The calendar is about to turn to October and if you've been following me since the start, then you know how much I adore Autumn. I love everything about this season and October has long been my most favorite month. But, now, it's really lost a lot of it's appeal. You see, October is when XH and I became us, all those years ago. In fact, it would have been 15 years this month. Instead whatever use to be us is forever lost and frozen in time at thirteen years. The other thing that makes this month hard is the other significant date that coincidentally also happened in October. And that is the date XH called me and confessed his desire for a divorce. I have a thing about synchronicity and the fact that we both started and ended in October just resonates with me. Never-mind that we married in July and our divorce finalized in December. Even though those actual dates show synchronicity too, but I digress.
October is also the month my Dad had his massive bilateral stroke in 2008. That set us down the path of colon cancer and the slow realization that his time with us was very limited. We ended up starting hospice care for him three years later in October 2011 and he died five weeks later, in December.
It's the above reasons that make October and December so bittersweet, so emotionally taxing. I'm happily decorating the house in all it's Halloween splendor. I'm gleefully buying/drinking/eating all the pumpkin spiced goods. I'm thrilled to be planning trips to the corn maze, pumpkin patch, haunted houses, and the Renaissance Festival. I haven't yet pulled out the leggings, tights, light sweaters, and boots because Houston hasn't gotten the memo that Autumn has officially started, but I know it's only a matter of time! The coziness of the next three months is about to start and I do love it. But, fuck, it's bittersweet.
Things have been hard lately, I'm not going to lie. My health issues are a hard pill to swallow. Things are weird with a couple of my friends. I'm stressed about my continued non-luck with job hunting. And, this shit with XH is weighing on me too. Add to that some pregnancy announcements and me missing my Dad and it makes for one emotional Amanda.
::September 28th was my 6th blogoversary! Imagine me throwing confetti all over you and giving you a huge hug. If you are ever in my hood, I'm totally buying you a drink! Much love to all of you who have been here from the early days, if you in fact are still following along..lol::
Showing posts with label colon cancer. Show all posts
Showing posts with label colon cancer. Show all posts
September 29, 2014
December 1, 2013
Dear Dad
When the clock struck midnight and I watched the date flip to December, my stomach just dropped. It doesn't seem possible that it's been two whole years since you died. My mind literally has the hardest time wrapping itself around that fact. I guess it's how I cope, staying just a tad in denial, maybe because accepting it fully and completely would be so absolute. And it's an absolution that I just can't face yet and I'm not sure I really ever will. I mean, logically, I know you're gone but oh man my heart just doesn't want to believe it.
Since you left us, this time of year is always so bittersweet for us. Once that calender flips to October and the days start passing, the grief we always carry just gets heavier every day. Until we eventually land on December 2nd and it just topples us over. The day we all despise because it's the day our hearts lost a piece that we can never replace. Not that we want to but we know we have to go on and so we're learning how to live without you. So many people told me when you died that time heals all wounds. They're wrong though, that is a load of bullshit. All time does is continue and it carries you with it, no matter how much you resist. Time shows you how to learn the new normal that is your life now. Time teaches you how to make peace with the fact that you have a dead parent. You learn how to live with that hole left behind. And losing you left behind a hole the size of the Grand Canyon.
I miss you so much and to such a depth, that I no longer remember what it's like to not miss you. I miss hearing your laugh and seeing you smile. I miss saying "Dad" and you responding to it. I miss listening to you and Mom bicker. I so desperately wish that you were still here. Because the wishing goes hand in hand with the missing, of course. I wish you could play with the grandchildren, they're getting so big. I wish you could give me advice about everything. I wish you could see this house. I wish you could see T get married in two weeks. I wish you were here to hold Mom's hand because she so badly needs that. I just wish I could wrap my arms around you and hear you say, "Amanda".
I've had a really hard time since you left. I haven't always handled it in the most graceful way either. But I hope you are proud of me and how far I have come. I hope you think I'm making the right decisions. I hope I'm honoring you in a way that makes you shake your head as a slow grin stretches across your face. I hope you know just how much I love you and I hope you aren't missing us too badly.
Two years, Dad, two whole fucking years. I'd give anything to have you back because sometimes a girl just really needs her daddy.
Since you left us, this time of year is always so bittersweet for us. Once that calender flips to October and the days start passing, the grief we always carry just gets heavier every day. Until we eventually land on December 2nd and it just topples us over. The day we all despise because it's the day our hearts lost a piece that we can never replace. Not that we want to but we know we have to go on and so we're learning how to live without you. So many people told me when you died that time heals all wounds. They're wrong though, that is a load of bullshit. All time does is continue and it carries you with it, no matter how much you resist. Time shows you how to learn the new normal that is your life now. Time teaches you how to make peace with the fact that you have a dead parent. You learn how to live with that hole left behind. And losing you left behind a hole the size of the Grand Canyon.
I miss you so much and to such a depth, that I no longer remember what it's like to not miss you. I miss hearing your laugh and seeing you smile. I miss saying "Dad" and you responding to it. I miss listening to you and Mom bicker. I so desperately wish that you were still here. Because the wishing goes hand in hand with the missing, of course. I wish you could play with the grandchildren, they're getting so big. I wish you could give me advice about everything. I wish you could see this house. I wish you could see T get married in two weeks. I wish you were here to hold Mom's hand because she so badly needs that. I just wish I could wrap my arms around you and hear you say, "Amanda".
I've had a really hard time since you left. I haven't always handled it in the most graceful way either. But I hope you are proud of me and how far I have come. I hope you think I'm making the right decisions. I hope I'm honoring you in a way that makes you shake your head as a slow grin stretches across your face. I hope you know just how much I love you and I hope you aren't missing us too badly.
Two years, Dad, two whole fucking years. I'd give anything to have you back because sometimes a girl just really needs her daddy.
March 19, 2012
Coping
It's been 15 weeks now. The knowledge that time is passing by without him is simultaneously awful and relieving. It's also unbelievable. It's also a lot of other things but mainly it just sucks. Don't I have such a way with words? My therapist is pretty awesome, he has a very soothing voice and reminds me so much of Ernie Hudson. Seeing him again this week.
Things helping me cope:
* Net.flix instant streaming, guys I'm going to watch Justin Bieber tonight...new low?
* Ordering Sweet Valley High books from Amazon and rereading them...bc I am clearly a teen girl stuck in the early 90's
* old school country music bc my Dad loved it and it's perfect for when you are depressed and want to shoot people
* Disney movies and sappy chick flicks- Beaches and Steel Magnolia anyone?
* magazines, you should see the stacks around the house, my recycling person must think I'm a hoarder
* Pin.terest, bc pinning cute baby stuff is SO healthy and also? the recipes look amazing! So does the dream house I am pinning together complete with a slide from the upstairs to the downstairs!
* this book, which has made such a mark on me. It is now my absolute favorite book of all time. Read it and love it.
I've decided not to mention my addiction to Amazon bc I fear C will see this and take away my Amazon rewards card. But who could resist this or this or especially this.
