Companies that sell “Organizational Change” would probably like to know what I’ve discovered:  adapting to change isn’t an organizational process. All those charts and presentations from the many change management events I have worked through in my career:  they do not reflect the reality of change.  It’s immediate; the new rhythm doesn’t establish itself right away but the change … well, it just happens without fanfare, without any formal announcement, without explanations about how important the change is and how beneficial to everyone.

We’re adapting. Our habits are changing to accommodate the new reality. Sometimes, if you were watching, you might see some of the “old” us but mostly you would see a family in transition. Ken and I talked about it today; he’s starting to feel a little post-chemo energy today and then we kind of laughed and said “for another week and then back to chemo brain.”

Ian asked me this morning to remind him to read to his dad tonight. In the before time, they had just started reading  Alvin’s Secret Code together but now Ken is so exhausted by the end of the work day that conversations, reading, playing a game are all too much.

Chemo was stressful. They couldn’t give him the Avastin because it can cause bleeding and he had a brand-new port put in his chest the day before. Since the first Avastin dosage is 90 minutes long, that means that the next chemo session will actually be even longer than chemo #1 was. Ken did great over the 6 +/- hours that we were in the treatment center. If the concept of fairness actually existed in the universality of cancer, I would be the one sitting in the chair, not him. He’s taken great care of himself over the years, while I, on the other hand, have personally — yes, all by my lonesome — improved the economic outlook for pig farmers and bacon purveyors. But there is no such thing as FAIR to cancer and, as such, Ken sits in the chair while I sit by and watch.

Part of adapting to a new reality is recognizing the new signs and symbols, which I confess I am still doing poorly. It hadn’t occurred to me that disorientation might be an issue. Early Saturday morning, Ken got up because he was feeling sick, became dizzy in the bathroom where he was getting the anti-nausea pills, passed out, and fell. He grazed his head a bit, not badly, and awoke a little later on the floor. He says he stayed there for awhile because it was nicely solid and pretty comfortable (the rugs in the bathroom are QUITE fluffy!). I was sleeping downstairs — we’ve been trying to limit my exposure to the chemicals (the nurses suit and glove up before administering the chemo and they cautioned us to be careful since he has some fluid leakage where the tumors are clustered)  — and I didn’t hear him fall.  Even if I’d been sleeping upstairs, I probably would have noticed his absence rather than heard his fall but maybe I could have helped him get back to bed sooner.

The visiting nurse was coming by to remove his pump so we told her what had happened. “Dehydration,” she said. She called me later and told me to take him to the emergency room, per doctor’s orders. Ken nearly passed out again after we got to the hospital so it was clearly the right place for him to be. The doctor ordered a CT of his head (clear), blood work (good), and fluids (needed!). We were there for maybe 5-6 hours. He felt better but still exhausted and went immediately back to bed when we got home. The kids were patiently waiting for our return and we had a delicious dinner of cereal at like 10PM. Like I said, we’re a family in transition.