Gracie (and some friends and family) witnessed it for us so it's all official.  Neither of us could have ever anticipated that we'd been dealing with the fallout from round 8 of chemo on our 15th anniversary but here we are.  This is the latest in a long line of challenges we have had to face since we got together.

By mid-day, Mark had perked up a bit and he really wanted us to go do something.  We went out for a late lunch/early dinner at a sushi place we like.  It was a really lovely meal and all of that rice and veggies seemed to settle his stomach. 

Next year we will do something a little more exciting than a sushi lunch.  This year has been all about getting through this treatment and putting cancer behind us, once and for all.  Not wishing my life away but it'll be nice to get to the end of the summer and finish this up!

all I ever wanted?

Okay, so I'm on vacation.  Officially.

I'm scheduled to be away from work for two weeks.  Mark will be off with me for the second week.  We started off the holiday weekend with a visit to St. Elizabeth Health Care on the way home.  Mark had his pump taken off and his PICC line sorted out.

If he's going to feel lousy from the chemo, it's normally the worst on Saturday morning after having the pump removed.  By Saturday, normally, the full dose is settling in and the side-effects begin.  The bad stuff seems to be starting early this week.  He's feeling like hammered poo at the moment. It's quiet in the house right now and he's snoozing with Gracie in our room. 

My hope is that a good sleep tonight will help him feel better tomorrow.  It's really difficult to see him like this.  I'm glad he's got the extra day off to rest.  

In other news, the bunny we have been watching through the front window all summer was outside when we pulled into the driveway today.  He's pretty cute (I say "he" but really, it could be a she I suppose) and actually didn't run away when I pulled out my phone to snap a photo.  Hopefully, that's a good sign huh??

Chemo - round 7

Chemo during your vacation is not really any more fun for the patient than it is when you receive it on a regular day.  I would actually venture to say that this week's chemo was a little harsher on Mark than it normally is.  The odd thing about that (and we're not 100% sure at the moment) his oncologist was going to decrease the dosage slightly this week.  About halfway through today's session, Mark started to feel weak.  That hasn't happened before.  Perhaps the weather is having something to do with that.  It was pretty steamy and humid today outside today (it was comfortably cool in the clinic) which may have zonked him a bit.  Not sure. 

Since we got home, he's continued to feel weak.  He did eat a bit of dinner and had a little nap earlier.

Fortunately, he received a prescription for a new anti-nausea medication that his pharmacist suggested.  If he takes it in advance of his next round, he should notice a difference.  Sure hope he does anyway.  Each round just gets a little rougher on him.

Thank goodness he's only got 5 more of these to go through.

better and better

Finally, I think Mark's starting to feel a bit better. He went back to work yesterday and the new meds he got from the cancer clinic seem to be helping. His stomach is starting to settle down a bit. 

They gave him a super mega high dose of loperamide which is helping.  Funny thing was, they also sent him a prescription for the one anti-nausea drug he cannot take (because it makes him have more nausea - go figure) but the loperamid is helping and he's no longer afraid to eat which is huge. 

For the past couple of nights, he's been able to sleep and he even got part of the lawn mowed on Monday afternoon (although I think he did too much) which made him feel better mentally.  The whole thing is just exhausting, physically and emotionally.  My hope is that he won't have another "lost weekend" like we just had, again.  It's really hard to watch him going through it, especially when there isn't anything at all that I can do to help.  For all of the information we received about chemo, they really did not prepare us for this.

long weekend

Poor Mark is still feeling like a bowl of soggy noodles.  Actually, he'd probably say "hammered shit" but either way you describe it, it's not good.

We both went back to work on Friday but I think he should have probably stayed home.  He's been sick all weekend.  The physical part of the sickness is making him crazy.  He is beating himself up because he wants to be outside mowing the lawn.  He's too weak to even think about it and I have had to keep sending him back to bed every time he starts talking about it.  He's a strong guy, a lot stronger than I would probably be if I were in the same situation. Surgical recovery was easier on him than this has been and it's getting to him.

Fortunately, he's sleeping a lot.  I know he's very weak and tomorrow morning, we need to call the cancer clinic and get something for his symptoms.  We've been told that there is no good reason for nausea and diarrhea during chemo, that they have stuff to control it.  Mark has agreed that no matter how he feels in the morning, he'll stay home from work tomorrow.  I want him to get really rested up before he heads back to work.  Hopefully he'll be able to try some new meds too.  We have got to get in front of this.  I'm afraid that if he stays this sick, he'll end up in the hospital, dehydrated, electrolytes all out of whack.

The treatment is obviously not as horrible as the disease but boy, we're really starting to understand why some folks just say no to chemo.

Chemo - round 6

So we have just passed the half-way point for Mark's chemo.

He has completed 6 rounds and has 6 to go.  Apparently, according to the doctor, the first 5 were "easy" and things are going to get tough from here on out.

If last night was anything to go by, I guess he's not wrong, although I'd hoped he was.  This round seems a lot different from the first 5 and Mark's feeling rough.  Really rough.  We've both been up most of the night and are both staying home from work today.  Hopefully we'll be able to get some sleep. 

Not sure what it is about night time but somehow, daylight seems to make things better.  The sun will be up soon and I'll try to get some tea and toast into him.  If his stomach settles, we'll both be able to sleep, I hope. 

