Kevin's Dead Cat

After surgery sliced off an entire tumor and 1/3 of my tongue, plus six weeks of radiation therapy, I've been re-learning how to eat, drink, and talk with my newly re-constructed tongue and coping with side effects. But the cancer came back and I don't know what's going to happen next.

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Location: Los Angeles, California, United States

I don't want life to imitate art. I want life to be art.

Sunday, May 29, 2005

Mood Rollercoaster

Stabilizing my physical health is starting to do a number on my mental health. The trache tube cleaning, forcing myself to eat whatever I can through a food processor to save on time and pain, morning and afternoon naps between meals, and a bunch of hourly adjustments that keep popping up.

Since Dr. Milch subscribed something to increase my appetite, the amount of food I've been eating has increased. But adjusting to eating with the T-Tube is a pain in the ass. It takes me almost an hour to eat a cup of soup. I tried eating a spinach omelet this morning, but since I had to move my tongue more it started hurting. So I want back to the blueberry protein shake.

Yesterday afternoon was great, though. All I need is food and rest, and I got plenty of both all day. I began feeling like I would get past this in a matter of weeks. That after the next chemo session, I would continue to feel better, the tumor would shrink, and I wouldn't need the nebulizer again. I very rarely need the oxygen compressor as it is. When the physical maintenance boosts my mood, I tell James things like, "Sorry, but you may have to deal with me longer than expected." He just holds me and says, "Okay."

But the slightest thing can plunge me into depression. If a hyper-active visitor leaves me too exhausted to visit Cole's, or I feel like my body is taking way too long to recover from surgery, or if I have to repeat myself on the phone again and again, I start to feel sorry for myself in the worst way.

I don't even think about how much harder it was after the first surgery. This is all happening now, and my will is running low. All the things I have to do just to keep my head above water is wearing me down. When I'm low James asks me what he can do to help, and there's nothing that he doesn't do already. Little things, like holding me when I'm on the nebulizer help immensely, and he thought of that all on his own.

I try to remember things I'm looking forward to: ballet tickets in June; "Anything Goes", and Vegas trip in July; Chuck, Andy and Catherine back from Europe in August; and hopefully a new 2nd floor by September. But the thing I'm looking forward to the most is growing old with James. But sometimes it's hard to remember that when you're holding the 5th of 8 pills you need to swallow.


Anonymous Anonymous said...

Laura, you are constantly in our thoughts. We would love to come see you soon... Paloma & John

May 30, 2005 3:42 PM  

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