This Week

Monday evening, unknown bacteria got past my low white blood cell count, causing my temperature to rise and me to feel lousy. I contacted the on-call OCSRI nurse, and she advised me to start the Levaquin prescription that is filled at the start of cancer treatment for just such an occasion as this.

It took several hours to kick in; meanwhile, my temperature rose from 100.4 to 101.9. Let me add the word “weak” to lousy. It was a long night. The extent of the weakness plus my feverish brain led me to think that this could be my new reality. Fortunately, I was wrong. By Tuesday, I was back up to my present low energy level, enough to warrant an evening with my grandchildren (and their parents, of course).

Now let me indulge in some complaining: the right-side space key on my ergonomic keyboard has suddenly stopped working. (I suspect that one too many crumbs have lodged beneath it. Yes, I am guilty of eating at my computer.) It is terribly annoying to try to use my left thumb on the spacebar, so I have disconnected my laptop from the monitor and moved to my recliner. I am not used to this laptop keyboard.

After the kids went to bed, Dana, Shawn, and I had another one of those end-of-life conversations that have become our new normal since my stage 4 diagnosis. I was happy to tell them that I had figured out—and typed up—what I would like for my memorial service. It is interesting to me how calm and practical I am discussing such things. Perhaps this is a lovely side effect of being safe in Jesus’ arms.

Shawn brought me home around 8:30 pm. I have pretty much given up driving because I prefer to spend my limited energy elsewhere.

Remembering that my phone had dinged earlier with a notification, I checked it. What an exciting surprise! My brothers will be visiting me for a weekend soon. (John lives in Washington state and Bob lives in Kentucky

p.s. This morning the hair loss began.  It is such a messy process. Time for a hair shave. I’ve had my hair back after the second cancer go-round just long enough to have one trim and one cut. Oh well. I have thoroughly enjoyed the gray this year—I mean, when you wait until age 70 to finally get a good amount of gray hair, you’ve got to enjoy it! I am hoping, though, that I keep my eyebrows and remaining eyelashes.