I miss him more and more and just want him back. How can it already be Spring? The leaves were yellow and orange when he was dying and then completely gone when he did. How are they back already? Don't they know I'd rather be stuck in Fall?
Things helping me cope:
* Net.flix instant streaming, guys I'm going to watch Justin Bieber tonight...new low?
* Ordering Sweet Valley High books from Amazon and rereading them...bc I am clearly a teen girl stuck in the early 90's
* old school country music bc my Dad loved it and it's perfect for when you are depressed and want to shoot people
* Disney movies and sappy chick flicks- Beaches and Steel Magnolia anyone?
* magazines, you should see the stacks around the house, my recycling person must think I'm a hoarder
* Pin.terest, bc pinning cute baby stuff is SO healthy and also? the recipes look amazing! So does the dream house I am pinning together complete with a slide from the upstairs to the downstairs!
* this book, which has made such a mark on me. It is now my absolute favorite book of all time. Read it and love it.
I've decided not to mention my addiction to Amazon bc I fear C will see this and take away my Amazon rewards card. But who could resist this or this or especially this.
I miss him more and more and just want him back. How can it already be Spring? The leaves were yellow and orange when he was dying and then completely gone when he did. How are they back already? Don't they know I'd rather be stuck in Fall?
December 20, 2011
a blue christmas
I want this all to be a bad dream. I want to sleep until January 1st. I want to run screaming to a tropical beach and get very, very drunk. I know none of this is possible so instead I shop for presents, wrap them, listen to Christmas music and send out a couple of cards to good friends. My heart just isn't into it this year, barely decorated a little 3 foot tree we bought instead of dragging our big one out. Heading back home soon to get the hardest Christmas ever over.
I clearly underestimated grieving. It's kicking my ass and leaving me whimpering on the floor in the fetal position. My house is a disaster, the laundry piled high and I've lost 12lbs because I just forget to eat or have no appetite. I wouldn't remember to shower but I hate having greasy hair and unshaved legs so I manage that at least. Needless to say, I'm taking this pretty hard.
I feel irrevocably changed, like a piece of me is forever gone. The one thought that keeps popping up is that I feel untethered, like I am only half stuck to this place. My Dad's gone so his string broke but my Mom's keeps me attached, I'm half untethered. It's a disconcerting feeling, a lost feeling. Some days I don't cry a single drop and he doesn't occupy my every thought but some days, I sob and sob and replay memories in my head over and over. It's funny but I'll forget and briefly freak out that I haven't bought him a Christmas present yet or called to check on him that day, I find myself talking about him and making plans for him like he's still here. Then, like a jolt, I remember and oh that sinking feeling sucks ass.
I never imagined losing a parent could fundamentally change a person. But it has, I know in my heart that I will never be the same. Yes, life will go on and I will eventually stop the hardcore grieving but it will always be different now, I will always be different now. I will always mourn him, miss him, long to see him just one more time. I will learn to live with this but I will never be who I was. Eventually the nightmares will stop and I won't be scared of driving or large crowds (all irrational, I know), it'll get easier.
I both look forward to that day and dread it. Just like I dread turning 55 and outliving him and I dread the day he's been gone 29 years- longer than I had him here as my Dad. But I also look forward to it, to taking him with me on my journey, knowing he's guiding me and praying for me. He's safe, happy and healthy again, I love that. I just hate it for me.
I clearly underestimated grieving. It's kicking my ass and leaving me whimpering on the floor in the fetal position. My house is a disaster, the laundry piled high and I've lost 12lbs because I just forget to eat or have no appetite. I wouldn't remember to shower but I hate having greasy hair and unshaved legs so I manage that at least. Needless to say, I'm taking this pretty hard.
I feel irrevocably changed, like a piece of me is forever gone. The one thought that keeps popping up is that I feel untethered, like I am only half stuck to this place. My Dad's gone so his string broke but my Mom's keeps me attached, I'm half untethered. It's a disconcerting feeling, a lost feeling. Some days I don't cry a single drop and he doesn't occupy my every thought but some days, I sob and sob and replay memories in my head over and over. It's funny but I'll forget and briefly freak out that I haven't bought him a Christmas present yet or called to check on him that day, I find myself talking about him and making plans for him like he's still here. Then, like a jolt, I remember and oh that sinking feeling sucks ass.
I never imagined losing a parent could fundamentally change a person. But it has, I know in my heart that I will never be the same. Yes, life will go on and I will eventually stop the hardcore grieving but it will always be different now, I will always be different now. I will always mourn him, miss him, long to see him just one more time. I will learn to live with this but I will never be who I was. Eventually the nightmares will stop and I won't be scared of driving or large crowds (all irrational, I know), it'll get easier.
I both look forward to that day and dread it. Just like I dread turning 55 and outliving him and I dread the day he's been gone 29 years- longer than I had him here as my Dad. But I also look forward to it, to taking him with me on my journey, knowing he's guiding me and praying for me. He's safe, happy and healthy again, I love that. I just hate it for me.
December 12, 2011
the aftermath
He passed away December 2, 2011 at 2:30am. He'd been comatose that whole week, looking back, I see how I ignored the clues that Thursday was probably going to be his last day, I just couldn't believe it. I administered his pain meds at 1:30am and was in the living room watching tv when my big brother came and got me bc our Dad's breathing had changed. My Mom, little brother and I were in the room with him, chatting when I looked over and noticed he'd stopped breathing. I jumped up, got my other brother and sister and we surrounded the bed, touching him and calling out I love you, when he quietly took his last breath and was gone. It was the most surreal moment of my life. How honored I am to have been there when that wonderful man left this world.
The day he died and the following days planning and attending the funeral are just a blur to me. Almost like a horrible dream that I floated through. C got me through it all, he really is incredible. I have only had a couple of absolute breakdown-sobbing uncontrollably moments. The first wasn't when he died but when the funeral home took him out on a stretcher. My mind was screaming, "Please don't take him! Leave him with us!" and I was so upset that never again would we see him in the house, this was it. I just sobbed in C's arms until I sent him to walk my Dad out and watch him leave.
C, my SIL and I planned the best funeral for him. Country music played during the visitation, there was a slide show of pictures before the Rosary started and we played his two favorite songs at the cemetery. Pictures were everywhere at the funeral home, his cowboy hat perched on the edge of the coffin, his canes standing nearby, baseballs from my brother and two nephews in the coffin, along with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in his pocket. It was perfect and the best way to send him off. I know he loved it. It was truly my honor and privilege to help care for him. I would do it all over again in a heartbeat, although I'd wish I wouldn't have to, because watching a loved one waste away and die from cancer is hell on earth.
