My beloved dad went to the hospital via ambulance Monday night; he came home on Friday. He's been diagnosed with Stage 4 cancer, two marble-sized tumors in his brain, which are inoperable.
Ugh ugh ugh.
On the bright side (where I live), "inoperable" doesn't mean "untreatable," and he's planning to go forward with treatment. I talked to him just after he got home, and he sounded great — a little hazy (he didn't get much sleep) but like himself, his customary dry, deadpan wit intact. Example:
- Me: Did you kiss your chair before you fell into it?
- Dad: I didn't think of it. I kissed the car, though. Or the chauffeur. I kissed something.
Mom, in contrast, is a wreck. She never handles stress well and has a tendency to make any situation all about her. These are the times when it's excruciating to be 3,000 miles away.
Martini and I are scheduled to come out in late August, but I suspect I won't wait till then for a return visit. I wish I could magically be there right now, as they adjust to this new phase in their lives. (The hospital visit was precipitated by a seizure, so Dad can't be left alone now, ever, and scheduling 24-7 care will be the next challenge.)
(Of course, Mom responded to this news by saying dolefully, "I guess I'll never leave the house again . . ." Yes, Drama Queen, that's exactly right. I'm trying to cut her some slack, but her martyr role is the one that drives me most crazy.)
I may well be Cleopatra, Queen of Denial, but I'm choosing to look on the bright side of life until I can't any longer. I've heard of lots of people with inoperable brain cancer; the brain is tricky and can be challenging to operate on. My Aunt Di had Stage 4 cancer last year and is now cancer-free. None of this is necessarily a death sentence. Or an immediate death sentence, anyway. So let's dig deep, get through chemo (which is going to suck — my dad hates throwing up, hates it hates it hates it), get through radiation, and get to the other side, that's what I say.
Any prayers, good wishes, vibes, or virtual strength you can send to my family would be most appreciated.
In weight-loss news, I quickly dispatched the five extra Meryl pounds I brought home (Bugles and sangria were simply short-term visitors) and tried to resume some good habits this week. I got back on Fat Secret and logged a few of my meals, and took my first walk since my knee injury — down Cardiac Crest to Trader Joe's and back up again. My knee protested loudly and I was as slow as a matriarch sloth (Mimosa pranced ahead like a frisky colt), but I made it — and wasn't any more crippled the next day than I am any morning. I'm hoping to do a Beginners' Boot Camp next week, when zumba resumes (this week was April vacation; no zumba but lots of fun with my kids): zumba, weights, physical therapy, core work, log my food, keep my calories low. It's a crazybusy week, though; we'll see how it plays out.
Love and strength to everyone this morning! I got it in spades.
— Lady C