Dad is such a rock star. When I spoke to Mom this morning and asked how he was feeling, she said, "How would I know? He got up early, ate breakfast and went to an all-day course. I haven't seen him, and I don't expect to see him until dinner."
Oh. Well. How's Dr. T, then? Might as well ask about the patient who is willing to hold still and be looked after, right?
When I spoke to Dad this evening, he sounded great. He was very pleased with the course (Heaven forbid we waste our time at a crappy dental course) and quite satisfied with how he is feeling overall (although still mounting arguments against taking the pancreas meds). He has put on some weight, which is attributable in part to his fantastic attitude about eating. It's also attributable in part to Mom, who has pulled an overnight, 180 degree attitude adjustment about food.
After more than 40 years of pushing salads with balsamic vinegar and steamed vegetables, she's suddenly jamming macaroni and cheese and ice cream at him. As she entreats him to eat more and more still, she breathes life into every single "Italian Mother" stereotype ever created. He likened himself to Gulliver in Lilliput, strapped to the ground while people march up his chest and pour food into his mouth. I don't think he'll eat foie gras again without having some pang of sympathy for the goose. He said something tonight about Mom holding a funnel. I have to admit, I was intrigued. Although I've seen Uncle Pete do a keg stand in the back yard, I'm pretty sure that memory would pale when set beside the image of Dad funnelling a milkshake.
I think Dad is planning to cover Dr. T's patients tomorrow. There is a chance that he will feel poorly tomorrow night or Friday, as the side effects of Tuesday's IV chemo hit his system. But there is also a chance that he will feel fine. Some chemo patients never experience chemo-related side effects, just like some expectant mothers never experience morning sickness (poor dears - they don't know what they're missing).
Were I a betting girl, I'd bet Dad is going to be one of those patients who continues to tolerate the chemo well. He just doesn't really "do" the whole "I'm sick" thing. He is far too busy finding new and interesting ways to risk his neck in the plane, on water skis and by suggesting to Mom that they get a puppy.
The puppy. He *really* wants a puppy and he's not known for his impulse control. If he comes home with a puppy, Mom might kill him with her bare hands.
Then I'll have to start a "Team Temporary Insanity - Blogging Through Mom's Murder Trial" blog.