When I got home from visiting with the Thaeders in S. Carolina, Al was due to go in for his chemo.  His chemo consists of sending a “cocktail” through the femoral artery directly into his liver.  He has had two chemo treatments into one lobe of the liver and it looks like the biggest tumor has receded a bit, but the largest tumor in the other lobe has grown. This treatment was directed at that tumor and all went smoothly; Al spent the night at the hospital and then came home.  Then the trouble began or as the Irish would put it “the troubles.”  Al was home only a day or so when he began to act strangely; “strange"  became stranger and stranger. He began to hear and see things that were not there and not the Easter Bunny or Santa. He thought he had whole phone conversations that he didn’t really have; heard the television on when it was not, ditto for the car radio.  If it wasn’t so scary, it would have been hysterical as he woke me up in the middle of the night yelling that the television was on.  We have far too many televisions in this house and it took me a bit to go room to room so I could report back that there was no TV on.  He began to tell me that he thought he was losing his mind and by this time I thought I was losing mine.  His hallucinations began to get worse and I thought he was heading into dementia. Of course he was lucid and sane enough to refuse to go to the ER.  Fortunately one of my friends, a physician was visiting when “the troubles” were coming to a head.  I finally tracked down the on call doctor from the oncologist group, who told me to get him to the ER.  Only after I finally put Al on the phone with the doctor, did Al relent and agree to go in.  He would have relented anyway as I said I was calling the squad so the men with the straight jackets could get him.  Finally, we get to the ER where we waited for ten hours in a room as all kinds of tests were run as no one could figure out his problem. I cannot be sweet and nurturing to Al as he just won’t respond to my “Florence Nightingale”bedside manner; I need to be rather hard because Al will not try to go along with what is best for him. At this point Al was repeating “this is the most miserable night of my life” and “I want to go home” complaints; Al is John Wayne through and through. One does not baby John Wayne. So I was relying on drill sergeant persona to keep the medical staff on its toes and Al under control when one of the nurses going off shift informed me as she left that she did not think I was being nice to my husband and she was glad she was going off shift so she did not need to talk to me anymore.  Such professional understanding of the state of affairs as I tried to keep all together without becoming a puddle on the floor.  I refrained from just smacking her.  Meanwhile the CAT scan of Al’s head showed nothing abnormal; his rocks were intact. Other tests showed a couple of deficiencies but nothing to cause the dementia. However, after telling the docs again and again (each new doctor or nurse asks the same questions over and over) what meds Al was taking, one of the ER docs thought that Al might have a reaction to the antibiotic Cipro which can cause dementia in the elderly;  so my darling curmudgeon was admitted for a barrage of tests and spent a few days in the hospital. The antibiotic was the culprit, but also medications needed to be adjusted a bit.

I requested a wheelchair for him so we could attend his granddaughter’s graduation more easily. Of course he initially fought me over using the chair, but capitulated to my commander in chief tactics and told me later, when seriously prompted, that the chair indeed was a big help. Why do men fight the battle when they know damned well they will lose the war when engaged in combat with their wives.

Al has since had a visiting nurse and a physical therapist at home. This chemo and, of course, his reaction to Cipro hit him terribly hard.  He is quite weak; Al has been a strong guy all his life: stoic and tough. John Wayne to the core.  He is not taking old age with grace.  Even as awful as he felt after the chemo and before and after the hospitalization for the reaction to Cipro, he insisted that he was going to mow the lawn on the zero turn.  I know what battles to chose and this one I could not win. Just keep my tough old guy in your prayers please. 

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