Onwards and upwards

So my parents managed to make it across the big ocean and back to MD Anderson (after a mishap with a closed airport and not being allowed to leave). Supervising doctor is positive, although I am worried by my father's report, which was, "he is a stubborn one, but we broke him in the end". Yes, that's my parents all over. They will pummel you until you break.

He is done with the abraxin (the drug that was making him feel yucky in the current chemo) and is going back to more regular chemo. He has a session on Monday and then they are going to prep him for radiation, which probably sounds more exciting than it is. He is going to have radiation therapy every day for about 10 mins a day for 6 weeks, with weekends off, and then there will be about 2 months of nothing, while they wait to see if the radiation has fried everything. Then it's surgery to remove the dead cells, we hope, and then possibly more chemo. Fun.

In terms of dates, he is due to start radiation on the 25th of January and they are planning to leave Houston for sunny Thailand on the 7th March. My dad wants to spend his "time off" in Thailand, which makes me smile and shake my head. Then, in May sometime, they will be back in Houston and we will see from there.

I am probably planning to go to see them in Houston at the beginning of February. Maybe. They are still arranging their schedules.

I have absolutely nothing deep and meaningful to say about cancer or anything else today, as I am mostly spending my time looking up prices on flights. Did you know that it is half the price to fly return to the States than one way, even if you throw away the return half? Stupid airlines.

Chips are down, stakes are high. Now we play.

So, I have managed to drag my bum to Israel. My father looks ill and feels ill too. He is lucky that he has more hair than anyone I know, because it just looks thinner. And whiter. He is in a relatively good mood, or at least he was yesterday. My mother is just about coping, I think.

So, doctor news. My dad had a blood test and what I will call the Cancer Count is down. Good. It means that the tumour cells are dying. Problem is that he still feels shitty. Supervising Doctor seems to think that this is the chemo's fault. So the current recommendation is the following: After his 7th treatment (on Monday), if he doesn't feel better, he will come off the chemo, fly back to Houston and straight into radiation. That would bring us to the middle of January. Which is very fast. If he starts to feel better, on the other hand, he should continue with the chemo for the last dose.

I am at my grandmother's again, and feeling a little bit detached. Sensible Brother needs to talk to me about something that he can't say in front of other people. It could be completely unrelated, but something is clearly bugging him about my behaviour. Or something. I will know more soon, I hope.

Otherwise, we are still yo-yo-ing. One day I truly believe that this will all be over by Passover and that he will be fine. Other days I feel like the doctors are just making it seem better than it is and that people are just trying to protect us. Or me. Or someone. But no one is being protected here. Protection implies that someone is safe. None of us are safe without the Truth. With It, we are quite capable of protecting ourselves.

It was fun while it lasted

It's been a while since I posted. Sorry about that, kids. The main reason was that everything seemed to be hunky-dory. My dad is on his second course of chemo, and has his second treatment of four tomorrow. My parents went to a spa in Germany to chill out and had a wonderful time and I salute their creativity in coming up with the idea. He was swimming in hot springs and having massages and generally felt good. Until a couple of days ago. And now my mother is going mental.

So, two things happened. First, out of boredom, I suspect, my mother was having another look at the reports from his last set of tests and found the phrase "poorly differentiated". She rang to find out what it means, and I couldn't tell her, me not being a doctor and all that. We are still not sure (help?) but I am gathering that it means that the cancer is of the more agressive type. So what else is new? But she is upset, again, because the doctors seemed to have stopped speaking to her about it. This is the price you pay for being in different countries from your doctors. Also, maybe they believe that she is overreacting.

However, my father began feeling very unwell over the past couple of days and yesterday he began running a fever. And no one seems to be able to tell us why. He is almost two weeks past his last round of chemo, so it can't be a chemo reaction and fever usually means infection (she says with intimate knowledge of medical television programs). So my dad is feeling crappy and my mother is stressed out. And I feel guilty for not being there, again, because I thought they were all alone.

But lo and behold! Little Brother has arrived! I have prepped him, but I am not sure how good he is at dealing with the emotional stuff. I think he's more of a practical I'll-get-the-groceries-in type of bloke. And I don't think he is used to seeing his mother this distressed. It's one week before I see them, but that suddenly feels like an awfully long time.

I am going to call them, right now I think, to see what's what. It's nice that they are not in the entirely wrong time zone at the moment. The way my father is feeling now may inform my decisions about what to do next. Although, the way my mum is feeling, if she is right, my father may no longer be eligible for radiation by the time they get back to the US.

And that's why I haven't posted in a while. I was holding my breath, praying that the bubble wouldn't burst. Damn Hope and it's way of making you feel...well, hopeful.

Bum and arse. Stop the rollercoaster please. I think my dad looks queasy.

I might even be around for Christmas!

That's me, folks, not my dad, who, hopefully, will be around for a good long time.

My parents are still deciding on what they want to do next, but it's definitely going to be chemo then radiation. It's new exciting chemo now, though, which is brand new chemicals, that are only available in the States, apparently, so anywhere they go, they will have to take the drugs with them. Fun! It's either two courses of chemo (one month) or four (two months) and then off to radation, which has to happen in Houston, over 5 weeks, approx.

I don't know what this means for me yet, as I was all set to stay here (London) until the radiaion therapy starts, but then I spoke to my mum. Apparently, the reason that my dad has been reacting so well to the chemo so far is because he has been getting "chemo lite" (the Diet Coke of chemo - not chemo enough!). This round is the real deal, including hair loss.

I was shocked by how upset I was with the idea of my father losing his hair. I mean, we talked about it before and, as far as we knew, his treatment did not involve any hair loss. I can't quite figure out why this is affecting me, even though suggestions might be that this is a physical sign of his illness, or, alternatively, that he has a lot of hair, unlike other men who, at his age may be balding, so he has a lot to lose. If I had to guess, I would simply say that it's making it real to me that something is hurting my father, be it chemo or the cancer, and I really don't like it. It's not fair and there is nothing I can do, but something very basic inside me is rebelling against the notion that anyone or anything would want to hurt my father, or, for that matter, could. Assholes.

So maybe I will go back out there, depending on where "there" is. Or maybe I will wait until radiation starts, which will be in January, at the earliest.

Christ. This never gets any easier, does it? I'm not trying to have a "woe is me" moment, or make out as if I am pitiable, but answers and some kind of stability would be nice. If anyone is listening, I would like that for Hannukah. I will forgo 8 presents for just two. Ta.