We didn't go out last night. It made more sense to go out tonight because Peter is off tomorrow. He's in the shower now, and we're waiting for the babysitter. Can't wait to get the hell out of here.
Today was the last day of school before vacation, so the offspring arrived home with ornaments they'd made in class, which spewed glitter all over the house. Why do teachers love glitter so? Don't they know what it does to furniture? Don't they have homes of their own?
I'll have to ask Mommy. She was a teacher. Or I could ask Sibling Two. She teaches first grade.
I called Mommy earlier, but she was eating. Spoke to Daddy just briefly about his plans for tomorrow, Christmas Eve. He has to get clearance with the nurse before he can take Mom out for dinner. He's so placid. If I ever get sick, I don't want him advocating for me. When I expressed a little impatience with Mom's neuro-oncologist, Dad replied, "Well, he does have 30 patients to look after."
Thing is, he's not looking after Mom at all. He's not even thinking about treating her until she gets out of rehab, but by then her tumor may have grown to the point where it won't matter anymore. Of course, he can't resume the treatment he gave her before. That nearly killed her. But does he have any other ideas?
The first round of chemo didn't hurt her much; it came in a pill. It was the intravenous chemo that nearly did her in. Couldn't he try another course of the pills?
I'm looking into alternative therapies. One woman suggested a supplement that she said "saved" her ex-husband. Hey, I'm willing to try it. Thing is, Mom can't take it if she's on an anticoagulant, and I can't get anyone to tell me whether she is or not.
I did some research into green tea's inhibitive effect on tumors and suggested Mom drink several cups a day. "But doesn't it taste awful?" she wanted to know.
Not really. And it's a hell of a lot better than a brain tumor.
The pearls I bought Mom for Christmas arrived yesterday, and they're lovely. Still have to wrap them. I hope she likes them as much as I do.
Here's the babysitter. Thank you, Jesus.