How’s Dad’s eyeball?
I’m feeling okay today. Saturday was terrible after another dose of Zometa on Friday, which I get once a month along with the Abraxane. The Zometa is intended to address the spread of cancer to the bones, and one of the side-effects is flu-like symptoms — body aches, fever, chills — which I got in spades on Saturday. Last time I had those symptoms for two days, so having them for only one day is an improvement. The additional side effect of bone pain appears to be slightly milder this time, so maybe my body is adjusting to this particular poison.
This morning I took the dogs for a walk and, when I got back, I got out the lint roller and cleaned the hair off the sofa — my hair, not the dogs’. At this rate I should just yell “get off!” when I jump up on the furniture. At least I don’t use the sofa pillows to prop my stinky chew toys (I use those on the floor) and I don’t often drool, beg for treats, or roll in obnoxious things outside.
Despite the massive shedding, I still have an acceptable amount of hair if you assume I’m a woman with a thyroid problem — baldness and wigs likely in a week or two.
Since I felt fairly well yesterday, since it was a gorgeous day, and since I’ve been craving pure oxygen, Hank suggested we three head to Puget Sound to get some fresh air. That was truly a wonderful idea, as the number of people who had the same idea attested.
One of the delights of walking along in a crowd is, of course, overheard snippets of conversation. At least it is one of my favorite things. We heard a doozy yesterday. Someone behind us said very loudly to his companion…..
“How’s Dad’s eyeball?”
We resisted the urge to turn around and stare, but I’m afraid we snickered enough that we didn’t find out the status of Dad’s eyeball.
There were other little snippets yesterday, not having to do with overheard conversations. The fresh smell of Puget Sound brought little snippets of memory — playing on the drift logs with my brothers and sisters, a short walk once when I had a little extra time between work and someplace else I had to be — just 30-second mundane snippets that nobody ever thought would end up being such a vivid memory. I could even taste the bologna sandwiches we had one day as a family at Seahurst Beach 40-odd years ago.
A couple of months ago I played one of my Dad’s favorite CDs of Herb Alpert and the Tijuana Brass. Immediately I could taste the potatoes he wrapped up and baked in the barbecue, and I could see him standing there, flipping steaks and hear him whistling along with the tunes.
Smells, tastes, and sounds are powerful memory triggers, which is why one of the things I resent most about chemo is that it messes with how things smell and how they taste. Besides that, five years ago chemo also knocked out quite a bit of the high and low ranges of my hearing, which has never come back. This time it seems to be eating a bit more into my mid-range. That means I won’t be able to have as much fun with overheard dialogue unless I can scratch together enough money for hearing aids.
To make matters more “delightful,” one the side effects of Abraxane that I have not (yet) experienced is “vision problems.” So, very soon my family could be walking along the beach when suddenly one will turn to the other and say….
How’s Mom’s eyeball?
Weirder things have happened.