Progressing

She is metastatic to the bone and is taking Xeloda with the hopes of gaining some control over the disease because at this point cure is pretty much out of the question; in other words, unless she is hit by a bus, she'll likely die form her disease.
I marvel at how well she is doing because Xeloda can be a nasty drug; painful red hand/foot syndrome, dry cracked skin, mouth sores, and diarrhea.
Her chief complaint was that her pinky toes hurt sometimes and also that I was her nurse.
Later she told the doctor that I was an idiot, and wanted to know why I had asked all of those stupid questions about her side effects and it was explained to her that this was my job and that if I had failed to ask these questions I would have been remiss in my duties.
She also wanted to know which country in the Middle East I had come from and why I spoke such good English, and it was explained to her that my exceptional English was likely due to the fact that English is my mother tongue and that my accent merely indicates and upbringing in New England.
Lastly, she told the doctor that she might respect me if I didn't wear that thing on my head and those weirdo clothes, and she was questioned as to how any of this was relevant to the cancer that now appeared to be progressing despite treatment.