Bloons TD 6

We are typically 100% on top of scheduling.  At least Greg is.  He schedules every appointment with every doctor, the physical and occupational therapists, and anyone else Tate comes into contact with, and he makes sure we sure we arrive on time.  I find myself incapable of this; I now exist in a hazy cloud that provides a thin layer of protection between my heart and reality.  I am both ashamed of myself for being incapable of looking further ahead than one day and immensely grateful to have a spouse that does.  A spouse that insists on it.

We are typically 100% on top of scheduling, but this morning was different.  We were stressed and late.  We didn’t wake Tate up early enough, and he had to rush to get ready.  This is not an easy feat for a guy in a wheelchair.  When I threw the car into reverse, Tate pointed out he wasn’t wearing the right kind of shirt for the appointment.  I raced into the house to grab a “port shirt,” and he had to change in the front seat.  I forgot the green and white striped pillow he uses at every appointment.

When we got to the clinic we found out we were an hour early.  This Tuesday felt a lot like a Monday.

Tate is being given an alternative drug after his severe allergic reaction to PEG last week.  He will get a series of injections spanning two weeks.  The dose for his size fills three syringes, and the injections are given simultaneously because they are so painful.  On the count of three, one nurse held a syringe in each hand and gave him two shots while the other gave him one.  Wendy, a nurse from Illinois that is new to the valley and PCH, said one of her younger patients calls them “fire shots” because they burn.

This picture shows Tate just after he received the injections.  It hurt badly enough that he needed a few moments before he could move to an infusion room to recover.  Protocol for this type of chemotherapy is to administer the injections and then keep the patient under observation for an hour.

Tate got moved to the super bright room again, which is why he is wearing his wraparound sunglasses.  (Aunt Sara for the WIN for finding and sending those glasses!)  Once he recovered from the initial pain of the injection, Tate was pretty upbeat.  He had some snacks and played a game on his phone until they sent us home.

Tate has us all playing Bloons TD 6, which is the game he is playing in this picture.  Tate is masterful, and Greg is not far behind.  I am predictably bad at it but giving it my best effort and an astonishing amount of time.

Even “good” chemo days leave Tate completely miserable.  Usually he is able to sleep through what I hope are the worst parts, but he was awake all day today, riding out every ache, pain, and side effect.  It feels foolish to ask him how he is doing; he has cancer, is undergoing intense chemotherapy, suffers from terrible neuropathy, and feels bad on his best days.  At the same time we need to know.  Today when I apologized for asking him how he was feeling because it’s such a stupid question, he said, “It’s hard to explain, but I’m not in danger.”  That’s a kid that gets it.  He is aware of the question’s true meaning and is gentle with his response.  He promised to tell us if at any point he senses he is in danger.

On the way to his appointment this morning, Tate was talking about a specific kind of sandwich he only had once before but really liked.  This afternoon Mary Jane Wilson dropped off  those exact sandwiches for our dinner.  I don’t know how she does things like make the perfect sandwich appear on precisely the right day.  Proof that the universe works in mysterious and wonderful ways, even when the subject is sandwiches.