Husband's Log - February 7th-10th, 2026

 In contrast to our explosive soup event on Friday, the past four days have put our lives in a slower pace.  The retirement home simulator we apparently signed up for has gone into full effect.  Each day begins with an 8:00 alarm advising Angela to wake up and take three pills in a plastic package labelled with the current date inside a pre-packed Farmacentro brand toiletry kit.  I don't remember the names of each pill, but I know one of them ends in zole, the other has the word meth in it, and the third one sounds like a Transformer with its name ending in "tron".  I could check their full names in our new Mexican drug store toiletry kit, but that would involve leaving this somewhat comfortable kitchen bar stool.

Once Angela takes her zole, meth, and transformer pills, we make our way downstairs at 8:15 to the nursing station for her first Filgrastim injection of the day.  I actually remember the name of this drug because it's the hot topic this week among all the members of our pseudo retirement home. These injections are needed twice daily for a week to boost the production of stem cells in the body.  This ensures there will be enough stem cells next week to remove and re-insert into the body to rebuild Angela's immune system from scratch.  Being a Saskatchewan man I'm used to idle conversations with strangers being exclusively weather-based, but in here it's all the rage to compare symptoms of chemotherapy and Filgrastim injections with each other.  From the conversations we've had, it sounds like bone pain, brain pain, and general tiredness are the popular symptoms so far.  For those who are curious on what brain pain is, it's a term Angela made up by accident to tell the nurse she had a headache.

Even with these symptoms, Ang has mandated we workout at the gym every day after breakfast.  Most days I can get away with just running on the treadmill and using a basic weight machine while Ang does her guided mobility exercises, but yesterday I joined her in one of them.  This brief exercise experience has taught me of the frailty of my hip flexors and the strength of my wife.

Once we are done at the gym, Ang and I visit the patio rooftop to graze in sunlight.  Like good retirement home residents, we partake in 1000 piece puzzle endeavors with some of the other patients.  It's big news when someone completes a puzzle, as there is truly no other worthwhile news in our Clinica Ruiz community.  Aside from puzzles, my wife and I will play Skip-Bo with some of the other residents.  The Germanic residents taught us of a game I dubbed "Swiss-Bo", which is just Skip-Bo except each wild card placement must be immediately followed by another card on your turn, and the discard pile can only be three cards wide instead of four.  I used one game of Swiss-Bo as an opportunity to practice my German.  The Swiss woman congratulated me for forming a basic German sentence, but I can't tell if that was a genuine congratulations, or if it was an act of sarcasm worthy of Angela's family.   A couple days ago everyone on the patio rooftop felt a synchronized dizziness.  At first the patients thought it was another symptom, but the caregivers like myself felt it too.  We soon learned an earthquake in Oaxaca was so large it rippled all the way to our clinic in Puebla.

On Sunday the clinic staff reorganized the restaurant into a Super Bowl viewing party during supper.  Chatting with the patients and their caretakers, we learned most of them couldn't give two shits about American football just like Ang and I.  Coming from a province that sees its football team as a green and white religion, this was a breath of fresh air for us.  We bonded with a UK patient and some clinic staff over how crazy it is people enjoy watching a game made up of 10 second sprints interrupted by five minutes of players walking around the field trying to figure out where they're supposed to line up for the next 10 second sprint.  Despite a distaste for football, the local viewers seemed to enjoy the Spanish half time show put on by a Puerto Rican guy Angela informs me is a bad bunny.

I've called this place a few differing things during our time here from the clinic to the retirement home, but it also serves as a rehab facility.  None of the patients or caregivers are allowed alcohol in the building for physical health reasons, but I think they fail to see the mental health benefits of an ice cold cerveza under the hot Mexican sun.  It's been 10 days since either of us have had a mere sip of liquid gold.  While we appear to have no physical side effects from our lack of alcohol, I find myself recalling the details of the last beer we had in the Denver airport, everything from its golden bubbles rising to the foamy surface to the condensation dripping along the pint glass.  Our endless supply of Kirkland water bottles just don't hit the same.  Despite the mental struggle of forced sobriety, I'm sure our bodies thank us for our service, and it will all be worth it by the end of the month.