We soon got into the rhythm of living with cancer. We had chemo weeks and "good" weeks. During chemo weeks, Ken was often fatigued and lacking any kind of appetite. He lost weight, as we expected he would but had hoped he would not. He kept most of his hair; it thinned a bit but still has not fully fallen out. The neuropathy worsened with each chemotherapy session, even affecting his feet.
His good weeks were, well, good. He would go visit friends and family he felt safe around - mostly those that took COVID seriously. After all, if they were taking COVID seriously, we figured it also meant they were more likely to be protected against the common cold and flu viruses. An immune-compromised system is susceptible to so many things. Keeping him healthy was our main concern, which meant some of the more careless or COVID-defiant people made us a bit nervous. Our desire to protect him is also the reason why Ken, Gage, and I all opted for the vaccine as soon as we could get it. Of the three of us, only Ken was not able to get fully vaccinated.
Yes, there's a story there.
As I write this, Ken is at Ascension Genesys Hospital. He had first been admitted for acute pancreatitis on April 19, 2021. He spent nine days in the hospital. He came home on Wednesday, April 28th. By Sunday, May 2, 20201, he was once again readmitted. Same diagnosis, only this time it was complicated by approximately twenty pounds of water weight. From his belly down, he was so swollen. You can see the water retention in his belly if you look at the picture up above. That is not a well-fed belly, it's an uncomfortably bloated belly with fluid you could hear moving every time he would rock or sway.
When Ken is in pain, he sits on the edge of the recliner and sways from side to side or rocks to and fro. There has been so much rocking and swaying in the last month. Too much. He has been miserable for almost a month and a half now. He dealt with the pain for nearly two weeks before going to the ER the first time. During those two weeks prior to getting admitted to the hospital, we attributed his pain to the cancer, to gas and constipation, to the blood clot in the vein leading into the spleen. We never suspected pancreatitis, mostly because we hadn't heard of it and had no idea what it entailed. It is agony is what it is.
Everyone keeps asking me how I'm doing and how are the boys. Not great, people, not great. It is emotionally and mentally draining to watch someone you love suffer. Not being able to do anything to alleviate his pain, to help him get even an hour of sleep, is its own special kind of torture. We are crushed that he's in constant pain, that he has lost so much weight, that his laugh has been stolen. We want him to be better. We hope and pray for it constantly and it feels as if our heartfelt pleas and prayers are not being heard. That's how we are.
In addition to being worried about my suddenly frail husband, I worry about the boys, too. I worry about their emotional and mental health right now. I don't think either of them is doing well, but I think they're both trying to be strong for me. I know I'm a big softie who cries a lot, but I don't want them to think of that as a weakness. My tears are a release valve. They help me cope. I want them to be able to have the same freedom to cry when they need to cry. I want to hold them and tell them it's going to be alright, even if we don't know that for sure.
Right now, we cling to the silver linings. Ken is getting the help he needs at the hospital. His pain is being managed and he's finally getting some rest. He is able to eat solids right away this time. They are running tests in order to figure out a plan of attack. His cancer numbers were down to 7500 last we knew.
Silver linings. They sustain us right now.
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