Hospital Visit Diary 037_Regional Hospital_30th Day of Visits. I received a Line call in the morning. I heard from a nurse this morning about the discharge from the intestines...

20250419 (Sat) Regional Hospital 30th Day of Visits

Today is another visiting day. I head to the hospital alone again.

I received a Line call in the morning.
It was about what she heard from a nurse this morning regarding the discharge from her intestines.
"It seems that yellow stuff coming out is indeed intestinal secretion. Since this is something that will keep coming out, does that mean the nasal tube might never come out?"
This was what I could make out from our broken conversation while the signal was poor.

Thinking about how my wife must feel makes me feel dizzy.
My side of the conversation seemed to be coming through clearly without interruption.
I share my thoughts.
"I don't know how much of that intestinal secretion there is, and I wonder if it can be drained periodically? Maybe there's a procedure to drain it directly from the intestines. Once treatment starts, the cancer might recede, and things might start passing through again..."
In the end, I can only give circular answers.
Regardless, we decide to discuss it with the doctor when we have the chance.

I received a message that she had moved rooms.
It means she is back in the same room as before.
Now the Wi-Fi will connect without interruption.
It was indeed the same room as before.
It's the same room number as my wife's birthday.

Regarding the intestinal discharge, there's no way to confirm it since it's Saturday and the doctor isn't in.
For now, my wife's feelings on that matter were calm.
But because she is alone in the hospital, her thoughts are racing.

"When I start feeling better, I end up thinking about all sorts of things."

"I've realized that the daily life we usually take for granted is actually a very happy thing."

"That's why I want to go back to my old life."

"If I knew I would get better, I'd work hard. I wouldn't mind having a catheter, or even having this for the bowel obstruction. But is there any point in working hard if I'm not going to get better?"

"I want to eat. Even other people with cancer are eating normally. Will I really be able to eat again?"

"I feel like I'm going to lose my mind."

There are no questions I can answer, and no wishes I can grant.
Seeing my wife's tears, all I can do is hold her hand.
Only a feeling of deep exhaustion remains.

Seeing my face, my wife apologizes.
"I'm sorry."
There is no need to apologize.
It is much better for her to pour out words of pessimism than to just suffer from nausea.

I buy the tank top she asked for at Muji before heading home.

Today's dinner
Stir-fried pork, cabbage, and onions, leftover miso soup, rice bran pickles, kimchi

The signal is back, and the night call is smooth.
The video is clear and the conversation doesn't cut out.

Perhaps because she let out her feelings after feeling down during the day, my wife's conversation is a bit brighter.
"It seems it's good to focus on what you're doing at any given moment. Like a daily routine?"
"Then, when you're discharged, you should create a routine. Like, on days you go out to Tachikawa, you stop here and there... or today is just a day for a walk. Make a day to decide on a drive course, and go there the next day."
"That might be nice."
But when we go out, she'll want to eat something.
"Ah, if only I could eat."

"By the way, did you make the wish?"
"What?"
"The one about sharing our lifespans until 70 and dying together."
Wasn't it until 80?
"That... yeah, I've done it."
I just did it now.
Well, my lifespan being until 70 is fine too.

"Honestly, if I live until 70, that would be amazing. I wonder if that could really happen."
"You can't say the probability is zero."
"Then I'd have to leave some kind of record. But I haven't taken any photos... I don't want you to take photos."
I haven't taken any photos of my wife either.
Because she has become so thin since before the treatment.
Still, if we go out for a change of pace, her smile from before returns. I should take them then.
"If people read that, it would encourage others with the same illness. It would mean Chibikoro left behind a life's achievement. Hehe."
"That's right. It will surely be an encouragement."
Chibikoro is what I jokingly call my wife because she is timid.

I haven't told my wife that I'm writing this diary.
It contains things that are hard to convey.
Besides, my wife might not be happy with writing that, in the end, can only be written from the perspective of a bystander.

But if my wife agrees, I would like her to write down her feelings at the time.
It can be later. At the beginning of each day's entry in this diary.