It should be fun if only to get out of the house for a little while with Jeff and Danielle.
The downside? Mom won't go. I think the entire afternoon was planned as a way to get her out of the house, as I've been a big advocate of keeping her active. She sits on the couch and either sleeps or watches TV all day. All day. And the television viewing is lessening in favor of sleeping. She's been sleeping at least 13 hours every day, if not more. I've been noticing that she's declining invitations from her friends to do things she normally would enjoy, as well. This, along with her very obvious depression, all points to the fact that she's dying, according to the Caring Way nurse.
I have my doubts about that, by the way. While I'm her son and I'm probably going to interpret her behavior as something other than a slow decline, she did just switch from Dilaudid to Fentanyl about two weeks ago. I blame the new behavior on the painkillers rather than a downward spiral toward death. But the fact remains that she's refusing to do anything other than sit on the couch and either sleep or watch TV.
I don't know what to make of it all. On one hand there's Barbie (the nurse) talking to me about how she's dying every time I see her; on the other hand there's the day-to-day observable behavior that I'm intimately exposed to daily. I'm the person who's here every day, 24 hours every day, 7 days every week. I know her medications since I'm the person who administers them. I can observe the cause-and-effect when she switches painkillers. Logic dictates that if her behavior changes simultaneously with a medication change it's the medication, not a magical coincidence that her tumors are growing.
We have an appointment in about ten days for another MRI, and then shortly after that to discuss treatment options, if there are any left at all. I hate waiting. As tumultuous as my mother and my relationship has been for decades, she's still my mother. I still love her. And this just... sucks. For lack of a better word.