What It Feels Like to Have a Parent With Cancer

I know I need to write this blog, but I've been dreading doing so.  The average life expectancy for a white male is around 79 years old.  My dad is 65 years old and has stage IV lung cancer. I can write more about the prognosis, but everyone can just Google that.  What you can't Google is what it feels like to have a parent with cancer.

For the first two weeks of testing and realizing how bad it was, all I wanted to do was sit in bed and cry.  I did do that for more hours than I can remember.  I still have days when that's all I want to do.  With that said, my father, always the parent, told me that he would stop fighting if I stopped living my life.  Now, I force myself to roll out of bed in the morning, go to work, and pretend that everything is okay.  There are Oscar winning actors and actresses who have done less acting than I have in the last two months.  I might ask the right questions or say the right things or even make a joke, but it's just a very good one woman production I put on every single day.

In reality, nothing is okay.  I hear the pain in my father's voice when I call everyday.  I check in several times to see how he is reacting to the chemo even though I know it's going to be like taking a bullet to the heart every time.  I worry that each time I see him could potentially be the last time.  I focus on his voice like my life depends on it because I worry that I won't hear it again.  Everyday, I try to bring back one memory with my dad into focus, so my memories of him are clear.  I'm not the one with cancer, and it's still very much a part of my life.

I've had more nightmares about losing someone I love in the past few months than I probably have had total in my life.  The anxiety is always there.  I fight through it for my dad, but it's a fight every single day.  Much like the feeling of helplessness is always present.  As I hear my dad get weaker or know that he has just gone through a particularly rough round of chemotherapy, I wish I could take one for the team and do it for him, so he could have a break.  That sounds insane.  I know it sounds insane, but it's what you do for people you love.  You try to absorb their pain, and there isn't a single thing I can do to absorb his pain now.  Cancer doesn't play fair.

The only thing I'm able to help with even a little is the pile of medical bills.  As it turns out, even if you pay for healthcare your entire life, the out of pocket deductibles, maximums, and prescriptions come at a price that is staggering.  I will always be grateful to Diem Brown for being an advocate for patients.  Even after her passing at far too young of an age, she left behind MedGift.  MedGift lets friends, family, and strangers donate to patients.  When I made donations randomly in the past, I never expected to need MedGift for a family member.  As it turns out, I'm definitely not too proud to beg when it comes to people I love.

If you have even an extra $5, please support my dad's MedGift page which helps pay for all of the hospital bills insurance won't cover.

https://www.medgift.com/EvenSupermanNeedsaHand

If nothing else, hug your parents and tell them you love them.  You'll never regret all of the times you told your parents you loved them.  You will regret every single opportunity you missed to say it.

Cancer is the Ultimate Grinch

Cancer doesn't discriminate.  It doesn't care about race, gender, or age.  It certainly doesn't care about how much the person is needed or loved.  If those last two things were factors, my dad would definitely not have cancer. I've said the word "cancer" more in the past few days than I have in a lifetime which makes me simultaneously grateful and incredibly sad. Cancer doesn't just impact one individual; it targets everyone in the surrounding area mercilessly.

I've never had my heart broken prior to this past week.  No boy has ever come close to reaching my Grinch size heart, two sizes too small.  Now, my heart shatters multiple times on a daily basis.  It breaks when I wake up and remember the situation.  It splinters everyday when I hear my dad's voice because I'm trying desperately to memorize the sound of it.  It falls apart when the day is finally over and I get my well-earned cry.

Even the Grinch eventually returned Christmas.  All I expect cancer to deliver right now is another swift punch to the gut.

https://www.medgift.com/EvenSupermanNeedsaHand

Fears I'm Not Ready to Face

It has been awhile since I have read Dante's Inferno, but I can only imagine that I am surely in one of the circles of hell right now. I'm hoping it's a roundtrip ticket, but to be honest, I don't know at this point.

There are many things that genuinely suck about becoming an adult.  When I taught, I often wondered why the students I taught were in such a rush to do grown up things as being an adult is very overrated.  In addition to the everyday chores and responsibilities that make being an adult unpleasant, there is the fact that my parents are getting older too.

I pride myself on not having many fears.  Do I like spiders or snakes? Not particularly, but I'm also not really afraid of them.  I don't enjoy amusement park rides that send me plummeting, but I will still go on them.  I have no problem watching horror movies for bed.  I'm not afraid to be home alone. I have gone through basically every "haunted" house in a fifty mile radius.  I typically just come out annoyed that my shoes are scuffed or smelly. My one inescapable all-consuming fear is that I will lose someone I love.

Since finding out my dad has cancer, I go through a gamut of emotions everyday.  There are moments that I can't hold the floodgates of tears back anymore, and there are moments where I believe everything will be okay.  The one emotion that stays with me through the day is paralyzing fear.

