Doctor Revisited

On Thursday, we had a doctor's appointment in the afternoon. My dad wasn't as excited about the check-up as he was about my mom coming back. He prepared by making sure he got a lot of rest, because at night he wanted us to all go out and eat.

The question of the day was where to eat dinner. He wanted Capone's, but he was worried my mom wouldn't want to eat Western food. So as a backup, we picked out Kao Chi, the Shanghainese restaurant we went to last time I was here - no, not Taipei 101 again.

After eating lunch, we started getting ready. At 3:30 p.m., we left for Tai Da. We got to the Oncology ward just in time. We hadn't waited for more than 2 minutes when the nurse called our number.

My dad began by explaining that he was doing fine, his appetite was back and physically he was feeling better. He also told the liver cancer specialist that he had kicked off all the other meds. The doctor was shocked. He was like, "Everything? Even the pain killers?"

I said, "No, not exactly. He took it on two occasions - once when he went poo 8 times a day (as I figured its side effects would counteract this) and the second time when he couldn't sleep. Both times it worked."

The doctor looked a little confused. He didn't think it would counteract the pooing, but he went back to my dad and asked him if he was feeling any pain. My dad said no.

At that point, the doctor did a physical check up on my dad's abdomen. My dad went on to explain that for the first time, he had sneezed loudly and it didn't bother him. For the past two months, he couldn't take deep breaths because his lungs would press up against the tumor and cause pain. But now, he was sneezing, yawning, even sleeping on his side, which he couldn't do before.

You should have seen the look on the doctor's face. He looked at me and I concurred. The doctor was in disbelief. He said he never seen anyone cut off that much medication at once. He also said the tumor felt smaller and that my dad's body was taking to the Capecitabine quite well.

I could tell that he was still in shock, though. He asked us, "So you don't need any more pain killers, stool softener, constipation pills, hiccup pills, appetite meds?" My dad said no, we still have a lot left.

He wrote out a prescription for a two week supply of Capecitabine and told us that he would give us the number to contact the distributor directly for future doses of the chemo drug. I guess they don't have enough to distribute or something.

I then asked my dad to explain his sleepnessness and the dreams he's been having. The doctor suggested prescribing sleeping pills. At first my dad said no, but after I suggested that he should at least have some on hand just in case, my dad agreed. The doctor prescribed some light sleeping pills so my dad shouldn't be too worried.

Outside the doctor's office, my dad asked excitedly, "Did you see the doctor's expression when I told him I wasn't taking any other medication? His eyes got so big." My dad then wanted me to count how many seconds it would take for him to take a deep breath. I counted 8 seconds. He then walked over to the weight scale and measured himself. He said he had gained 2.5 kilos from the week before, when we last came to see the doctor.

My dad said, "You see, before I could only take small breaths. I couldn't even yawn really because it would hurt."

After getting the prescriptions, I went to go pay. The bill came out to be NT$11,000, which we didn't have in cash, so I had to run downstairs to the ATM and make a withdrawal. The majority of the bill was for a 2-week supply of Capecitabine. The stuff isn't cheap, I tell ya.

Walking down the hallway of the hospital, I looked over at my dad. He looked pensive, deep in thought, not like he was 10 minutes ago.

I asked him what was wrong. He said, bursting into tears, "I'm just so happy."

I told him that the results were really positive and the fact that he got his appetite back is a huge plus. We were all really happy for him.

Then he said, "These past few months have been a complete waste of time. I should yell at the doctor for putting me on that medication."

I tried to be positive, telling him that the Tegafur/Uracil and Thalidomide didn't shrink the size of the tumor that much, but it didn't allow the tumor to grow either. That was important because the cancer could have spread to other parts of the body and been even more difficult to stop. The difference between that and taking nothing would have surely been death.

But inside, I understood how frustrated my dad must have been. All that suffering, all that weight loss, the pain.

We had to rush back home because my mom was on her way back from the airport. My dad choked on some grape juice and said that he had to calm down from being too excited that mom was back soon. When we got back, I picked up a card for him at the bookstore. He wrote my mom a nice little note and we placed it on the living room table.

My mom arrived loud and proud. She walked in the door and went into the bedroom to hug my dad. My dad immediately started tearing. It was too much for him.

My mom didn't really know how to respond, I think. She was just like, "Ah-yo, what's the matter? Look, I brought you the clothes you wanted! And here's some cookies!"

It was funny, like she was trying to cheer up a child.

After my mom unpacked her luggage, we all went out to eat at Capone's. When we got seated, my dad was like, "We'll order a smaller pizza this time as an appetizer and split a soup and salad. Then we can each order a pasta or steak."

Well, no one ordered a steak, and we only ordered one pasta dish. My dad's eyes were bigger than his stomach. With the pizza, soup and salad, we had enough to feed all three of us, and still have leftovers.

The next day, my dad woke up tired and his right shoulder aching. He had slept on his side, and since he had lost all of his muscle tissue, his right shoulder was in pain. The Salonpas I got him didn't work. I told him he could have taken a Tramal Retard. It's a pain killer, that's what it's for. He said he was worried about being constipated from the medicine, but took one after breakfast.

My dad spent most of the day sleeping. I packed my stuff and taught my mom on how to make the Isotonix drink (which the liver cancer specialist said would do more good than harm) and dispense his medication. I told her not to worry, as my sister was coming to visit on Tuesday.

It was a tiring 10 days. And when I got back to Los Angeles, I slept for 12 hours ... straight.