It’s a light news week from Team Leamy, SC Chapter. Dad had a shot of ara-C on Tuesday, and on the 27th, he’ll switch over to oral anti-biotics (Minocin) to keep the knee performing up to standard. His new favorite thing to eat is the Subway BMT* sub, which Eileen (in the champagne Honda all the way to Seneca… bless her heart) gets for him nearly every day. When I spoke to him on Monday, he was napping, reading, and generally having a super-unexciting time. The biggest news was that they had done one load of laundry.
Readers, if you’ve been relying on The Daily Leamy to add a bit of excitement to your life, I can’t say I am sorry to disappoint you. It’s just what we do not like, across all Team Leamy chapters. However, since I can’t manage a short post with no superfluous content, and since an illustration of the sheer awesomeness** of DONNA LEAMY, of Team Leamy, Charlotte Chapter, is long overdue, and since I have buried a delicious little piece of good news near the end of this post, you’ll want to keep reading.
As you know, Dad’s induction round of chemo was far, far more exciting than we were hoping it would be. Septicemia sent him in the ICU, where he had more tubes and wires and spokes than… trust me, it was exciting. Except that in a really odd way, it wasn’t. If you look back at the blog entries during that period, they were short and boring, because aside from everything being just awful, not a heck of a lot was actually happening. The days went like this:
Wake up with unbelievable sleeping pill hangover. Note absence of over night phone calls. Shower and re-apply appallingly dirty clothing (no one packed properly). Call cab, get to hospital and exchange high fives in the hallway (in celebration of no night phone call), three minute visit with Dad, donut and sip of coffee while hunting a good place to sit on the floor and commence the real work of the day: warfare. Like a pack of wild, rabid dogs, all the terrible things that “might” happen would rush at us in a howling siege. Our days, between visits with Dad, were spent in unrelieved, only partially successful attempts repel this vicious and unrelenting brood. Sitting on the floor, seemingly at rest, we were actually busier than a one-legged man in a butt kicking contest. And we fought this war, relieved only by three minute visits with Dad, all day long for seven days. Eileen (super powers) did it far longer.
If you ever find yourself in need of a pack of drooling, semi-spastic, zombie-mutants, then follow this highly effective program, because by the time DONNA, of Team Leamy, Charlotte Chapter, arrived of day five, we were drafting the by-laws of the drooler zombie code. Factionalism had set in over the election of leadership - even though I was clearly winning.*** But that’s a story for another post.
Eileen, seeing Donna arrive looking like a regular person, kicked away a particularly persistent howling dog, set down her copy of the by-laws, and whispered to Donna, “I really don’t know how much longer I can do this.”
“Do you think you an do it for about one more week?” Donna responded. E (super-powers) nodded that she could. Donna then proclaimed “This will not last much beyond that. I am certain that this cannot last more than a week or ten days at the most.” Needless to say, the mood in the hallway brightened up considerably. We even started talking about washing our clothes and eating normal food again. Eileen, fearing such a thing was too good to be true, said, “You think so?” Donna, certain in a way only a math teacher ever can be, said, “Absolutely. Ten days, tops.”
And how many days later was it that Dad exited the ICU, with all the fanfare of a lunar launch?
Ten days.
I describe this conversation because in addition to being incontrovertible evidence that DONNA IS AWESOME, it is delightfully synchronous with another conversation that Dad and Eileen had this week, this time with our beloved Dr. O’Rourke, who, let’s remember, endured four years of medical school, two years of residency, two years of fellowship, Hem-Onc boards and certainly more training I know nothing about.
When Dad and E went in Dr. O'Rourke's office on Tuesday, Dad mustered up the courage to say, “I don’t really know how much longer I can do this. The being tired. The applying goo. The constant book reading and napping. It’s getting old, man. Very old. Will things ever be normal again?”
Dr. O’Rourke said, “Do you think you can do it for a week or two more? Because that’s about how long it’s going to be before you start feeling like yourself again.” Dad and Eileen, enormously relieved, nodded that they could in fact hang in there for two more weeks. Since that was Tuesday, February 13, they are about half way through week one as I write.
Now, if Dr. O’Rourke, with approximately ten years more medical training, has the pin-point accuracy of, say, DONNA LEAMY, then by the time of the next post, Dad will be out working on the rock wall, complete with sweat band and can of Diet Rite Cola.
That's the kind of excitement I could really deal with.
Donna, if you are reading this, pat yourself on the back. You made a really harrowing week much, much easier for all of us- in addition to be just plain correct. And thanks to you, Dr. O'Rourke has some pretty high standards to live up to.
Readers, there will be another post in about a week, unless something new and interesting happens - or unless I finish composing "Why Larry is a Rock Star" before then.
Jen (for Dad and E)
*
** I am aware that “sheer awesomeness” is poor grammar. I like how it sounds, so there it is.
*** Frankly, I would have won. I was the sloppiest and meanest, not to say the most self-pitying. But let's move on. It is worth pointing out that everyone did, in fact, win. We have our hero back, and right now he's very likely eating a Subway sandwich and reading a mystery novel. Team Leamy wins again.
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