He’s O.K.
Friday, May 23, 2008
It’s amazing how such a simple phrase changes everything. Our family and friends have ridden a truly exhausting roller coaster of emotion this week. From the now quaint worry over a gallbladder surgery that is by all accounts routine and (when done the “modern” way with a laparoscope) minimally invasive to the worry of a post-surgery infection to the outright terror of the dreaded word ‘cancer’ it has been nothing if not a constant up and down experience.
I arrived in Chicago on Saturday with nothing but questions in my mind. Frankly the principle one being would I get there in time. Did I still have a father? I could not help but remember my Dad meeting us at the airport in Miami with news that our grandfather was gone. When I literally got on the last available standby seat (in line at #4 with 0 seats remaining, if you believed the display screens) I could not help but think there was some sort of external influence affecting circumstances. Yeah, I know, that sounds just a wee bit goofy, but hey it’s been a rough week so give me a break.
Arriving in Chicago and getting the rental car remains a haze. Get there. Get there now. That’s all I could think of. Thankfully the flight was relatively calm, as I read the account of addiction, loss, atonement and ultimate redemption of Dark Star Twilight by Chez Pazienza. It’s published online (look here) only because the paper guys were spooked by James Frey. His wrenching personal account of breaking a heroin addiction in the shadow of 9/11 was just the thing I needed to get lost in as four eternal hours passed on a plane.
So I got to the hospital to find Dad in ICU with a tube down his throat, up his nose, out his bladder and in his neck. Tubes everywhere and Trish and I pretty much useless to do much more than hls hand and tell him we love him.
Teaching moment here – it does not take a crisis to love someone. If you leave an interaction with a loved one without telling them you love them, you’re a fool. Regret is practically 100% avoidable – take that moment to say it.
At any rate, the pneumonia that had none too helpfully taken up residence in Dad’s lungs and watching him struggle to breathe was wrenching. The days passed and he was rebounding when we got word that the stone-filled gallbladder had tumors in it. I can’t express that feeling of fear, resentment, worry and overwhelming disappointment that came over me hearing those words. There was no justice in seeing him kick the infection only if it meant an even worse predator was to follow. Thankfully the medical staff provided not just clinical reality, but hope and objectivity. Cancer doesn’t give a crap how inconvenient, cruel or unfair its actions are, it just is. Dad’s appears by all accounts to be limited (if there at all) and treatable with chemo and radiation.
We dodged a bullet. But, he’s ok. Some folks don’t enjoy that luxury. It was a challenging week to say the least, but I would not have missed it for the world.