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On the Twelfth Day of Christmas…
Current mood:  crushed…my Dad told me he had cancer. I assume I have everyone’s attention now, so I shall come to the point. My dad has liver cancer. Some of you may remember ten years ago when he had his first encounter with bladder cancer. We were amazingly lucky – he made a complete recovery that was almost beyond belief. This second time started in the same place – the lining of his bladder, but it’s metastasized and spread to his liver. His cancer is Stage Four, and is terminal. He’s taking it as well as could be expected. He’s in a lot of pain and is showing some of the most advanced symptoms, but he’s a lot more composed than I would be in his position. Not to be melodramatic, but I couldn’t bring myself to ask him how long he has. On one hand, I desperately want to know how long I have left with him. On the other, I didn’t want to ask him to admit his own mortality in terms of a timeline. If I knew an approximate date, I’d spend the remaining time I have with him watching the calendar and ticking off each day. I’d get more and more paranoid the closer I got to the “deadline.” This way, I know enough to know our time is precious. Always fascinated with scientific advancements, he’s been offered and accepted a spot in an experimental study with the drug maker Merck. They’re testing an alternative to chemo. Two pills a day – that’s it. Or so they say. The section of the trials that he’s participating in is the dosage amounts. So there’s no telling how much he’ll get from treatment to treatment. We’re going to try it for a few months, and if it isn’t helping, he’s got another study at MD Anderson that he can join. That one’s for gene therapy. If both of those fail, there’s always chemo. It’s not likely at this point or any point hereafter that chemo will make any difference, but we can always try. Hopefully, this new drug will work miracles. Hopefully it will take a disease that’s incurable and make it survivable. I’m praying heartily that it will give him back a normal life span. He’s only 67. I can’t lose him yet. Here’s the deal. It’s selfish of me to post this. In an effort to avoid attention/pity from our friends and family, he doesn’t want many people other than my mom and me to know. I, however, need to type it out. Every time I have to tell someone about it, I get upset and cry. It’s getting harder and harder to say and I find I’m dealing with it more poorly with each passing day. I want to say it once and then just move on. I need my denial for a little bit longer. If you’re a family member and you read this, PLEASE do not contact my dad or mom. If you have any questions, talk to me. He wants to be left completely alone. According to my dad, as long as you don’t know him, he doesn’t care if you know. He’s a cantankerous old coot, but he’s mine. I appreciate the kind thoughts and well wishes we’ve received from everyone so far. I get so tired of having to be the strong one in my family all the time. Please remember my dad in your prayers, if you pray, or think us a happy thought if you don’t. Here’s hoping for a miracle. |
Monday, January 07, 2008
