Hiya, friends. Life in Brain Cancer Land has been frustrating this week. Mom is declining again, but we’ve been forced to revoke her hospice benefits in order to allow her to keep receiving the every-three-week Avastin infusions that help keep brain swelling down. We’d signed on with hospice with the understanding that she could keep receiving Avastin, but the provider’s pharmacists raised the red flag a couple weeks ago: even though the treatment is only palliative at this point, our buddies in the office recognized it as a chemo and refused to allow it because it’s still considered a life-preserving treatment. I get it, I suppose, but it’s hard not to get the impression that Mom’s not dying enough for them: her hospital bed was removed from the house within four hours of me submitting the revocation form. But this post isn’t about my mom. It’s about, well, me. It’s no surprise that the past year and a half has been a struggle. But a lot of it is my own doing. Let’s start with this: many…
* Because you know this was running through my head the entire time I was writing this post. To say my mom has rebounded from the flu nicely is like saying an ice cream sundae is best made with hot fudge: holy understatement, Batman. She is sharp, and stronger than she’s been in months, thanks to a heady dose of new steroids that reduced brain swelling we didn’t even realize was still bad. Her synapses must have gotten some incredible kind of all-clear, because she is zip-zip-ziping around her house like her walker is made of rocket fuel. I joked that we all have whiplash: one week we’re all convinced that This is It, and the next, well: in the next week she’s drinking a glass of white wine in a restaurant and using chopsticks to eat her sushi. It’s pretty fantastic. We didn’t see her either day of this past weekend. Quinlan was playing in the end-of-the-season CYO novice girls’ basketball tournament, with David as her head coach, and since there were 18 teams in the bracket, we played four games…
You guys, it’s been one roller coaster of a few days concerning my mom. (As of this writing, it’s all good–or as good as it can get outside of the brain cancer thing–so please don’t worry.) I have no idea how to break the week down simply, so would you like to start with me at the beginning? Here we go. Last Wednesday: the night of my monthly book club meeting. I’d been looking forward to seeing my friends, but that day, I was exhausted and down and didn’t want to be a drag. David gently pushed me out the door, and I’m glad he did. We talked about the Kobe tragedy and the month’s book selection and a lot of other stuff. I stayed up too late. (I worried about staying up too late.) I had two glasses of wine. (I did not worry about having two glasses of wine.) I wondered if I talked too much. (I always worry about talking too much.) Last Thursday: I dragged myself out of bed in the morning (this is usual). Got the kids…
