Home sweet home

Dr. Oncologist checked on me first thing this morning.  She was pleased with my progress and sent me home straightaway, woo hoo!  I'll see her again on Friday.  Dr. Surgeon checked on me too, and he said I had lots of gut sounds.  It feels good to be told you have gut sounds after you've been told you don't. On Saturday Dr. Oncologist on-call had told me my guts weren't making any sounds. He listened everywhere, and they were silent.  Now I have burbly gurgly guts, and I'm currently feel every inch of them.  Ugh. 

After all of that excitement to eat, when it came down to it I was actually rather nervous to eat!  Despite my perceived hunger, my guts are a touch queasy.  Dr. O reminded me to start slow, with the BRAT (banana, rice, applesauce, toast) diet, so that's essentially what I did for breakfast.  Before I went home I had a nice bowl of oatmeal, a slice of toast, a banana, and some yogurt.  I seemed to tolerate it just fine, but I did feel pretty bloated afterwards.  Then I really wanted broth for lunch, so I made myself some french onion soup and that really hit the spot but of course didn't do much to fill me up.  I ate a lot of crackers, and another banana.  Then I laid on the couch all afternoon in the dark (it was a pretty dreary day), listening to a kickass playlist on Spotify (Your Favorite Coffeeshop--check it out, yo), alternating hugging my knees in and stretching my legs out and thinking of about a billion blog posts to write.  Hugging the knees while laying on your back helps to aid digestion (thanks, yoga). 

Suddenly, I felt better.  GUYS, while Ian and the girls were at Taekwando practice, and I should have been waiting patiently to have a nice family dinner with them, I got up and turned into a BEAR!  I turned on the oven to warm up dinner, which included a loaf of French bread.  While it was warming I discovered that Calvin the Cure's Grandma D had brought us a pan of scotcharoos.  OMG.  Instantly I clawed out a square and gobbled it down.  I clawed out a second square, not even pausing to lick my fingers.  (I know, SUGAR, but when Dr. O sees my bloodwork she's always impressed by my blood glucose so I figure I've got room to cheat--I'm not going diabetic. And I gotta EAT!)  By then I decided that the bread was sufficiently warmed for me.  I took it out of the oven, hacked off a chunk, and dipped it in butter--no knife, I just peeled back the wrapper on some room temperature butter and carved the warm bread right through it like it was sweet corn. Oh. My. God. Warm. Buttered. Bread. I must have eaten a third of the loaf, just standing their carving some butter.  Then I regained my self-control and decided to use my energy on visiting the shower fairy to scrub the hospital off of me.  The dog had enjoyed the hospital smells and was rolling on me all afternoon, trying to absorb them, but I was rather sick of it myself.  By the time I finished my shower the family was halfway done with dinner (they weren't rude; I insisted that they start without me so that I didn't have to rush), so I joined them and resumed my Bear-hood.  Broccoli quiche ended up hitting the spot big time, and the family ate almost the entire pie. (Thank you, Grandma D! and the meat-eaters enjoyed their casserole, too!)  And hopefully the eggs and cheese will fill me up a bit better than the other foods I'd been putzing around with.  Word on the street is that I've got some of my Uncle's famous lentil soup arriving tomorrow, so progress will continue! 

I'm to restart taking the neratinib tomorrow morning, so wish me luck with that.  It'll be fine.  Remember that it wasn't the neratinib that was the problem, it was the FEAR of the neratinib, manifested as immodium, that was the problem.  I am not afraid of the neratinib.  My guts will be fine.  Most importantly, future Lloyds will be prevented! 

A comment on the dog, because he deserves an introduction.  We adopted Thor almost two years ago, and he is 2.5 years old.  He is some sort of wire-haired dachshund mutt, and I tell him that he's so ugly he's cute (his head is too big for his body.  I'm too lazy to find a photo now I'll try to post one eventually).  I didn't want a dog, because I needed another chore like I needed a tumor in my brain, but it's pretty great having a dog when you're a mom with cancer.  He helps everyone to feel better!  He's not a very good lap dog, but he is very fun to play with, and playing is healthy for everyone.  The kids play with him both to play with him and to entertain me, "Mom, mom, look at Thor!  Awww, look at Thor!!"  When I'm well he gets a walk every morning, because I walk the kids to school and he joins us, so he's missing me a lot I think.  When I got home today Thor didn't even jump on me, he just collapsed into my legs, seeming to surrender in gratitude that I finally came home to him.  When I did my yoga tonight, he brought me a toy and tried to bury it under my neck, then laid on my arm while I stretched.  Bless his little heart.  Even the spouse has commented on how nice it is to have a dog to help us feel better while I'm sick.  Thanks, Thor.