Chemo drips for two days in veins. 46 hours. Nothing much, steady.
The home health nurse has been kind enough to reschedule her visits and draw blood for us at home so that my mother is saved a trip to the hospital. I bring two vials of blood to the lab and in turn bags of TPN are delivered from the pharmacy.
The days in Los Angeles are hot, and I don't say this to be mean to those who are blue and numb by the weather in colder states. Maybe it's just for the record when I revisit these words in a haze of alcohol, regret, and pity. Maybe not in that order.
Conservation of cash remains a priority as there seems to be a recession or a giant sucking sound outside these walls, so I've pared my vices to chocolate milk, the NYTimes, and the gym. This may explain why these posts have a bit more lactose-based, worldly insights.
My mother remains the same, and even the anti-emetics seem to lose efficacy when confronted with the cancer and chemo. I wonder how long her decline will continue. What good can come of this?