C and I are back in AR now, going home for Christmas and bringing my Mom back to stay for a while. I didn't know grieving for him would be like this. Empty, lonely and just crushing to my soul. I can't handle crowds, stores or driving. No appetite, so I've lost ten pounds, which I ironically laugh at bc I've been dieting for so long to no avail. Anyway, ever been in a room that is suddenly plunged into darkness? And you fumble around looking for light, so disoriented, with your arms stretched out searching for something, anything to help but there's nothing. Yeah, that is what it feels like when you lose a parent. I feel half untethered and lost. My precious Dad is gone and while I am so happy he's now pain free and in Heaven with our Lord, I am so sad for me, my Mom, my siblings, my nephews and nieces.
Happy for him, sad for me...because I just miss him so fucking much. Devastated because the missing him only grows daily and will for the rest of my life.
The day he died and the following days planning and attending the funeral are just a blur to me. Almost like a horrible dream that I floated through. C got me through it all, he really is incredible. I have only had a couple of absolute breakdown-sobbing uncontrollably moments. The first wasn't when he died but when the funeral home took him out on a stretcher. My mind was screaming, "Please don't take him! Leave him with us!" and I was so upset that never again would we see him in the house, this was it. I just sobbed in C's arms until I sent him to walk my Dad out and watch him leave.
C, my SIL and I planned the best funeral for him. Country music played during the visitation, there was a slide show of pictures before the Rosary started and we played his two favorite songs at the cemetery. Pictures were everywhere at the funeral home, his cowboy hat perched on the edge of the coffin, his canes standing nearby, baseballs from my brother and two nephews in the coffin, along with a pack of cigarettes and a lighter in his pocket. It was perfect and the best way to send him off. I know he loved it. It was truly my honor and privilege to help care for him. I would do it all over again in a heartbeat, although I'd wish I wouldn't have to, because watching a loved one waste away and die from cancer is hell on earth.
C and I are back in AR now, going home for Christmas and bringing my Mom back to stay for a while. I didn't know grieving for him would be like this. Empty, lonely and just crushing to my soul. I can't handle crowds, stores or driving. No appetite, so I've lost ten pounds, which I ironically laugh at bc I've been dieting for so long to no avail. Anyway, ever been in a room that is suddenly plunged into darkness? And you fumble around looking for light, so disoriented, with your arms stretched out searching for something, anything to help but there's nothing. Yeah, that is what it feels like when you lose a parent. I feel half untethered and lost. My precious Dad is gone and while I am so happy he's now pain free and in Heaven with our Lord, I am so sad for me, my Mom, my siblings, my nephews and nieces.
Happy for him, sad for me...because I just miss him so fucking much. Devastated because the missing him only grows daily and will for the rest of my life.
December 2, 2011
he's gone
The best Daddy a girl could ask for passed away after a very brave battle with colon cancer. He truly lit up a room when he walked into it and always was quick to smile and laugh. I am who I am because of him and I can't thank him enough for being my Dad. It's been my honor and privilege to care for him. And while I know he's in a better place and no longer in pain, it doesn't soothe the worst part of it all, having to live the rest of my life without him.
November 19, 2011
Dear Dad,
It's often late at night that this ball of anxiety and nervousness takes up residence in my chest, I almost can't breathe from the pressure. Then it turns into restlessness, which causes me to drive mindlessly around until I feel ok enough to maybe sleep. I hate leaving you but sometimes, I just have to get out of here. I know you understand, you are the same way. Getting the hell out of dodge is sometimes the best solution to a problem. It's also at night that I try to imagine your funeral and what it will be like. Will anyone attend? Will anyone send flowers? How will all of us make it through? So many questions and not a single answer that makes me feel better.
Your decline is astonishing because I think we had actually convinced ourselves that you aren't dying. You've outlived the two week prediction by the hospice we fired but as we come upon the month prediction from your oncologist, I freak out a little. It seems like it might be accurate and that scares the fuck out of me. I'm sitting here right now listening to your oxygen machine, hearing it's intake and outtake makes me want to throw up because it reminds me of your time in the ICU after your stroke. I'm glad it helps you but I dread the day it doesn't. The house is full of medical equipment: a wheelchair, an oxygen tank on wheels, a nebulizer, a suction machine...visible reminders of the truth we so desperately want to ignore.
The past couple of days have been a sharp decline. You stare blankly a lot and rarely respond to us unless you nod for more pain medicine. You're too weak to cough up normal saliva and can barely sip water. I hate it. I hate it for you because I can see it in your eyes that you aren't ready for any of this, you don't want to leave us. You hate that this is what your life is like now, that this is how you are dying. I see it and I wish I could make it all better for you. I promise that Heaven will be amazing, you won't hurt or be sad. I hear it's paradise and that you feel nothing but peace, joy, and love. I know you will be thrilled to be with Grandpa again and your uncle and your own grandparents too. I know you'll be able to run and play baseball again, hear Elvis give a concert, and float on a cloud. Believe it or not, that is actually comforting to me.
But, I also know that you will miss us. Because we will be missing you so incredibly much too. I also know that your love for us won't stop because neither will our love for you. I know we'll see you again one day and that you'll have the biggest grin to greet us when we get to Heaven. I just wish you didn't have to go yet. I wish that you could stay and continue loving us here. I'd give anything for that, anything.
I just have one request, when you get to Heaven, can you ask God to send C and me a baby?
Your decline is astonishing because I think we had actually convinced ourselves that you aren't dying. You've outlived the two week prediction by the hospice we fired but as we come upon the month prediction from your oncologist, I freak out a little. It seems like it might be accurate and that scares the fuck out of me. I'm sitting here right now listening to your oxygen machine, hearing it's intake and outtake makes me want to throw up because it reminds me of your time in the ICU after your stroke. I'm glad it helps you but I dread the day it doesn't. The house is full of medical equipment: a wheelchair, an oxygen tank on wheels, a nebulizer, a suction machine...visible reminders of the truth we so desperately want to ignore.
The past couple of days have been a sharp decline. You stare blankly a lot and rarely respond to us unless you nod for more pain medicine. You're too weak to cough up normal saliva and can barely sip water. I hate it. I hate it for you because I can see it in your eyes that you aren't ready for any of this, you don't want to leave us. You hate that this is what your life is like now, that this is how you are dying. I see it and I wish I could make it all better for you. I promise that Heaven will be amazing, you won't hurt or be sad. I hear it's paradise and that you feel nothing but peace, joy, and love. I know you will be thrilled to be with Grandpa again and your uncle and your own grandparents too. I know you'll be able to run and play baseball again, hear Elvis give a concert, and float on a cloud. Believe it or not, that is actually comforting to me.
But, I also know that you will miss us. Because we will be missing you so incredibly much too. I also know that your love for us won't stop because neither will our love for you. I know we'll see you again one day and that you'll have the biggest grin to greet us when we get to Heaven. I just wish you didn't have to go yet. I wish that you could stay and continue loving us here. I'd give anything for that, anything.
I just have one request, when you get to Heaven, can you ask God to send C and me a baby?
