The Saga Continues

We left off meeting with Dr. Nair on Wednesday, July 31.

By then we were a little batshit crazy.  There had been too much running around like crazy, alternating with doing absolutely nothing.  One of the reasons I'm writing this is just to get it straight in my head.

It had started in early June, with Bob's usual annual appointment.  That's when his bloodwork was wonky and they sent him to the hematologist.  For 10 years he had been on a medication for gout (although it had been 9 years or so since an attack) that can cause anemia.  He was told to go off of it for 3 weeks and then come back for a followup.

So 3 weeks of doing nothing--and not worrying that much.  Normal activities, went swimming twice a week.  Figure things are probably improving now that he's off the drug.  Go in for the follow up (July 2).  Doctor looks at his bloodwork.  Looks at him--his palms, his inner eyelids.  We leave 6 hours later after he's had an emergency transfusion.

We were rather in a state of shock.

He has a bone marrow biopsy the next day.  Then again we do nothing for a week.  Go back, get the diagnosis of leukemia, and told that we need to go to Shands for a consultation.  Then came the really crazy time--because we wanted/needed to do SOMETHING and it took a week just to set up the appointment, another week and a half away.  Bob had an echocardiogram to verify that his heart is strong enough for chemo, and another transfusion just to keep him going.

We go to Shands.  We consult.  We wait another week (by now we are climbing the walls). Consult with Dr. Nair.  Find out he can be treated at home (happy dance!).  Now we have to wait for treatment to be approved--possibly another week of doing nothing but chew nails.

That was Wednesday (July 31).  Thursday morning at 8 we get a call:  can he come in at noon for his first treatment?  Yet another blow out of left field.  With fear and trembling we go in, not knowing what to expect (I was expecting maybe a couple of hours on an IV, followed by observation).  We get ushered into a little curtained cubicle.  Vitals are taken.  Nurses come in with gowns and gloves and check and double check the numbers on Bob's wristband.

They lay out four little syringes.  They give him four tiny shots and tell him he can go home.

It was rather anticlimatical.

Other than that, Mrs. Lincoln

How was the play?

Odd to look at my last post--about 2 1/2 months ago.  Life was normal (at least for us)--picking up baby opossums, cuddling a vulture.  You know, normal.

Things shifted a little.  Not suddenly and dramatically, just sneaked up on us.  The possums grew up and left (well, some escaped a bit sooner than I had planned, but my philosophy is that if they can figure out how to escape then they're independent enough to leave.)

I developed some intestinal problems.  Not going to go into details, but enough that I got a referral to see a specialist and finally schedule that colonoscopy that I had been avoiding (why that's supposed a be a routine procedure for those of us "of a certain age" I don't know).  While I was waiting on that, Bob had his usual annual physical.  We weren't expecting anything to come of it; he had been feeling a little draggy, but we both do that every summer.  The human body just isn't really designed to handle this much heat and humidity.  But his bloodwork came back a little wonky--so he got referred to a hematologist.  So for awhile we had to be visiting our two specialists and getting some more tests done--and somewhere during that time I spit out a crown and had to go get that glued back on, so now it's time for a dental implant but I'm not going to worry about that.

So while this was going on I looked at Bob and said "y'know--if I have colon cancer and you have leukemia, then we're screwed."

At least I don't have colon cancer  (in fact, the violence of the colonoscopy prep solved my problem).

But Bob does have leukemia.  We got the diagnosis on July 9--two hours after Fiona (our twenty year old cat) died.  I think that may be a definition of a crappy day.

The next two weeks were mostly waiting--and more tests.  Our doctor (Dr. Nair) wanted us to have a consultation at Shands and we had to wait two long weeks for that.  At the consultation we were told that his best therapy would be to go into the hospital here for two months for the first rounds of chemo.  Then after a short break, he would have to go to Gainesville for the bone marrow transplant--and stay there for three months.

It felt like a jail sentence.

We spent a lot of time holding each other and crying.  If I'm totally honest with myself, I viewed his first two month's interment as my practice for widowhood.

We tried to take some sort of control.  We bought him a laptop (because he usually uses the desktop computer but wouldn't be able to take that with him).  We bought me a lightweight battery-operated weed whacker and he taught me how to use the riding lawnmower so that I could keep the yard more-or-less under control.

We waited another week to meet with Dr. Nair again after the Gainesville doctor had time to go over Bob's case with the board there and consult with him.

We met.  Dr. Nair smiled.  It had been decided that Bob would be a good candidate for a new drug.  And his first rounds of treatment could be given outpatient.

Outpatient.

Bob asked if he was sure.  No hospitalization?  Really?  Say it again?

He could stay at home.

We may have cried again a little.