Here I am, eleven days into my Texas trip and a week away from returning to Arkansas, and I just don't want to leave. It seems God is doing that thing where he laughs at me again. I am just really ok with being here right now, I am loving my time with my family and just soaking up as much time with my Dad as I can. I spend my days playing with my nephews and nieces, running errands with my parents and thinking about how much I miss living close to all these people that I love.
I also spend time at MD_Anderson, pushing my Dad around in his wheelchair to chemo appointments, blood draws and check-ups. I smile big at the bald kiddos while my heart aches for them and chat with other patients about how cold the hospital is, what the cafeteria is serving and that the crabby receptionist is working infusion again today. I haven't been home for his chemo appointments, my trips here have fallen before or after. Being here to actually witness his response to chemo is nothing short of heartbreaking. For three days, chemo drips into his body nonstop via a pump. The first day he is a little worn out, the second day he starts dropping weight and looking depressed, the third day he is sad, exhausted and barely getting out of bed. Then the pump comes off and it takes three more days for his smile to return.
I want him to be his old self, the strong, proud man he was before the stroke and before the cancer came back. I just want him to live, I just want this to all go away. I'll take a dozen appointments with Dr. Nuts and Dr. Insensitive over this shit. I just want to beat his doctors into curing him, I want to scream at God for my Dad's suffering, I want to slap people bitching about trivial things on FB but mainly, I just want to curl up into a ball and sob for my Daddy.