November 7, 2011
Dear Dad
Dear Dad,
I still can't believe you're dying, it just makes no sense to me. There's little doubt looking at you that something is going on, you are 106 lbs and often bundled up because you are always cold but I still have a hard time understanding that this is it. I despise the hospice nurses, although Abel isn't too bad. He always shakes your hand and is so nice to you. Nurse Mary is a down right bitch and I look forward to being able to tell her to fuck off. You hate her too and basically ignore her when she's here, being all loud and rude. Right now I am sitting across from you in the living room as you doze. I keep stealing glances at you to ensure you are still breathing and I feel my heart lurch when you take too long.
We celebrated Thanksgiving yesterday and seeing you so happy made me so happy. You didn't eat much but you still tried. Grandma made her famous stuffing that you adore and Aunt B made your favorite banana cream pudding. Your six sisters fawned all over you and annoyed the hell out of me, as usual. You got tired fast and we made everyone leave so you could nap. None of us mentioned that we were doing this now, just in case you leave us soon. In fact, all mention of your funeral has stopped. We were talking about it a lot but now none of us want to talk about it anymore. C and I went to the funeral home you said you preferred and got a quote. I almost threw up walking in and just wanted to get the hell out of there. Did you know funerals cost around $9,000? I didn't either. You are so worth every penny, I am just thankful that I can dip into our IVF fund to do this for you. Thankful and a tad panicked because holy cow that is a shit ton of money. But, you know, I'd spend triple that just to keep you here.
I wish I could change all this, keep you healthy and safe and here. I want so badly to see that grin on your face when I tell you C and I are going to have a baby. I want so badly to see you cuddle my child and spoil him or her rotten. I want to so badly to dance with you one more time to our song, "Amanda" by Waylon Jennings. I wish I had taken you to Alaska and Cancun, like you wanted. Or even to Luckenbach like I said I would. I'm sorry that I never did, life got in the way, which I know is a piss poor excuse, no matter how true it is.
Do you know that I think you are so handsome? Do you know that you are the true heart of our family? Do you know just how grateful I am to have your sense of adventure and your love of travel? I even have your crude sense of humor and bluntness that borders on rudeness. I love when people tell me how much like you I am. Do you know just how damn proud I am to be your daughter?
love you...more than I can explain
A
I still can't believe you're dying, it just makes no sense to me. There's little doubt looking at you that something is going on, you are 106 lbs and often bundled up because you are always cold but I still have a hard time understanding that this is it. I despise the hospice nurses, although Abel isn't too bad. He always shakes your hand and is so nice to you. Nurse Mary is a down right bitch and I look forward to being able to tell her to fuck off. You hate her too and basically ignore her when she's here, being all loud and rude. Right now I am sitting across from you in the living room as you doze. I keep stealing glances at you to ensure you are still breathing and I feel my heart lurch when you take too long.
We celebrated Thanksgiving yesterday and seeing you so happy made me so happy. You didn't eat much but you still tried. Grandma made her famous stuffing that you adore and Aunt B made your favorite banana cream pudding. Your six sisters fawned all over you and annoyed the hell out of me, as usual. You got tired fast and we made everyone leave so you could nap. None of us mentioned that we were doing this now, just in case you leave us soon. In fact, all mention of your funeral has stopped. We were talking about it a lot but now none of us want to talk about it anymore. C and I went to the funeral home you said you preferred and got a quote. I almost threw up walking in and just wanted to get the hell out of there. Did you know funerals cost around $9,000? I didn't either. You are so worth every penny, I am just thankful that I can dip into our IVF fund to do this for you. Thankful and a tad panicked because holy cow that is a shit ton of money. But, you know, I'd spend triple that just to keep you here.
I wish I could change all this, keep you healthy and safe and here. I want so badly to see that grin on your face when I tell you C and I are going to have a baby. I want so badly to see you cuddle my child and spoil him or her rotten. I want to so badly to dance with you one more time to our song, "Amanda" by Waylon Jennings. I wish I had taken you to Alaska and Cancun, like you wanted. Or even to Luckenbach like I said I would. I'm sorry that I never did, life got in the way, which I know is a piss poor excuse, no matter how true it is.
Do you know that I think you are so handsome? Do you know that you are the true heart of our family? Do you know just how grateful I am to have your sense of adventure and your love of travel? I even have your crude sense of humor and bluntness that borders on rudeness. I love when people tell me how much like you I am. Do you know just how damn proud I am to be your daughter?
love you...more than I can explain
A
November 3, 2011
dying isn't pretty
Dear Dad,
Ten days have passed since they told us your prognosis, cold hard words that felt like a punch to my gut. At first it seemed like you were going to pass soon but then you rallied and had an awesome few days. But, the last couple of days have been harder and you are weaker, eating less and you don't talk anymore. You sit quietly and watch tv or stare at us or off into the distance. Mainly, you enjoy to sit outside and take it all in. You told me that you like to watch the butterflies and the wind in the trees. You also really enjoy looking at the moon. It makes me sad to watch you stare off like this. I wonder what you are thinking and feeling, are you scared? Do you realize what is happening as you slow down more and more?
I read online the stages of death and you show some of them but not the ones you should be showing. It's like your body is ready but you aren't. Which is typical of you, you always do things in your own way and in your own time. I feel like I have so much to say to you but just can't find the words. I tried to tell you and ended up bawling my eyes out. You hugged me, rubbed my back and told me that it's ok, you're not going anywhere for a long time. You comforted me as I told you that I was scared and going to miss you so much. I had to come back inside the house because I didn't want to upset you. I keep telling you that I love you and hearing you respond is music to my ears.
We're all here, all twelve of us, well, C comes and goes because he's working in AR but for the most part, we're here. Soaking you up and taking lots of pictures. We forget sometimes what is really going on but then we remember and it's hard. We have to help you walk and I know that makes you sad but we really don't mind. We all scramble to help you, to fetch your favorite foods or surprise you with gifts. Anything to make you smile because you rarely do so these days. It's odd to look at you and know you are dying, that death is so close to you, to us. I can't seem to wrap my mind around it, I literally can't picture a future without you in it. You have always been a very proud man and so full of life. To see it ending like this for you, pisses me off. Dying from cancer is ugly, you can't really eat because the tumors in your stomach are pushing against everything so you are only 119lbs. You wear diapers now and take a lot of pain medicine. This isn't how it should be. I am so sorry, Dad. I am so sorry.
I have so many questions and concerns these days about you. But the main ones are: Do you know how much I will miss you? Do you know just how wonderful you have been to us? You are the greatest man I have ever known and I love you more than you can ever know.
love,
your favorite daughter (don't worry, I won't rub that in too much with T)
Ten days have passed since they told us your prognosis, cold hard words that felt like a punch to my gut. At first it seemed like you were going to pass soon but then you rallied and had an awesome few days. But, the last couple of days have been harder and you are weaker, eating less and you don't talk anymore. You sit quietly and watch tv or stare at us or off into the distance. Mainly, you enjoy to sit outside and take it all in. You told me that you like to watch the butterflies and the wind in the trees. You also really enjoy looking at the moon. It makes me sad to watch you stare off like this. I wonder what you are thinking and feeling, are you scared? Do you realize what is happening as you slow down more and more?
