I'm veering between apathy, despair and a teenage sort of a sulk. Herbie has been refusing his CV247 the last couple of weeks, so I've been resorting to trying to squirt it down his throat, which doesn't work and he spits it all up and... I've given up trying. Disguising it with a little curry powder in his favourite scrambled eggs doesn't work, he can detect it in sardines, he's doing everything he can to tell me he doesn't want any more. This weekend I finally listened. And cracked, and gave him biscuits, after he's spent 18 months on a carb-free diet.
Two years ago, I would have wrestled demons at the gates of hell to save him. Now, I can't even stop myself giving him a dog-biscuit. What is wrong with me? I think I may have finally accepted that I can't change the outcome, and I've given up. Last year, I echoed Edna St.Vincent Millay: "I know. But I do not accept. And I am not resigned." Now, I've reached: "Whatever..."
So tired. CV247 was supposed to save him, but I promised him after the last chemo I wouldn't do anything invasive. Holding him by his sore neck to syringe bitter liquid down his throat is invasive. I had to admit that to myself. So, really no more treatment. Painkillers when he needs them, that's all. And strangely enough, he's been bouncing about like a wallaby ever since.