The Hard Parts
Glenn (little guy) with his older brother, George
Today was supposed to be Dad’s second round of treatment in Waterloo, but things didn’t quite go as planned.
Mary and I were with him when they checked his labs, and we learned his sodium had dropped dangerously low again. Because of that, treatment had to be delayed.
One of the more frustrating parts of this has been how difficult it is to keep his sodium stable. Low sodium can be a side effect of the chemotherapy, but it’s also complicated by everything else his body is trying to manage right now. it might sound like a small thing, but sodium is incredibly important for how the body and brain function. When levels get too low, it can cause fatigue, weakness, nausea, confusion, headaches, muscle issues, and in severe cases, brain swelling, seizures, stroke-like symptoms, or other serious complications. It’s one of those things that sounds simple on paper, but can become dangerous very quick.
Instead of admitting him to the hospital right away, the team decided to try managing things from home first with salt tablets, fluid restriction, and close monitoring. He’ll go back over the next two days for repeat labs so they can watch where his sodium levels are trending and, hopefully, get him stable enough to safely resume treatment next week.
The hard part is that the salt tablets themselves have been making him incredibly nauseous and sick, which makes it even harder to eat, keep an appetite, or feel remotely normal. Still, he’s pushing through it the best he can.
If his sodium levels don’t improve enough, he’ll likely need to be hospitalized so they can bring things back up to a safer baseline and hopefully figure out a better long-term solution to keep his sodium stable moving forward.
Mary and I were both relieved he didn’t have to be admitted today, but it’s still hard to watch him leave without the treatment he came in for. When treatment was delayed, I think all of our hearts kind of dropped. You could immediately feel the disappointment. This whole process is such an emotional rollercoaster—small victories, setbacks, hope, fear, anger, progress, more waiting.
This is the part of cancer people don’t always see: the symptoms, labs, medications, side effects, and constant problem-solving that happen behind the scenes. This week has felt heavy, and it’s been a really hard and discouraging place to be mentally and physically. Watching someone you love fight this hard while their body keeps throwing obstacles at them is incredibly difficult. There are so many moments where I wish I could fit it for him, take some of it away, or carry part of the burden myself.
The bright spot right now is that he’s been receiving iron infusions over the last couple of weeks, and those do seem to be helping improve his hemoglobin levels, which has been low even without any active bleeding.
The doctor also put together a plan to start him on a bone-strengthening injection next week that should help support the areas in his bones where the cancer has spread. He’ll hopefully begin that treatment next week and continue receiving it every four weeks moving forward.
Dad, since I know you read these, this part is for you: I know this stretch feels exhausting, frustrating, and honestly just unfair. But I also see how hard you’re fighting through every setback, appointment, pill, lab, jab, and curveball being thrown at you right now. None of this is easy. At this point, I know you’re half-expecting someone to just wheel out a deer salt block and call it a day. But in all seriousness, we’re taking it one day—and one salt pill—at a time. And no matter how hard this stretch gets, we can help you carry it.
Right now, the focus is simple: get his sodium stabilized, get him feeling stronger again, and get back on track with treatment as soon as possible.
One step at a time.
