You are being so incredibly brave in the face of this cancer and your prognosis. You have actually let other people take care of you, which you have never trusted us to do before. More and more, you are expressing your love through your smiles and words, not hiding it under the sarcasm of fear (that's right, we're yankees). You tell me every day how much you appreciate all that I am doing for you, and today you even told me that having me here makes you feel safe. I admire all the growing you are doing, even in this late stage. Your confidence in my care of you touches me so deeply, and I am gratified to have this special time with you.
Now... will you please stop arguing with me about your meds?! I know that you do not remember the 47 or so conversations that we have had about your medication schedule in the last two days. I know that you do not remember that this schedule has been working well for the last week. You don't even remember taking an as-needed dose of pain meds an hour ago. But please believe me when I assure you that you do not need to take your sleeping medications two hours early for them to work. You sleep frequently all day, and have slept soundly through the last seven nights at least!
We were okay the four times today that I explained to you that my sister is not in prison. (Sister texted me, "Talk to the doc about the dosage of Haldol." It's an anti-psychotic. I texted back, "What do you know? You're in prison.")
And the conversation about the oxygen tank in the corner was adorable. You told us that if you turn it a quarter turn every day, it will grow straight up!
But for some reason, even though you explained to me in detail how your meds work, and why you need to take the sleeping meds right now, I will not do anything other than what the doctor ordered. You can call me unreasonable. Or call me whatever you like... I just don't know whether you will remember it in five minutes.
Love you still,
Your Daughter
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