It’s only Tuesday? I thought as I stared at the pill organizer. How is that possible?
The anxiety in my chest grew. But that’s what day the organizer told me it was. The next dose of medication was right there. My phone agreed that it was Tuesday, as well. I shook my head and sighed.
I can’t wait until Friday.
Yesterday had involved an insulting call from the social worker at the clinic: “Um….hiiiiii. How are you today? How’s Jack? Um, I’m calling because Gina (the child life specialist) and I thought we should sit down and talk with you on Monday about…umm…Jack’s…school isssssuuuuues.”
My reply was something like, “Right, well, I know Gina thinks it’s school avoidance but I really don’t think that’s the case. Jack is very upset with himself when he can’t make it to school. And this isn’t new – it’s been going on since treatment started – it’s just that we thought it was normal due to the intense treatment. He was missing school then anyway. But treatment is less intense now and he still has these problems and he’s supposed to be able to go to school. In any case, I won’t be there on Monday – his dad is bringing him into the clinic. You can talk to him if you’d like.”
“Oh, well, okaaaay. Well, it’s you we’d like to talk to. So, um…alright. We won’t do that then.”
And then she (absolutely the least helpful professional I’ve ever met) droned on and on. She said some stuff about how special and smart and sensitive Jack is and at some point I just tuned her out. Sure, she WANTS to help…but she is completely inept. I could hear her grasping for the proper words to use when talking about Jack’s ‘issues.’ It was painfully obvious that she was stepping lightly. She was in parenting territory, something that she’s proven before that she knows nothing about, and I hadn’t even asked for her help.
Lady, turn back now. You don’t belong here.
A couple of hours later, I chatted with our nurse case manager about Jack’s lab results. They were good enough that he could the next day’s dental appointment, but the acidosis hadn’t improved at all over the weekend, so they instructed us to increase the sodium bicarbonate from two pills a day to four. And let me know that chemo can’t be taken at the same time as bicarb or anything else…which I hadn’t realized before.
Oops. I’d been screwing up the pill administration for…oh, almost two years now. Great.
Later that evening I took my 13-year-old cat to the vet and walked out of there $120 poorer and with no definite answers. ‘Cause that’s how I like to party.
So today, as I stared at the pill organizer and the bottle of antibiotics sitting next to it, I shook my head and sighed. Really, how could it only be Tuesday?
I gave Jack four horse-sized antibiotic pills. He actually chewed them all up without incident.
I was more than surprised.
I asked Jack to pick out his own DVD to watch at the dentist office (of course he chose Dr. Who) and off we went. It would be okay…I hoped.
The appointment went well, all things considered. He certainly yowled less than he did at his last appointment. His teeth got cleaned and x-rays were taken and that’s what matters, right? Not the stand-offish dental hygienist who clearly thought that the fact that he wouldn’t sit still was a discipline issue. Not the tears all over my kid’s face from being essentially trapped while he was poked and prodded in a sensitive place.
[Take a 7-year-old who isn't a great brusher, add a blood disease and suppressed immune system that makes it dangerous to floss, and what do you get? An uncooperative dental patient.]
Halfway through the appointment, Jack complained of chest pain while laying in the tilted-down chair and it only got worse. We went to the store to grab some tums (I’m not organized enough to carry them with me wherever I go yet) and sit for a bit while I had a warm beverage to calm my rankled nerves. I had to carry Jack through the store and he slumped in his chair when we sat down. After half an hour, the tums still hadn’t helped.
So we followed up that dental appointment with a trip to the ER, where Jack got an EKG and a chest x-ray per his oncologist’s orders. They gave him Maalox and, after a while, his pain had gone from a 5 to a 1. They sent us home.
This morning in between staring at the pill organizer with consternation, giving Jack five spoonfuls of pills in nutella, and attempting to get us both out the door and emotionally prepared for the dentist, I’d forgotten to administer Zantac. I’d given him four antibiotic pills, two sodium bicarbonate pills, and one Diamox pill…but forgot the antacid, which is a liquid.
I bet tomorrow I’ll stare at that pill organizer and shake my head all over again.