From One Day to the Next

Mom began her new chemo regimen June 3. A simultaneous infusion of CPT-11 and Erbitux, every Wednesday. But, after that first dual infusion, she only received the Erbitux the following three Wednesdays, because her white blood cell count has been too low. Last Wednesday, she got the dual infusion of both drugs again.

Mom felt fine the next day, but by Friday morning, she didn't get out of bed. She had no appetite or energy. By Saturday, she'd developed a fleshy rash on her neck, shoulder and chest.

All are side effects of the chemo -- so it's not unexpected. But without mentioning it, I know that Dad is thinking that this is a replay of last January and February.

"Your mother asked me to give Margie a cup of tea," Dad said over the phone. "I said, 'Margie who?' Your mother said, 'Margie Johnson.' I told her Margie was here a few weeks ago, but she's gone home."

Again, she seems to be unaware of time/space/surroundings.

"Dad, I've got some time the rest of this week. Why don't I come up to Georgetown?"

"That sounds like a good idea," he said.

Dad called back about 15 minutes later to say that he'd called Mom's oncologist about having her come in. Dr. George, concerned that she may be too fragile to stay at home or make the clinic visit, instead told dad he'd admit her to Seton Hospital in Round Rock.

"I just wanted to let you know that I'm getting ready to take her over there now, and that's where I'll be if you're coming up." he said. "You know where Seton Hospital is?"

"Let me wrap a few work things up and pack a bag," I replied. "I'll call you from the road."

He seemed relieved that I'd be able to come up so quickly, I thought to myself. With her last episode so fresh in his memory, I think he's dreading a replay. Those weeks were so stressful on him -- he was trying to care for her and prepare himself for the worst at the same time. Her recovery was just as sudden and mysterious as whatever afflicted her. You just never know what will happen from one day to the next.