A Morning In the Life of Harold

Sometimes, when the acid reflux is particularly bad, Dad will wake up in the dark just before dawn and go to the porch and sleep there, so he can be propped up and get at least a couple of hours of good sleep.

He wakes up to a pretty nice view:

Later, it's time for breakfast. He loves to make breakfast for us. He puts up boiling water for Jennifer's boiled egg.

Then he fries an egg for me and for himself.

He's been working on perfecting the fried egg for quite a while now, and I have to say: with grand success. The yolk is in the middle. The white is all well done with just the very outer rim browned, while the yoke is soft.

There is always some evaluation of the fried egg. Often it is something like this: "You know, I think I finally figured out the secret to making the perfect fried egg. This time I held back the yoke in the bowl and filled the pan with the white first. THEN I let the yoke drop in."

Chew, munch. Slurp coffee.

"You know this might be the best fried egg I have ever eaten."

Chew. Slurp.

"There was a diner in Brooklyn that had good fried eggs. Oh god, were they good. They made the best fried eggs I ever had."

After breakfast, it's time for the walk. Since he doesn't like to drive so much anymore, he walks downstairs back and forth along the two buildings. Most days he does five rounds (ten laps) which is a about a mile.

He wears a robe to get downstairs to adhere to the condo's decorum of no bare bodies. After all, it would not be fair to make all the ladies swoon.

If the sun is too hot, or if we do errands first (that means CostCo) then he will do an evening walk. If he does a morning walk, he showers afterward. Usually this is preceeded or followed by the same comments I have heard him say ever since I first heard them in Lac Alymer 40 years ago:

"You know, I love taking outdoor showers. It reminds of my father. He loved taking outdoor showers. We would take outdoor showers in the summer."

Then, if he remembered to take them out, he re-inserts his hearing aids. If you look closely in the photos above, you can see that on this particular morning, he only remembered to take them out halfway through the shower.

The rest of the day is consumed with discussions on the merits of recycling, whether movies today are as well edited as movies of yore, the Greek crisis, where in Manhattan or Brooklyn you used to be able to get the best pastrami sandwich, the causes of problems within the Republican party, the incredible quality of a hotdog at CostCo, how a hotdog at CostCo reminds him of a hot dog he used to be able to get in Brooklyn, and whether it isn't time to go to CostCo yet and get a hotdog.

Gotta go. We're off to CostCo.

November 21, 2007

Dad and Corinna are on their own now. Roland left yesterday after visiting for a week.

Dad went to get his second treatment yesterday. He ordered a cab and when the cab was late, he drove himself. Corinna was proud that she took a cab all by herself to get back home and order lunch and drive back to the clinic.

The treatment took about five hours this time. No reaction. Very smooth. And, of course, Mr. Stubborn drove himself back home.

And, Mr. Very Stubborn stuck to the schedule: They went walking. Walking, I asked? It's dark! Yes, but they went walking right outside the apartment. That is a first! I am glad to see that, because that sets up a whole new pattern in which they are freeing themselves from the dependency of driving.

Dad reports that he has lost most of his hair. His head is kind of like a baby's with just fuzz on it, he says. Unfortunately, I can't post a picture.

November 16, 2007

Hi guys. The photo shows the blood results that Dad was so nervous to get. It’s a rollercoaster of emotions for him. Although his hair is falling out in big bushels he is still the positive big fighter. Then again if the Doc doesn’t call him back it throws him off for the whole day. I have never seen such a big fighter in my life and I’m not sure if I like the idea that he might be a role model for me…. Umma umma Ro

November 13, 2007

Dear Everbody,

so now I guess it is my turn to try myself on my literarily faehigkeiten:

After receiving a letter from Mathias with a small description of the todo’s and not todo’s I was somewhat horrified to come over. But for the first day here it all turns out to be like it always has been in the last one or two years when visiting: Now that Dad doesn’t work anymore he has more time freed up to go on .. I mean to concentrate on social contacts. ( Since I know that this is going end up in the “Krankheit Report” I had to put the last sentence and the coming sentences in that form, aber wir verstehen uns schon, gelle?) Not that I don’t feel that Dad in his age isn’t entitled to have that right, but I couldn’t get my body to do what my mind was telling me. BUT NOW that Mathias hand the genius Idea (auch ein blindes Huhn findet ein Korn) to hang a List in the kitchen of how Dad and Corinna MUST structure the Day, it has gone into my blood bzw as I said before: into my body. Finally I can relax! I always hated the fact that one couldn’t plan with this family and now there is a plan. May I suggest (? Yes you may… thank you!) that there has always been a plan but never
admitted.

