The lung cancer is not one that responds well to chemo. We will see the oncologist tomorrow, I hope, and we will then have a better idea of what is possible. Mike was very sleepy most of this morning and later very uncomfortable and a bit disoriented. He had bad headaches and also nausea and vomiting. His medication has been increased which may help him to feel more comfortable. Alison and I are hoping for a better day tomorrow.
While he has enjoyed the visits he has had with a few friends, right now he really doesn’t want visitors. There are many people he would like to see at some point, but for the moment he just wants to see family. We know that a lot of good friends really want to see him, but we have to think first of Mike and his wishes. Alison is here today and tomorrow, and my brother Rod will be here on the weekend. Alison et al back on Sunday.
Our hope is that he will soon be able to be settled in at Bradley, maybe even on Protection, and able to see some of the friends he loves, as well as – and I have to say especially – the dog he loves. I will keep you posted.
He’s had some clear moments when we have had good conversations, and he can be pretty sharp at times. He has made some good jokes with doctors and nurses. He actually surprised an LPN when, hearing that she was Czech/Russian, he said something that I couldn’t make out, but her face lit up and she said, “He speaks perfect Russian!” So maybe he learned something through those many repeats of Russian 200.
When he came into hospital he told me he was going to write a “bellcoom” a day, something he described as a very small poem. His first one was
The tiles are shifting overhead,
but here’s the good news:
we’re not yet dead.
Yesterday he wrote
In the beginning we laugh and twitter.
At the end
we weep and bend.
Dede Gaston was there for a short visit and she asked “’Weep?’ Or did you say ‘reap’”?
“It could be either,” Mike said.
No belkooms today. Maybe tomorrow will be better.