Over the course of these five weeks of illness, I appear to have lost about nine pounds, largely thanks to the fact that I haven't been able to smell or taste anything for most of that time. This isn't quite how I imagined embarking on my weight loss campaign; if anything, it feels a bit like the other interruptions that have plagued my and my family's life since... well, since forever. That's been our curse: we make big plans, then something comes up.
Just a few recent examples:
I had been about to get back on the road when Mom's cancer announced its presence.
Dad went through training to be an EMT, then was the victim in a drunk driving accident that claimed most of the use of one knee.
Mom had just retired last year and had been hoping to enjoy her new life in a freshly renovated house, but now, thanks to the cancer, it's hard to say how deeply she enjoys anything.
Mom was supposed to start radiotherapy right after her first surgery, but a severe MRSA infection flared up, which meant delaying therapy while Mom underwent three more surgeries and an 8-week daptomycin (antibiotic) regimen. During that period of delay, Mom's second tumor (of three known masses) grew to the same size as the first tumor.
I hammered out my blood pressure attack plan, then promptly came down with bronchitis, a condition I've never had before.
It's enough to make one rail at fate.
But I guess you have to believe in fate to rail at it.
_
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