I read online the stages of death and you show some of them but not the ones you should be showing. It's like your body is ready but you aren't. Which is typical of you, you always do things in your own way and in your own time. I feel like I have so much to say to you but just can't find the words. I tried to tell you and ended up bawling my eyes out. You hugged me, rubbed my back and told me that it's ok, you're not going anywhere for a long time. You comforted me as I told you that I was scared and going to miss you so much. I had to come back inside the house because I didn't want to upset you. I keep telling you that I love you and hearing you respond is music to my ears.
We're all here, all twelve of us, well, C comes and goes because he's working in AR but for the most part, we're here. Soaking you up and taking lots of pictures. We forget sometimes what is really going on but then we remember and it's hard. We have to help you walk and I know that makes you sad but we really don't mind. We all scramble to help you, to fetch your favorite foods or surprise you with gifts. Anything to make you smile because you rarely do so these days. It's odd to look at you and know you are dying, that death is so close to you, to us. I can't seem to wrap my mind around it, I literally can't picture a future without you in it. You have always been a very proud man and so full of life. To see it ending like this for you, pisses me off. Dying from cancer is ugly, you can't really eat because the tumors in your stomach are pushing against everything so you are only 119lbs. You wear diapers now and take a lot of pain medicine. This isn't how it should be. I am so sorry, Dad. I am so sorry.
I have so many questions and concerns these days about you. But the main ones are: Do you know how much I will miss you? Do you know just how wonderful you have been to us? You are the greatest man I have ever known and I love you more than you can ever know.
love,
your favorite daughter (don't worry, I won't rub that in too much with T)
October 26, 2011
a new reality
I'm home, with my family. Soaking up all the time I can with my Dad. My wonderful, hilarious, wacky Dad is dying. We started hospice yesterday after getting the news Friday that the cancer isn't responding to chemo and is spreading. My Dad was ready to stop treatment anyway so hospice was the only choice left. His doctor told us that he has maybe a month, the hospice nurse thinks it will be a couple of weeks. I don't want either option.
He is having a really good day today and is very alert. He doesn't say much but he laughs at us and plays with the grandkids. We're all camped out here, nobody wants to leave his side for a moment. We're all in this together and making the best out of this horrible situation. I keep forgetting that it's really happening. It doesn't seem real to me. Even as I call funeral homes, make plans and coordinate his care, it feels like I'm talking about someone else. I don't want this to be real, please don't let it be real. He's only 54, how the hell am I suppose to live the rest of my life without him? How can it be that my Dad will never hold my child? How is it possible for me to be here, typing this, when my heart is shattered?
Cancer fucking sucks.
He is having a really good day today and is very alert. He doesn't say much but he laughs at us and plays with the grandkids. We're all camped out here, nobody wants to leave his side for a moment. We're all in this together and making the best out of this horrible situation. I keep forgetting that it's really happening. It doesn't seem real to me. Even as I call funeral homes, make plans and coordinate his care, it feels like I'm talking about someone else. I don't want this to be real, please don't let it be real. He's only 54, how the hell am I suppose to live the rest of my life without him? How can it be that my Dad will never hold my child? How is it possible for me to be here, typing this, when my heart is shattered?
Cancer fucking sucks.
September 6, 2011
Some honesty
I've struggled with writing this post for some time now. It's just so personal and so painful and you wouldn't think it would be since I have this blog and share my life with strangers but I am actually a fairly private person. I know a lot about my friends but they only know small glimpses of my life bc I rather not share too much. I am the master at letting people think they know me while keeping my feelings private. I joke a lot about sex and make inappropriate comments frequently but I don't get too deep with anybody. I like to protect my heart by not revealing too much of it. And sometimes this tumbles over into my marriage and causes problems.
When I am hurting, I just completely shut down and close into myself. I push everyone away, including C...well, mostly C. I just become too overwhelmed with it all and can only find solace in myself. The infertility didn't have this effect on me but all of this cancer shit with my Dad has just brought me to my knees. I simply cannot do anything to lessen this pain; a constant pain and fear that rages and whispers and is never silent. He's sick, he has stage 3 colon cancer and the prognosis isn't great. I am going to lose him, it's just a matter of when. This is something I just really can't process, my mind rejects it and my heart denies it.
So, my way of coping is pushing C away and straining our marriage. Aren't I just a fucking genius? During my recent long visit to TX, I just made up my mind to finally tell C just how unhappy I was. And to my shock, he responded the exact same way. We were both utterly miserable. This led to several very long talks about what to do about it. He flew to Houston at the end of my visit to see our families and drive back with me and on that 8 hour drive, we cried and talked quietly about walking away. There was no yelling, no name calling, no big blow up. We talked about just how incredibly hard it is to live with infertility and how much damage the initial diagnoses did to us. We talked about how it changed us individually and as a couple. We talked about what my Dad's illness has done to me, to us. How we have just had one hit after another to endure. We talked about if we wanted to stay married to a person who has changed so much. Sometimes it just hurts too much.
I love C desperately, he is my best friend in the whole world. He is the only person on this planet that makes me feel like me. He is my home, my heart, my harbor. I was praying during the whole drive that he still felt that way about me. I can't tell you how happy my heart was when he turned to me and told me he loved me and that we were worth fighting for. Once we both talked out all the hurt and pain, we just knew that we have no choice but to right the wrongs and make us stronger. We have been through a lot and it's just so easy to wallow in it and let it overtake us. But that is such a weak, lame move. We are stronger than this, we can get through this and it won't be easy but we're ok with that.
In the (almost) 12 years of us, we thought we had built a strong foundation and while I think it still is, infertility and a parent's illness showed us the weak spots. Now we are working on us and it feels right. The bad is still there and it's going to get worse, I know my darkest days lie ahead with actually losing my Dad. I also know that losing him will forever change me and that I'll live with some degree of grief for the rest of my life. I don't like thinking about it but I know that I have C to lean on. I know we can face that together. My life will go on and the best way to honor my Dad will be to live it to the fullest and to love with all my heart.
I also know that IVF lies ahead of us but whether it is a success or a failure, the ending won't change. The ending has already been determined. We will be parents, regardless.
When I am hurting, I just completely shut down and close into myself. I push everyone away, including C...well, mostly C. I just become too overwhelmed with it all and can only find solace in myself. The infertility didn't have this effect on me but all of this cancer shit with my Dad has just brought me to my knees. I simply cannot do anything to lessen this pain; a constant pain and fear that rages and whispers and is never silent. He's sick, he has stage 3 colon cancer and the prognosis isn't great. I am going to lose him, it's just a matter of when. This is something I just really can't process, my mind rejects it and my heart denies it.
