{"id":2670,"date":"2020-05-25T07:15:18","date_gmt":"2020-05-25T11:15:18","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/?p=2670"},"modified":"2020-05-26T06:05:40","modified_gmt":"2020-05-26T10:05:40","slug":"duetting-memoir-17","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/duetting-memoir-17\/","title":{"rendered":"Duetting: Memoir 17"},"content":{"rendered":"

\"Duetting:<\/a><\/p>\n

\u201cWhen can we go home?\u201d This was the one question I could always get away with in the hospital. It was our routine: ignore the nasty details, and push through to whatever we needed to hear in order to breathe. \u201cShe wants to know when she can go,\u201d I\u2019d say, but really, I, myself, hated being stuck in that creepy sunless hospital where I was turning languid and pale, sitting day after day immersed in my Ken Follett novel, World Without End<\/em>. I was just as desperate as Marika was to be out of there. With luck, this second round of chemo would bring her blood counts back to normal and get her into remission. But Marika now had yellow skin and eyeballs. She was miserable with a head cold, fever, and stomach aches. Two weeks before, the Roc Docs discovered her inflamed gall bladder, but the surgeon couldn\u2019t operate because she had no white blood cells to fight infection and too few platelets to stop the bleeding. Instead, they stuck a drainage tube in her side. It was now grinding against her tolerance.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cMom, this sucks,\u201d she yelled at me like it was my fault. We were constantly working to keep the tube and bile collection bag tied up in place with elastic bands and pins, tape, or anything that would hold until they could remove her gall bladder.<\/span>
\n\u201cMom, where\u2019s the tube?\u201d she suddenly bellowed at me as if I\u2019d taken it.<\/span>
\n\u201cWhat do you mean, where\u2019s the tube?\u201d We\u2019d focused on little else the past week.<\/span>
\n\u201cThe tube\u2019s gone,\u201d she said urgently.<\/span>
\n\u201cWhat did you do with it?\u201d<\/span>
\n\u201cMaybe it fell out when I was in the vision clinic?\u201d<\/span>
\n\u201cYou left the tube in the vision clinic?\u201d I said in an exaggerated accusatory tone, trying to stifle a giggle. We both broke out laughing at the thought of some unsuspecting half-blind patient finding the bile tube sitting abandoned on a waiting room chair. We needed to laugh. Cancer had become a summer-long project and the path to remission was riddled with setbacks. It looked like it was far from over, and Marika was tired of being a cancer patient. I was just getting the hang of caregiving.<\/span><\/p>\n

Being a caregiver is a lot like being a lifeguard. Except as a caregiver I had just one swimmer I didn\u2019t dare take my eyes off of. And she\u2019d already sunken a few times, so I told myself I knew what danger looked like. Still, the lifeguard in me rarely rested.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cAny minor cold you pick up, with your compromised immune system, could turn into pneumonia. A friend\u2019s pinkeye or cough could end up in septic shock for you. A virus could lead to major organ malfunction. Any stray little fungus or bacteria could kill you. So, no sushi,\u201d the Roc Docs reminded us. Marika wanted sushi takeout for dinner. She always wanted sushi.<\/span>
\n\u201cOysters?\u201d she tried again in a tiny voice.<\/span>
\n\u201cHow about cooked sushi? You know, the ones with cooked shrimp,\u201d I contributed, trying hard to keep peace and establish common ground. Doc Phillips conceded to that and my eyes checked in with Marika\u2019s.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cCan I get a pass to leave the hospital for a few hours?\u201d she pushed. She was always pushing. I went for the compromises while she straight-shot for the prize. \u201cCan I start college next month?\u201d It was the big question of the summer. It was what we all prayed for, but didn\u2019t dare plan on or shop for, in fear of jinxing the whole possibility. There was still too much that could completely dash that dream. And we never knew where trouble would come from.<\/span><\/p>\n

\u201cThere\u2019s no more cytarabine. So we\u2019re sending you home. We\u2019re sorry,\u201d the Roc Docs announced days later during morning rounds. \u201cWe tried to get some from other area hospitals but there\u2019s a nationwide shortage.\u201d My eyes met Marika\u2019s for a brief second before turning back to the doctors in disbelief.<\/span>
\n\u201cBut that\u2019s my main chemo drug now,\u201d Marika whimpe<\/span>red.
\n\u201cWe\u2019re sorry.\u201d<\/span>
\n\u201cCall your dad, I\u2019ll call Laurie,\u201d I said, not fully digesting the significance of the situation but aware this was news they would want to know about. A good lifeguard is always ready for the unexpected; one never knows when it\u2019ll be necessary to leap in and pull somebody from disaster. I made the arrangements for a homecoming, and packed up efficiently as nurses removed Marika\u2019s IV. Then, suddenly, two young residents charged into the room out of breath.<\/span>
\n\u201cThey\u2019ve located the drug in Buffalo at Roswell Park Cancer Institute. It\u2019s being sent over now.\u201d<\/span><\/p>\n

By the time the IV team returned to go through the tedious process of locating another vein on Marika and replacing the IV, I was wilted over the foot of the bed.<\/span>
\n\u201cMom. Mom!\u201d She blasted her eyes at me and bucked her chin toward the technicians surveying her arm. I\u2019d almost forgotten my opportunity to squeeze her hand.<\/span><\/p>\n

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 <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"

“When can we go home?” This was the one question I could always get away with in the hospital. It was our routine: ignore the nasty details, and push through to whatever we needed to hear in order to breathe. “She wants to know when she can go,” I’d say, but really, I, myself, hated […]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":0,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1998],"tags":[1023,2073,2044,890,2039,2069,2068,2056],"class_list":["post-2670","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","hentry","category-1998","tag-caregiving","tag-duetting-memoir-17","tag-mother-daughter-relationship","tag-motherhood","tag-parenting","tag-stuck-in-the-hospital","tag-words-and-illustrations","tag-young-cancer"],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2670","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=2670"}],"version-history":[{"count":0,"href":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/2670\/revisions"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=2670"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=2670"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/robinbotie.com\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=2670"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}