I don't know what is coming.  I don't know how my dad will get through everything.  I don't know how to be there for my parents when I can't always be there physically.  I don't know how my mom is going to keep a home running while taking care of my dad.  I don't know if my parents will be honest with us about what is going on with them.  Even though my brother and I are adults, I really suspect my parents will still try to protect us.  All of the uncertainty causes a fear that even I can't put into words.

Dante emerged from hell.  Will I though?

https://www.medgift.com/EvenSupermanNeedsaHand

Getting Through the Holidays

I love the holidays.  I love the spirit of the holidays.  I love the food.  I love being around the people I love the most.  In many ways, we did everything we could to keep this particular Thanksgiving normal.  My mom cooked enough food for a small army.  We played our usual board games and watched Christmas movies.  We all drank a little bit more.  If I'm being incredibly honest, I think I probably cornered the market on drinking this weekend.

Behind the very happy go lucky exterior, there were hushed conversations of what happens next.  I believe I talked to no less than four scheduling people as I waited in lines on Black Friday.  My brother called two doctors before the men in my family headed to a Pitt game that didn't end cheerfully whatsoever.  I really tested the limits of how much my dad could eat without getting sick.  I want as much weight on him before he enters into the next stage of this process.  Even today, before meeting for lunch, my brother headed out with my dad to the tests I scheduled.  Things may look normal, but we all know looks can be deceiving.

I have two nephews who are 6 and 8 years old.  For the moment, we are keeping them in the dark until we have all of the information.  Mainly, I think we all want to protect their memories and their holidays as much as possible.  In that realm, we succeeded.  I am hoping my nephews will remember playing football in the backyard with my husband and their dad, my brother.  I hope they will remember sneaking downstairs to hang out with my father and the family dog.  I hope they will remember singing happy birthday to my mom and all of the icing smeared over their faces.  I hope they will remember my puppy believing that he was invited to play tackle football in the backyard as he chased after them.  I hope they will remember that we are and always will be a family that loves them more than anything.

At the end of the weekend, we will all head back to our respective cities.  I will start a new job next week.  My brother, sister-in-law, and husband will return to work.  And those moments will be impossibly difficult.

I started a MedGift page for my father, https://www.medgift.com/EvenSupermanNeedsaHand, because right now, it's the only way I know of to help.

Getting the News

I don't believe I'm a psychic.  In fact, I would put being forgetful on my list of shortcomings.  I do believe in trusting my instincts and that I have pretty great instincts. For whatever reason, when my dad went for some routine tests to prepare for a minor surgery, I felt a pressing need to call home and check in to make sure everything went okay. I distinctly remember feeling sick when I made the call.  The feeling intensified when my dad answered the phone.  My dad hates answering the phone.

In three very long minutes, I went from the girl planning for the holidays to the girl terrified of the news that her dad has lung cancer.

I curled up on my office floor and texted my work best friend to come see me immediately.  By the time she got there, I was sobbing as I blurted out my dad's results.  She hugged me and cried with me.  I am incredibly lucky in the friend department.

Next, I tried frantically to get a hold of my husband as our five hour drive back to Pittsburgh for Thanksgiving needed to happen sooner rather than later.

I cried as I drove home from work early.  I cried after I got off of the phone with my mom who called to check in on me.  I cried as I held my puppy who didn't understand why we were having a middle of the day cuddle session.  I cried as I poured six terrible tasting shots.  I cried when my brother called after they had broken the news to him.  I cried myself to sleep in the middle of the day.

The beauty of sleep is that it is a respite from the stress, and there is that one perfect moment when you wake up where you don't remember your problems.  Then, there is the moment it all comes flooding back to you in a monsoon.  The monsoon sucks.

If my dad had cancer that required any kind of transplant, I would already be at the hospital demanding that the doctors take what they need.  One of the hardest parts of this diagnosis is that I can't step into the ring for him. I hate feeling helpless which is why I'm blogging.

I want to stress the importance of going in for routine check ups, no matter what age you are.  Sooner or later, I'm also going to be asking for help.  As my family considers what is coming, it becomes abundantly clear that even seemingly simple tasks are going to require outside help: hiring someone to shovel snow, letting the dog out and walking him, even picking up prescriptions.  That's not taking into account the massive insurance deductible and all of the things insurance won't cover.  I want to give my father the best chance he has at winning this fight while simultaneously keeping my mother on solid ground.

My first knowledge of MedGift came from Diem Brown talking about it on a challenge.  I thought it was a great way to help patients.  In the past years, I've made several donations and written letters of encouragement to strangers.  I never imagined there would come a day that I would need to use it.  In the next few days, I will create  MedGift patient account because I believe in the kindness of others.