Thursday night, April 19Today was a bad one. Marguerite's bone marrow is so damaged that she could not receive chemotherapy yesterday. This is not uncommon, but it is discouraging. Once again she is very weak.I found refuge in food (of course) and grandchild therapy. Little Ish spent the afternoon with me. He asked me to play "where there's a whip there's a way" over and over again - it's from the animated Return of the King. He danced and rocked with the orcs - "left right left right".As a caregiver, I am frustrated and angry. As a Catholic, I am frustrated and angry. Chemotherapy is clearly a poisoning of Marguerite's system. She is physically blasted, emotionally numb, and fearful. Ditto me. My faith is completely intact this time. I don't know about hers. I had loud, bitter prayers using the F word today, expressing my helplessness. Today's paradox of Catholicism was strangely comforting. I skipped mass, with out guilt, because I didn't want to run into anybody and also didn't want to face up to the knifing pain that comes from deep suffering, Even if an encounter with Christ would be good for me. Sometimes mindlessness and heartlessness feels better.Mother Mary, pray for us now and at the hour of our death.