Here the schedule: Or as Mathias called it the “ Camp Schedule” (Or as we behind his back call it the Gauleiter Liste.)
11:00 leave for golf course
3:00 Nape time for Bonzo
3:30 Kaffe und Kuchen
4:30 The Walk
6:30 Dinner
7:30 The Swim
(Signing off with:)
Remember: WASH YOUR HANDS !!!!

So : THANK YOU Mathias ( and I mean it)
Nothing new : Sunday was the tenth Day after the chemo and he has no side reactions. He is so strong in his mind to go through this with a positive attitude. For example he told me about the fact that he had to sit for 10 hours in a chair to get his first chemo. And that he thought it was like a trip in the plan to Europe where you have to sit so long too and the outcome is a good one. Mensch Maier!! beat that….

Love Ro

November 2, 2007

Dad went for a blood test on Wednesday (two days ago) and it showed that his white blood cell count (WBC) was low. His average over the years has been around 5.

Just as the chemo started, they measured and it was 11, which is one point higher than average. Average is 2 to 10.

And this week's reading is 0.7. That means the Neulasta drug MAY not be working the way they thought. But we don't know yet. They said they will do another blood test next week.

Neulasta is supposed to draw out the WBC from the bone marrow to help the body fight infections.

But of course, Dr. Krankheit knows exactly what is wrong. On the ride home from the clinic, he already had at least five theories. And he was already prescribing appropriate remedies.

It started even as we were pulling out of the parking lot.

"I will skip golf tomorrow to rest up."

"No, you WON'T skip golf. The doctor said to exercise as much as possible!"

"Yabut, Low WBC means ..."

"You don't know what low WBC means! You are not a doctor."

"Yabut, low WBC means..."

"All it means is that they want to take another test next week. That's all!"

So, since he was getting nowhere with me, as soon as we get home, he turns to his loyal and trusted friend: Google. (Actually, it has been a menage a trois lately, because he has this voice "Paul" that reads everything on the screen for him. So, Paul, Google and Harold are always off in the corner these days.)

Oh, and now he knows EVERYTHING about Neulasta and the negative and dangerous side effects it has. And promptly, in our incessant game of one-upmanship, he comes over and tells me about how Neulasta can ITSELF cause certain types of cancer.

I don't look up from my laptop screen (situated on the dining room table) and I say, "Dad, I heard Paul say that those cases were in women with breast cancer."

He turns and walks away, gesticulating with his arms and silently moving his mouth as if he is making fun of a teacher behind his back.

But seriously, this thing has got him pretty bummed. He feels like he is a student that failed an exam.

This means he has to be even more careful about not catching a cold. There is a strict regime now of hand-washing after returning the house.

November 4, 2007

It has been three days since Harold's first treatment. And there has been virtually no difference in how he feels.

Well, except, oddly, for one thing: He has a very sensitive jaw. Now, if you ask me, it is because of all of the unfiltered bullshit he jabbers all day long. But to be fair to him, it might be drug-related because he feels a sharp pain when he first bites into something and then it subsides as he chews.

Anyway, I only go into such minutia as a way of saying that he is still completely himself. Much to his and everyone else's comfort.

For the last three days, all three of us go to the golf course in the morning. We whack some balls. (For a change, he is not whacking mine.) And then we have lunch at the club house. Then it is back home.

A little nap.

I try to squeeze in some rollerblading in the morning or afternoon.

Then coffee at 3:30.

A little more crossword and it's off to the walk.

After the walk, there's a light dinner, and then Corinna forces me down to the pool for an hour of swimming.

It is a rigid routine here.

Today, she granted me permission not to go swimming and she went by herself. In the dark. By herself. In the dark. An hour. By herself. And then whirlpool. By herself. Okay, okay enough amazement already.

November 1, 2007

Corinna, Dad and I arrived at the clinic at 9.

Dad sat in a over-sized lounge chair and was hooked up to an IV for the rest of the day. He was in great spirits throughout. As you can expect, he was the charmer of the clinic. There were about 15 other people who were getting treatment, but Dad seems to attract attention and reflect optimism like water attracts the sunlight and sparkles it back.

Corinna and I took off to get him lunch. And after we joined him for eating that, we took off to go grocery shopping. We picked him up around 5 and he was still his chipper old self.

It was another relieving step to become familiar with this part of the process. We all came away from the clinic feeling that this whole chemotherapy is not as much of a nightmare as we all believe it is before we know it.