She has officially lost the ability to walk. My Dad just left the bedroom for 30 seconds to go pick up the mail, or something, and I heard a giant thump. I ran upstairs, and she was lying on the ground with a scared look on her face. I picked her up (all 125 pounds of her - she has no strength to help) and put her on the bed. I told her she needs to stay in the middle of the bed because the edges are too dangerous. She hasn't said a word to me today. I asked her if she understood me and she gave me a very slight nod. I got her a glass of water, and she was hardly able to gather the strength to lift it up to her lips. Then once it was in its proper position, she didn't really know when to stop or how to put it down.
To think that only a week ago I was taking her to the emergency room.
I'm constantly on my dad's case about getting a live-in person from hospice care immediately, but he's having trouble coming to terms with it. Basically, once you decide to go with hospice care, you rule out treatments such as chemotherapy and radiation. The doctors have essentially told us that both of these treatments would be futile, because Betty's cancer is too far along. But my dad will definitely call in the next couple days. Betty's brothers are coming to help out - but it's not like any of us are specialized in caring for someone so horribly ill.
It's extremely scary to watch the cancer spread. Every time she loses the ability to do a certain action, we know that the tumor has spread to a new location in her brain. As of yet, none of the tumors have reached her brain stem (the part responsible for controlling your breathing, pumping blood to your heart, etc.). But there's really only so much remaining room in her brain.
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