I was too tired to write yesterday, about our last scheduled day of BEP, the week-long all-day stretch. But my hero, dang, this one knocked him out with the first drip. I don't mean it makes him unconscious like anesthesia; it's just an all-consuming exhaustion.
He says no one who hasn't gone through it can understand. I try, but I believe him.
He just curled into a baby-ball, knees drawn. And thank you very much, that pinched a nerve in his hip and now he has pain. I remember writing about Mrs. Coleman a while back, who realized a new non-chemo ailment was just Satan messing with her. Well, Satan, you aren't going to win here either!
And I drove home. This is quite a decision for my he-man to make. I'm a perfectly good driver but a man who spent twenty years driving a fire engine is allowed to be a perfectly good critic.
Even though in normal times it pisses me off.
Now we wait...for a couple more blasts of bleo. For scans. For opinions. For GOD WILLING, remission.
And today, most of all, we wait for our baby grandson to arrive. He'll be here in about ten minutes, and my hero is already showered, up and about.
In spite of that damn hip!