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.