Hospital Visit Diary 036_Regional Hospital_Day 29 of Visits. Another day for visiting today. Heading to the hospital alone. If I can move rooms tomorrow...
20250418 (Fri) Regional Hospital Day 29 of Visits
Today is another day for visiting. I head to the hospital alone.
Since I can move rooms tomorrow, the WiMAX contract will be cancelled.
I feel relieved.
It seemed like it would take a considerable amount of time to confirm the contract terms.
I wish for a simple contract like Rakuten's.
Yesterday, my wife felt anxious, and perhaps she reflected on that. Today, I feel like she is acting more cheerful.
I will write down my wife's anxieties.
・Side effects of anticancer drugs
She is worried about the pain and suffering from vomiting and skin irritation. Even though there is a lot of information saying it is painful, it is hard to know exactly how painful it is.
I tell her it probably won't be as painful as the suffering from an intestinal obstruction.
That is how I am encouraging her.
・Whether she will be able to eat in the future
This is her biggest concern right now.
Even among those with the same scirrhous gastric cancer, many people on blogs are eating normally. Some are even working.
Anyway, she wants to be able to eat too.
She wonders if that will be possible.
・(In relation to eating) Whether the obstruction in the part that metastasized to the intestine will heal
This is directly related to eating.
It might start to pass during the course of treatment.
I tell her that the possibility is not zero.
If this doesn't heal, she will have to periodically drain the fluid from her intestines through her nose. However, even if the ileus tube is removed, if it gets worse again later, I don't know if the tube can be passed through the primary site of the stomach cancer again.
・Whether she can go for walks, to cafes, for drives, or on trips
We both believe we can do these things.
We have already listed candidates and are talking about them to take our minds off things.
・Dealing with the loss of hair, eyelashes, and eyebrows
She seems to have decided on a shop to make a wig.
She plans to go with her sister.
Will she draw on her eyebrows and eyelashes each time, or get them tattooed?
Anyway, she has a personality that worries about things that aren't decided yet.
-(Though I would never say it out loud) How much longer can I live?
"If you could share my lifespan, how many years would you give me?"
I was asked that once, and I answered without thinking.
"Hmm, maybe about two years."
"That's stingy."
I thought two years was indeed stingy.
I answered that way because I didn't think deeply about it, and I felt that if there was something I wanted to do, I could probably do it in about two years.
If it were actually possible, I think... maybe about ten years.
But this is a delicate problem; if I only had ten years left to live, I would pass away the moment I shared it.
It's a strange story.
The question itself is strange, to begin with...
We often talked about how we didn't want to become senile.
In those conversations, when one of us made a comment about being careful with our health, we would tease each other by asking, "Just how old do you intend to live to be?" and laugh.
Of course, it's better to be healthy.
But in most cases, that is an attachment to life.
Ten years.
Since it's a joke, I should just say it, but I feel a subtle resistance even to putting it into words.
The attachment to life is deep-rooted.
To the point where it makes me chuckle.
It seems she considered my distress.
My wife changed the question.
"You know, it would be nice if we could choose to die together as a couple. Then we could share our lifespans."
That seemed like a good idea.
In the instant I responded to that, by defining the premise of the conversation, I secured my own longevity.
"That's true. If I have a lifespan of 100 years, it's totally fine to share our remaining years and die together at roughly 80. Since I need to live to 100, I have to start taking care of my health now."
The latter part is a joke.
But my wife seemed satisfied with that answer.
"I wish there were a god like that."
"Me too, though I'm an atheist."
Why do I always add that unnecessary comment?
The inertia of my daily thoughts just turns into words.
"But the fact that I don't believe in God and the fact that God doesn't exist are completely different things. He might exist, right? I won't deny that."
That is actually my stance.
I don't understand why people who believe in God and those who don't would kill each other in religious wars.
There must be some other reason for the killing.
"The reason you can't eat is because the intestinal part is blocked, right? Because everyone else is eating just fine."
"I think that's it. I wish they would just snip that part out."
That option might exist.
But in that case, the treatment would be delayed by that much.
"If Black Jack were here, he'd remove it with his god-like surgical skills. If only I could pay the medical fees."
"If such a doctor existed. He might exist, right?"
A skilled surgeon who performs illegal, underground operations.
Perhaps, he might exist.
Today's dinner
Anchovy and spring cabbage peperoncino, leftover miso soup, rice bran pickles
A menu I've grown fond of.
It's easy to make, and I can buy a whole cabbage when they get cheap.
Anchovies are cheap and perfect when using half a can at a time.
It's delicious.
Nothing more to say.
The downside is that the chili peppers I have at home are too spicy, which makes my hay fever worse.
Night Line call.
The call quality was bad as usual.
We talked about how the fluid from the intestine is turning yellow, wondering if it's a secretion.
"Anyway, we have to start treatment soon."
It looks like it will finally start next week.
There will probably be a meeting before that.
I'll make sure to compile a list of things I want to ask.
It seems they used to prescribe Maruyama vaccine at the hospital.
I want to prepare for that as well.
The idea of using it to support the immune system when it's weakened by anticancer drugs is stronger than the idea of it fighting cancer itself.
