Mom’s sick as a dog, but she’s angry about it, and call me crazy, I see something positive in that (don’t kill me, Mom).
Her current nemesis is the immunosuppressive drug Celcept. On one hand, it’s keeping her alive and keeping her from rejecting the transplant, so bravo toxic chemical, you go! On the other hand, every time they administer it she vomits for hours, gets a migraine and her feet have swollen up so badly she can’t wear her slippers and it hurts to walk (which she has to do as much of as possible– they encourage laps around the ward).
She’s really ticked off about her feet, and who can blame her? The doctors are telling her that they are not concerned, and they won’t give her a diuretic to help, because that would be too harsh on her kidneys (which are already under assault from the Celcept). In darker moments, this is how she describes what they say: “Blah, blah blah, can’t do anything about it, hold on for another week, blah blah.”
She’s feeling trapped and the idea of lasting another week before seeing marked improvement is depressing her. She’s lonely too.
I am so sorry there’s nothing I can do and no one I can beat up on her behalf. I’m so proud of her. She’s been in 20 days and though she thinks she’s going to go stark raving mad, she’s done such a good job of it. And the “blah, blah” folks also mentioned that she is improving. Her mucositis is getting better, slowly but surely.
“Trust us,” they say, “in a week you’ll see a big difference.”