The Big C

How appropriate my last blog post was about my dad as well and what a great father he is…

My dad has cancer.

My dad has cancer.

My dad has cancer.

My dad has cancer.

I keep repeating it to myself over and over and over again, hoping it’ll help me believe it.

It doesn’t.

I have told this story a dozen times already, but I want to write it down once more.

Two months ago, everything was great. I had a boyfriend whom I loved, I was getting ready to go on a trip to my favorite place (Syracuse, NY) with my family, my sister had just adopted an adorable puppy, and my depression was more under control than it had been my whole life. Things were sailing along.

My sister mentioned my dad was acting sort of strange, but we brushed it off because he seemed mostly fine. He had just been told he had a sinus infection, so we figured that was making him a little tired and it explained his memory problems and just slightly off behavior.

Four days later, when it persisted and grew more noticeable, we tried to persuade him to go to a doctor. He refused, because he was supposed to start the drive to New York in the morning. After a 3am (his time) phone call from my brother, he agreed to see a doctor once they got to Syracuse. At this point, we still believed it was a combination of his “sinus infection” and his diabetes. It was sound logic: infections can increase the amount of glucose in the body, and without careful control and monitoring blood sugar levels can go wrong. We assumed he would see a doctor and they would adjust his insulin and all would be well in a few days.

Due to work and PTO, I was arriving a day after they were, by plane. During my travels I was told my dad was seen at an urgent care, who rushed him to the emergency room after taking his stats. I went right from the airport to the hospital. I even left all my belongings except my phone in the car.

I sat and waited with my family. Dad was blithely content, still seeming to think we were overreacting and not at all concerned he was in a hospital. I was there when the doctors or nurses or whoever they were came into the curtained off area and told us he had a brain tumor.

You know how people say that they feel the floor fall out from under them when they hear bad news? The world spins and your vision blurs and everything sounds muffled? I know that feeling. I couldn’t breathe. I started to cry without realizing it and without any control whatsoever. This was impossible. It can’t be real. It can’t be happening. Not now, not here, not like this.

A whirlwind of days, then surgery. Then home, infection, another surgery, waiting, transfers, and finally chemo. Now, more waiting.

I don’t think I’ve quite found my feet yet. I am not even entirely sure where they are to be honest. I think I left them in New York.  Ever since we found out I have vacillated between depression, anger, and exhaustion. Work issues don’t really bother me. People complaining about problems they have only irritate me. All I want is to sleep but either lay awake or randomly wake up at odd hours multiple times. At times, nothing quite feels real.

How is this happening. How is this life right now. I don’t particularly care about the why. Things happen and they happen for a reason. I can even see the reason, on days when I am more mentally coherent. But the how of it…it baffles me. My brain cannot comprehend this. In one day, one hour, one moment, everything changed forever.

My dad is gone. He isn’t coming back, not completely. We have no idea how much of his personality and memory will return, but the fact is that he won’t ever be the same. Ever. Right now, the best we can hope for are the glimmers we see of him sparkling through, but we don’t know how long even those will last. Chemo is brutal on your body. He had to wait over a month to get it because he was too physically weak to handle it. Mentally, physically, we don’t know what will happen.

Things are currently positive…first chemo session done and his stats are great. I am trying not to talk about his every update publically because things have been such a mess that the status or plan would change within five minutes of me saying something. All I’ll say is current plan as of this post is 6-8 sessions of chemo in 2-week cycles. After his next treatment they will do a scan to see how the tumor is reacting. I’ve said it before, but for family and friends who want to be kept updated, there is a weekly/bi-weekly email that you can ask to be put on.

As for me, I don’t know how I am doing. My mantra has been “I can’t I can’t I can’t I can’t,” followed by a realization that I can and am. I don’t know which is worse. My mom would tell me that “can’t” means “won’t,” but in this case I think “can’t” means “I don’t want to.” My brain took one look at the situation and nope’d right on out of it. You could probably say that I have “lost the ability to can.” My adulting skills almost immediately crumbled. I retreated into my own head and turned off all the lights. I keep thinking I am ready to come out of my hermit hole, but I’m not sure. Crowds make me anxious and sad, as I said before, people are irritating, and above all I am so sick of talking about this.

Every day someone asks how my dad is. He’s fine. He’s the same as he has been. He’s not going to change overnight. He has ups and downs and good days and bad days. Please stop asking. I don’t want pity, I want understanding. Yes, I will likely bring up the fact that my dad has brain cancer, but not because I want attention or make your problems feel small. It’s a big majority of my life right now. I am sorting and processing my feelings. And yes, I AM still seeing a counselor, but I don’t see him every week. Nor is there really much he can say or do about this. The best thing he does is distract me by talking about basically anything else.

I am so tired…I don’t know if any of this is coherent or consistent even. On the one hand I don’t want to talk about my dad while on the other saying I will bring it up. I am not going to become the girl who says “well, my dad has brain cancer” to try and always get my way. It is a legitimate excuse only in that it does affect me and my ability to do stuff. I can’t make decisions and leaving my apartment for anything other than work (and including work sometimes) is exhausting to even think about. I try to fight, but as I said before, I don’t have my legs back under me just yet. I’m floundering hardcore.

We are in the long stretch now, the time when we can do absolutely nothing but wait. Visits are difficult for me because I never know what he will be like. I do my best, but feel like I am falling short. People tell me to pray and everything will turn out ok, but it is not that simple. It’s not “zip, bam, boom,” and the cancer is gone and everything is great. The path ahead of us is long and there currently is no discernable end in sight. The best we can do is hope that the tumor reacts well to chemo and that it stays gone for two years. And hope that somehow, some way, our dad finds his way back to us.