Round 2: He Drives Home

Friday was the second cycle of Hubs' chemo regimen. Again, he came through it like a champ. I'm starting to think he weathers chemo better than I do. Pathetic, really. I ended up with a raging migraine and a cold, which means I'm now wearing a stunning surgical mask and sleeping on the couch. Sexy.

Hubs is giving major credit to a wonder-drug that's only been around since 2003, Emend. It prevents acute and delayed chemo-induced vomiting. How awesome is that? It also costs a small fortune, or so we've heard. Fortunately, we've got insurance that's covering it. Unfortunately, not everyone is so lucky. What a crock of crap. Obama needs to get on that. I am not a fan of puking under the best of circumstances. Puking after chemo should not be dependent on whether or not your insurance company feels like paying for your meds.

While Hubs was kicking ass at chemo, our 20 lb cat was out kicking some ass of his own, evidently. Either that or he fell of a fence. He's technically an indoor cat who occasionally sneaks out through the doggy door to catch some rays.

When we got home Friday night, he slunk in with a swollen chin and wouldn't eat. When a 20 lb. cat won't eat, something is seriously wrong. After a visit to the vet in the morning, $450, and a minor surgery, he was back home, locked in the bathroom where I get to tend to him twice daily irrigating the drain in his head and dosing him with antibiotics. He looks like Franken-kitty. Awesome.

The way things are rolling, I figure the washing machine ought to crap out by Tuesday.

Just to be clear, I don't really care about the crappy little stuff. Hubs is doing so well, the little shit just doesn't matter. It's all small. It'll all work itself out. Worst case, I can put myself in a giant Ziploc bag to keep Hubs germ-free, take the cat back to the vet, and call the Sears repair person to get out here and fix the washer if it breaks.

Until then, better living through pharmaceuticals!

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Comments

[GeekMommy]

You know - there's "bad day" and then there's "the kind of bad day you'll be telling your kids about in 20 years" - cancer diagnosis is the latter, stupid cat tricks, the former (mostly)

((hug))

[califmom]

Absolutely, although the visual of Franken-kitty is burned forever in mymind. The kids won't even look at him. Poor cat.