Aila
So the dog is dying. Two months before Aila's leukemia, Brian noticed that Trinidad was drinking humongous amounts of water. Turns out that he was hypercalcemic (his body chemistry is messed up) as a result of his anal sac adenocarcinoma (i.e., cancer--really universe, really?). The vet gave him two months to live. The funny thing is that we started loading the kids into the wagon and taking walks with him around the neighborhood, reminiscing and sharing happy memories about Trinidad (and believe me, there are a million). The last time we took a walk with Trinidad was the week before Aila was diagnosed.
The following is what has transpired since a (long, but) relatively uneventful chemotherapy infusion of doxorubicin and vincristine late last Wednesday evening--
I'd be lying if I said that we haven't had our share of dark days. Perhaps paradoxically, they're not usually amidst critical medical periods, where we're rushing to the ER or arguing for the best inpatient care for our baby girl. For me, the darkness sets in during the calm after the storm. No crisis which necessitates responding, no immediate medical decision to research and vet. Just the humdrum of the day-to-day, which right now is effortful and wearying almost every minute.
When I go back and reread my early blog posts, I remember how overwhelmed, scared, and in shock we were. I wasn't focused on sharing details as much as I was our emotion. And in general, I see the world and the people in it in terms of the emotions that they and I feel, so my blog is honest. But, if this is to be an archive for Aila and our family in the distant future, it would be prudent to also chronicle some of the details.
Quickest post ever, as I have to head to slumber next to my tiny 4 1/2-year old baby boy, who retreated to our bed tonight when he learned that Sissy would not be coming home. I spent the day in the ER with Aila, who developed a high fever last night. We methodically got things ready, and then she and I headed up to UCSF. After seven hours in the ER, multiple doctors, and a lot of crying and frustration, they decided to admit her to the PICU (Pediatric ICU), fearing sepsis. I'm not an MD but a Mom, and I kind of think that the risk of sepsis is low. For what it's worth, she was actually septic, when we reflect, in the days before we took her to the ER and she was eventually diagnosed with leukemia. And no one sent us to the ICU (in fact, they sent us home from the pediatrian's office after five hours, with no plan), although I do appreciate that she is now a chemotherapy patient, and the tune has changed. Nonetheless, the ICU kind of blows. There are no bathrooms or TVs in the rooms (bathroom is likely for infection reasons, but what about the TV?), and they are adamant about her sleeping in a "crib." I fought them tooth and nail until about that one until I left, and now Brian is there trying to figure out how he will sleep in the bed and she in the crib.