So, my way of coping is pushing C away and straining our marriage. Aren't I just a fucking genius? During my recent long visit to TX, I just made up my mind to finally tell C just how unhappy I was. And to my shock, he responded the exact same way. We were both utterly miserable. This led to several very long talks about what to do about it. He flew to Houston at the end of my visit to see our families and drive back with me and on that 8 hour drive, we cried and talked quietly about walking away. There was no yelling, no name calling, no big blow up. We talked about just how incredibly hard it is to live with infertility and how much damage the initial diagnoses did to us. We talked about how it changed us individually and as a couple. We talked about what my Dad's illness has done to me, to us. How we have just had one hit after another to endure. We talked about if we wanted to stay married to a person who has changed so much. Sometimes it just hurts too much.
I love C desperately, he is my best friend in the whole world. He is the only person on this planet that makes me feel like me. He is my home, my heart, my harbor. I was praying during the whole drive that he still felt that way about me. I can't tell you how happy my heart was when he turned to me and told me he loved me and that we were worth fighting for. Once we both talked out all the hurt and pain, we just knew that we have no choice but to right the wrongs and make us stronger. We have been through a lot and it's just so easy to wallow in it and let it overtake us. But that is such a weak, lame move. We are stronger than this, we can get through this and it won't be easy but we're ok with that.
In the (almost) 12 years of us, we thought we had built a strong foundation and while I think it still is, infertility and a parent's illness showed us the weak spots. Now we are working on us and it feels right. The bad is still there and it's going to get worse, I know my darkest days lie ahead with actually losing my Dad. I also know that losing him will forever change me and that I'll live with some degree of grief for the rest of my life. I don't like thinking about it but I know that I have C to lean on. I know we can face that together. My life will go on and the best way to honor my Dad will be to live it to the fullest and to love with all my heart.
I also know that IVF lies ahead of us but whether it is a success or a failure, the ending won't change. The ending has already been determined. We will be parents, regardless.
August 14, 2011
Greetings from Tejas
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.
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.
July 30, 2011
On the Road Again
I'm heading home in a couple of days. Back to Texas to attend doctor appointments with my parents, help them pack and sort and store their things so they can move to a smaller house, help my little brother with navigating what to do now that he's graduated and to also make funeral arrangements for my Dad. Our thinking being it's "easier" to make the arrangements before we need them. Just thinking about it makes my stomach hurt. My Dad's birthday is the 17th so I'll just stay until after that, so it's a nice, long visit at that. I'm slightly worried I'm going to lose my mind this trip down. C, of course, can't go so I'll be without my safety net. ::sigh::
It's always on the eve of these long trips back home that suddenly my house seems so hard to leave. My bed is so much more comfortable, my fridge stocked with the yummiest food, there are suddenly projects that I must undertake and I just want to snuggle into my house and never leave. I actually dread the small bed at my inlaws, the cramped shower too. I dread having to leash my dogs every.single.time they need to go out because their yard isn't fenced. I'm not looking forward to the infamous Houston humidity and swamp-like steamy nights. And most of all, I dread having the ever looming thoughts that my time with my Dad is running out. That I better savor every conversation, every hug, every laugh because there's no longer an endless supply of them. There's a limit and it's coming.
This has been the year from hell, one hit after another. And I know that's life but I could really use a freaking break before my head explodes. But, you wanna know something funny? I still keep hoping that something better, something happy, is just around the corner. Maybe, just maybe, God will throw us a freaking bone and we'll have something to remind us that life isn't all doom and gloom.
I hope it happens soon.
It's always on the eve of these long trips back home that suddenly my house seems so hard to leave. My bed is so much more comfortable, my fridge stocked with the yummiest food, there are suddenly projects that I must undertake and I just want to snuggle into my house and never leave. I actually dread the small bed at my inlaws, the cramped shower too. I dread having to leash my dogs every.single.time they need to go out because their yard isn't fenced. I'm not looking forward to the infamous Houston humidity and swamp-like steamy nights. And most of all, I dread having the ever looming thoughts that my time with my Dad is running out. That I better savor every conversation, every hug, every laugh because there's no longer an endless supply of them. There's a limit and it's coming.
This has been the year from hell, one hit after another. And I know that's life but I could really use a freaking break before my head explodes. But, you wanna know something funny? I still keep hoping that something better, something happy, is just around the corner. Maybe, just maybe, God will throw us a freaking bone and we'll have something to remind us that life isn't all doom and gloom.
I hope it happens soon.
July 20, 2011
Cancer Sucks
The doctor's official prognosis is not good. He feels that the chemo is killing my Dad faster than the cancer is and believes that it's best to stop treatment and enter hospice care. The problem is he is just too weak and losing too much weight and the weakness stems from the stroke and the weight loss from tumors pressing against his digestive tract. So, it's just bad all around.
I spent the past two days very depressed and weepy as I started to think about making arrangements to move to TX for the remainder of the year and gathering information about funerals. I also started thinking about where my Dad would like to take a trip while he's still feeling good. It is a very heartbreaking thought that I'm going to lose my Dad. I feel like there is still so much he needs to teach me, so much he needs to see me accomplish and so many memories that I am being robbed of and of course, that my child will never know my Dad is the worst thought of all. Losing my Dad will be the biggest heartbreak of my life, the infertility pales in comparison for me.
But my Dad wants to keep fighting, he isn't ready to give up, so we're in the process of getting a second opinion. Frankly, I am quite pissed that MD_Anderson is giving up on my Dad so easily after only 3 rounds of chemo. I mean, really?! 3 rounds and you're calling it over? They can fuck off if they think we're going to accept that and take my Dad home to die. We're fighters, we fought to keep him alive while doctors urged us to turn off the life support, we fought to get him the treatment he deserved and we fought to bring him back to us. We're not about to let ANYONE take him away. At least, not without a fight. They clearly underestimate my family and our determination. Idiots.
So today I woke up feeling somewhat better, able to ignore the bitterness and sadness a little more today than yesterday. His second opinion appointment is in August and I eagerly await it. After all, I know firsthand how much a second opinion can save your ass.
I spent the past two days very depressed and weepy as I started to think about making arrangements to move to TX for the remainder of the year and gathering information about funerals. I also started thinking about where my Dad would like to take a trip while he's still feeling good. It is a very heartbreaking thought that I'm going to lose my Dad. I feel like there is still so much he needs to teach me, so much he needs to see me accomplish and so many memories that I am being robbed of and of course, that my child will never know my Dad is the worst thought of all. Losing my Dad will be the biggest heartbreak of my life, the infertility pales in comparison for me.
But my Dad wants to keep fighting, he isn't ready to give up, so we're in the process of getting a second opinion. Frankly, I am quite pissed that MD_Anderson is giving up on my Dad so easily after only 3 rounds of chemo. I mean, really?! 3 rounds and you're calling it over? They can fuck off if they think we're going to accept that and take my Dad home to die. We're fighters, we fought to keep him alive while doctors urged us to turn off the life support, we fought to get him the treatment he deserved and we fought to bring him back to us. We're not about to let ANYONE take him away. At least, not without a fight. They clearly underestimate my family and our determination. Idiots.