Times like this are difficult and you find yourself questioning decisions you made.  We know that he has to stick with chemo and see it through to the end but honestly, this is pretty bad. 

buzzed

This weekend, we shaved what was left of Mark's long hair off.

Before I met him, he used to shave his head every few years but since we'd been together he'd been growing it out.  It got quite long and we only very occasionally trimmed the ends.

Chemo seems to be catching up with him a bit and we've noticed that his hair was starting to fall out, little by little, over the past couple of weeks.  On Saturday morning, I was sitting outside with the dogs and Mark walked into the porch with the clippers in his hand.  We grabbed a lawn chair and went outside to do the job. 

It took a bit longer to get it finished than I thought.  By the end, Mark had a lot of hair in his hands.  We put most of it in the compost bin but some of it did get blown away and I'm sure will end up in neighbourhood bird nests. 

The breeze was pretty cool on Saturday and he did feel a bit chilled at times.  All weekend, he kept reaching up for his hair but it wasn't there.  To be honest, I think that he looks a lot healthier and younger with the hair gone.  It was getting pretty straggly and he looked unwell and dragged down by it.  He's thinking about leaving it this way, even after chemo is done. It was weird though, this morning when we were getting ready for work, for me to not braid his hair.  It's something we've done every morning for almost 15 years and it felt odd to not do that today.

Chemo - Round 4

Today was round 4 of Mark's chemo.

I'd be lying if I said that it wasn't starting to get to him.  We try to focus on the fact that he's 2 months in now, with only 4 to go.  33% of the way through.

He's been having a lot of nausea since the last session and his energy level is taking a beating.  They keep telling us that the medication he's receiving accumulates in his system and that this is part of the normal process.  I think it's discouraging for him because he's thinking, if I feel this lousy after only 2 months, how will I feel at 4 months... and at 6.  Fear of the unknown is a powerful thing and it's hard not to wonder.

My hope is that he's just had a bad patch these past few days and that it will get better.  Overall, I'm very proud of what he has accomplished.  I don't think too many folks could continue to work every day, and do the stuff he's been doing in the garden recently, while taking chemo.  Perhaps this is just his body's way of telling him to slow it down a bit.

Chemo - round 3

Chemo day again today.

Third time's a charm?  Well I wouldn't say that but we seem to be figuring out how things work.

Honestly, the level care Mark's been receiving at the Cancer Clinic has been terrific.  The staff are generally great and the facility is lovely.  Overall, the patients and their family members are very friendly, without being nosy, and seem to be genuinely respectful of each other. 

The past couple of weeks have gone pretty well for Mark.  He seems to be adjusting to this new routine, the PICC line and all that it brings with it, very well.  It's hard to believe that we're already 6 weeks into this.  We're both keeping our fingers crossed that things continue to go as smoothly over the next few months.

Chemo - Round 2

So round 2 of chemo was very similar to round 1!

Mark was lucky enough to have the same nurse (the fabulous Bev) and ended up in the same chair as last time. It was nice to have this familiarity for our second visit.  Not to mention, we are constantly impressed with the level of care he is receiving.  We feel very lucky to be so close to a facility like this.

In addition to receiving the actual chemo, some weeks he is going to see the doctor or resident.  Part of the process also involves him going in the day before (or the morning of chemo) to have blood drawn.  If his white cell count is good, he can have his chemo.  If it's not, he can't.  So far, he's been good for both visits. 

My office is right across the street from the cancer clinic so I'm able to pop over and sit with him while the bags drip, drip, drip.  After his first visit, he had some pretty strong nausea about an hour after we left the clinic.  Tonight it didn't take that long.  He started to feel symptoms from the chemo on the drive home.  We made it home, but just barely, before he was sick.  For the next round, we may need to get them to up his anti-nausea medication.  We really don't want to cut it much closer than we did today, that would be good for no one!

Happy Birthday

Yesterday was Mark's birthday.  This year, we decided, for a number of reasons, we were going to not really celebrate our birthdays (mine is next month) until the summer.

Right now, we have a lot of stuff on our plates and we both feel like we'll be in a better position to really celebrate in June or July.  Having said that, over the weekend, we did have a really lovely meal (that Mark cooked) on Sunday.  At times, I could actually taste and smell my meal.  We had grilled shrimp and veggies, so delicious!! Tasting and smelling are not things to be taken for granted.  I have been suffering with a nasty headcold for about 10 days now and I literally dragged my butt around all weekend.  On Saturday, we did some errands but on Sunday, I only got up off the couch to drag stuff back and forth to the washing machine.

A wild weekend indeed!

On Mark's actual birthday, yesterday, there was no cake, no balloons, not a hoop or a lah.  We were both sick.  I couldn't talk at all (had lost my voice from the coughing and had not slept a wink on Sunday night).  Mark was sick to his stomach (just a tip from us to you, read the list of foods to avoid during chemo BEFORE you start chemo - the spicy foods he loves are not his friends right now).  It was a pretty lacklustre birthday for sure.

When the time comes that we're both feeling perkier and happier, we'll celebrate properly.  In the meantime, we're both just adjusting to the changes we've made in the household to accommodate the chemo and continuing to take things one day at a time.