So today I woke up feeling somewhat better, able to ignore the bitterness and sadness a little more today than yesterday. His second opinion appointment is in August and I eagerly await it. After all, I know firsthand how much a second opinion can save your ass.
July 17, 2011
MIA
I can't believe it's been so long since I last posted, it's been busy to say the least. We finally took a much needed vacation to Florida with my family and it was just wonderful. Very relaxing and fun! C also went back to his old company, into a new position that is amazing. He loves it and has a more normal schedule, which I love! And this past Friday we celebrated 5 years of marriage! That wonderful man bought me diamond earrings to celebrate, isn't he a keeper?!
It was wonderful to spend a week with my family on the beach, especially considering my Dad's health. His tumors haven't grown but they also haven't shrunk and the chemo is taking a lot out of him. He has an appointment tomorrow with his doctors to go over everything, I pray for something good because they've already mentioned hospice care. None of us are ready to hear that and I know nobody ever wants to hear that so we're praying desperately for something good.
I'll be sure to update once I know more but until then, enjoy the FL pics:
It was wonderful to spend a week with my family on the beach, especially considering my Dad's health. His tumors haven't grown but they also haven't shrunk and the chemo is taking a lot out of him. He has an appointment tomorrow with his doctors to go over everything, I pray for something good because they've already mentioned hospice care. None of us are ready to hear that and I know nobody ever wants to hear that so we're praying desperately for something good.
I'll be sure to update once I know more but until then, enjoy the FL pics:
June 24, 2011
Friday Happy Thoughts
Things that make me happy/grateful lately:
* getting new magazines in the mail
* an unexpected phone call from a longtime friend
* a book that is making me think and feel good
* a lunch date with my IF friend that lasted 8 hours...then we had dinner!
* a last minute cookout with friends, Summer at it's finest
* new nail polish colors; I've only ever bought pink or orange, now I'm addicted to purple & green
* sitting in the backyard, waiting the heat lightning with a glass of wine
* but I also like sitting there during the day and watching the birds fight over our bird feeder, we have doves!!
* cuddling up on the couch with C and our dogs and watching a movie
My Dad ended up in the ICU this week after aspirating vomit while under anesthesia to get a port put in and then he developed pneumonia. He's stable now but it was very scary for awhile. Can I just say again that cancer sucks?
* getting new magazines in the mail
* an unexpected phone call from a longtime friend
* a book that is making me think and feel good
* a lunch date with my IF friend that lasted 8 hours...then we had dinner!
* a last minute cookout with friends, Summer at it's finest
* new nail polish colors; I've only ever bought pink or orange, now I'm addicted to purple & green
* sitting in the backyard, waiting the heat lightning with a glass of wine
* but I also like sitting there during the day and watching the birds fight over our bird feeder, we have doves!!
* cuddling up on the couch with C and our dogs and watching a movie
My Dad ended up in the ICU this week after aspirating vomit while under anesthesia to get a port put in and then he developed pneumonia. He's stable now but it was very scary for awhile. Can I just say again that cancer sucks?
June 9, 2011
Keep Calm and Carry On
My new motto these day! Sometimes it works and sometimes it fails, epically. My Dad is still trucking along, chemo is kicking his butt and the weight loss is becoming an issue. He is now down 25 lbs in a month and looks like a skeleton, it's so hard to see. He doesn't leave the house much and when he does, he is confined to a wheelchair because he is just too weak. It sucks and this shit better work.
I just returned from Houston and I'm already going back soon, I want to spend Father's Day with him. This isn't how I pictured spending my Summer but I'm trying to make the best of it. Squeezing in as much fun as I can, when I can. I'm obsessed with snowcones lately, nothing beats that sugary sweet on a hot, hot afternoon. And oh man is it HOT, thanks to a nice heat wave Arkansas is having. Whew, remind me how much I longed for this in a couple of weeks when I'm begging for Fall to start already!
The future is still so uncertain right now and IF is very far from my mind. Feels good to not stress over IVF but I'd trade that for the cancer stress in a second. Back on anti-depressants since I can't seem to stop crying or sleep normally. I go back and forth from long periods of time not being able to sleep to sleeping all the time, it'd be nice to sleep like a normal person again. Through it all, C is my saving grace, I'd be lost without that sweet, sweet man. Even though my mood swings must annoy him, he takes it all in stride and just holds me while I cry and blabber about my fear of losing my Daddy.
Hope your Summer has started off nicely, I'm loving reading all the bog updates from the pregnant IF'ers. Makes me smile.
I just returned from Houston and I'm already going back soon, I want to spend Father's Day with him. This isn't how I pictured spending my Summer but I'm trying to make the best of it. Squeezing in as much fun as I can, when I can. I'm obsessed with snowcones lately, nothing beats that sugary sweet on a hot, hot afternoon. And oh man is it HOT, thanks to a nice heat wave Arkansas is having. Whew, remind me how much I longed for this in a couple of weeks when I'm begging for Fall to start already!
The future is still so uncertain right now and IF is very far from my mind. Feels good to not stress over IVF but I'd trade that for the cancer stress in a second. Back on anti-depressants since I can't seem to stop crying or sleep normally. I go back and forth from long periods of time not being able to sleep to sleeping all the time, it'd be nice to sleep like a normal person again. Through it all, C is my saving grace, I'd be lost without that sweet, sweet man. Even though my mood swings must annoy him, he takes it all in stride and just holds me while I cry and blabber about my fear of losing my Daddy.
Hope your Summer has started off nicely, I'm loving reading all the bog updates from the pregnant IF'ers. Makes me smile.
May 31, 2011
Gold Nuggets
Finding something to smile about amidst less than happy circumstances is a bitch. I guess I can add gratitude and hope to that sentence too. Cause lately I really suck at anything positive related. It's really hard seeing my Dad go through chemo, he's lost 15 pounds and he was pretty skinny to begin with. My Mom is trying so hard to be strong for him but just falls to pieces with me. I just wish I could make this all go away for them. They are also having a hard time with money since my Dad was the provider and can't work right now. C and I are doing everything we can to help but I still feel like I should do more. It just never feels like I am doing enough and I feel horrible for not being in TX all the time. It is really tearing me apart feeling like I need to be in two places at once.
So, finding something good right now is hard but I am trying so much, I need to keep in mind that there is good. Buying a new book, finding a cute Summer dress. floating in the pool with friends, date nights with C, my little brother graduating high school, talking to my nephews and nieces; all very simple stuff but good nonetheless. I try to find something happy every day, I call them "my little gold nuggets", to thank God for at night. Some days I only have one little nugget to be thankful for but sometimes there are a lot. It helps keep me sane.
I look forward to getting past this, to my Dad's clean bill of health. I can't wait.
So, finding something good right now is hard but I am trying so much, I need to keep in mind that there is good. Buying a new book, finding a cute Summer dress. floating in the pool with friends, date nights with C, my little brother graduating high school, talking to my nephews and nieces; all very simple stuff but good nonetheless. I try to find something happy every day, I call them "my little gold nuggets", to thank God for at night. Some days I only have one little nugget to be thankful for but sometimes there are a lot. It helps keep me sane.
I look forward to getting past this, to my Dad's clean bill of health. I can't wait.
May 18, 2011
and the bad streak continues
Sorry for disappearing...again. It's been one thing after another around here and I am quite exhausted. May started with a frantic phone call from my Mom, telling me that my Dad was in the hospital and things weren't looking great. C and I went right away and kept my Dad company in the hospital for a week before C came back to AR for work. I stayed another week and then came back to the sanity of my own house. But, I'll be heading back soon to watch my little brother graduate high school and help my parents. It seems my Dad's colon cancer is back, there are a bunch of small tumors around his colon. He starts chemo Monday and they give us a 65% chance of success. That is a number I can work with but it's still heartbreaking. My Dad isn't handling it very well, I've mentioned before how he is brain damaged from his massive bilateral stroke in 2009, and is having trouble dealing with all the information flying at him. I loathe seeing him this vulnerable and sad, it makes me cry and cry.
My Dad is lucky to be at one of the top cancer hospitals in the country, _MD_Anderson, and I thank God every night for that. Being there with him was a lesson in humility, it made me very thankful for all the blessings in my life. It also made me realize that I am getting older and so are my parents, it used to be me watching my parents take care of my grandparents and now it's me taking care of mine. It's a harsh reality that time waits for no one and that life is so very precious.
Truthfully, I am having a hard time dealing with this myself. I am so very, very scared . Scared of seeing my Dad weak from the chemo, scared of how to help my parents get through this, scared that it's going to be overwhelmingly hard and scared that I'm going to lose my Dad.
I know somehow we will all get through this, we are a strong bunch. Most of all, I have hope and a strong desire to never give up, I get that from my parents.
My Dad is lucky to be at one of the top cancer hospitals in the country, _MD_Anderson, and I thank God every night for that. Being there with him was a lesson in humility, it made me very thankful for all the blessings in my life. It also made me realize that I am getting older and so are my parents, it used to be me watching my parents take care of my grandparents and now it's me taking care of mine. It's a harsh reality that time waits for no one and that life is so very precious.
Truthfully, I am having a hard time dealing with this myself. I am so very, very scared . Scared of seeing my Dad weak from the chemo, scared of how to help my parents get through this, scared that it's going to be overwhelmingly hard and scared that I'm going to lose my Dad.
I know somehow we will all get through this, we are a strong bunch. Most of all, I have hope and a strong desire to never give up, I get that from my parents.
October 25, 2009
Reflection
I'm taking a moment to reflect on how much my life has changed in the last year because tomorrow marks the one year anniversary of my Dad's strokes. It was the start of the worst four weeks of my life. It takes 8 hours to get to my hometown and even though Carlos drove like a maniac, it felt like 20 hours. I was borderline hysterical for the entire drive, all I could think was that I would get there too late and how I couldn't remember anything about my Dad. It was like all my memories had vanished and of course the more I tried to remember anything, the worse it got. It was horrible.
I remember bursting into the ER waiting room and seeing my siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins, I can still see them so vividly. I threw my purse at them and forced my way back to my Dad's room and what I saw haunts me to this day. My Dad laying on a bed, eyes closed, writhing around, moving so much that they had restrained him. My Mom was in tears, trying to soothe him and get him to open his eyes. I launched into bitch mode; ordering around nurses, demanding doctors and yelling at various family members. It took 30 hours for that stupid hospital to diagnosis two massive strokes, my Dad lay in the ER without oxygen getting to parts of his brain, for 30 hours. We had been telling them over and over again that we suspected a stroke and nobody listened, once they realized we were right, he was rushed into the ICU where he was in a coma for three weeks. Hooked up to so many machines, operated on and diagnosed with stage three colon cancer . A grapefruit sized tumor was removed and we were told that the cancer had spread to his brain, causing the strokes.
After many agonizing days, talks and arguments, we- my Mom, 2 brothers, SIL, sister, myself and Carlos - made the decision to remove him from life support. Once they removed his breathing tube, my Dad opened his eyes and spit at his doctor. He then turned to my Mom, told her he loved her and gave her a kiss. He was home 2 weeks later, walking, talking and very slowly regaining his health. He is our miracle, our living proof that God listens and prayer works. The tumors in his brain? Gone, not showing up on MRIs, the colon cancer? completely gone too. The man they said was a vegetable, is at home right now, bugging my Mom and playing with this grandchildren. Yes, he is brain damaged and walks a little slower these days, but he is ALIVE. He's defined all the odds and has come so far. He truly is my hero, the greatest Dad that has ever survived the brink of death and fought his way back to us.
I've been through hell this past year, I've struggled with my faith and fought a depression so deep I thought I'd never laugh again. But, I've never given up and I never will. You see, being stubborn is a family tradition.
(IF returns as my focus tomorrow, I just had to get this out about my Dad!)
I remember bursting into the ER waiting room and seeing my siblings, aunts, uncles and cousins, I can still see them so vividly. I threw my purse at them and forced my way back to my Dad's room and what I saw haunts me to this day. My Dad laying on a bed, eyes closed, writhing around, moving so much that they had restrained him. My Mom was in tears, trying to soothe him and get him to open his eyes. I launched into bitch mode; ordering around nurses, demanding doctors and yelling at various family members. It took 30 hours for that stupid hospital to diagnosis two massive strokes, my Dad lay in the ER without oxygen getting to parts of his brain, for 30 hours. We had been telling them over and over again that we suspected a stroke and nobody listened, once they realized we were right, he was rushed into the ICU where he was in a coma for three weeks. Hooked up to so many machines, operated on and diagnosed with stage three colon cancer . A grapefruit sized tumor was removed and we were told that the cancer had spread to his brain, causing the strokes.
After many agonizing days, talks and arguments, we- my Mom, 2 brothers, SIL, sister, myself and Carlos - made the decision to remove him from life support. Once they removed his breathing tube, my Dad opened his eyes and spit at his doctor. He then turned to my Mom, told her he loved her and gave her a kiss. He was home 2 weeks later, walking, talking and very slowly regaining his health. He is our miracle, our living proof that God listens and prayer works. The tumors in his brain? Gone, not showing up on MRIs, the colon cancer? completely gone too. The man they said was a vegetable, is at home right now, bugging my Mom and playing with this grandchildren. Yes, he is brain damaged and walks a little slower these days, but he is ALIVE. He's defined all the odds and has come so far. He truly is my hero, the greatest Dad that has ever survived the brink of death and fought his way back to us.
I've been through hell this past year, I've struggled with my faith and fought a depression so deep I thought I'd never laugh again. But, I've never given up and I never will. You see, being stubborn is a family tradition.
(IF returns as my focus tomorrow, I just had to get this out about my Dad!)
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