The Information Gathering Stage

My peaceful, funny father is spending two hours getting scanned for what I believe will be bad news. 

I'm trying really hard to stay in the present.  Close eyes, three deep breaths, peace, mind begins to race again, repeat, close eyes, three deep breaths, peace, and repeat and repeat and repeat.  I'm going to zen out or pass out, I'm not sure which.

This is so unfair.  It's not fair to feel healthy on the outside and sick on the inside. 

I'm very much like my father, a pragmatist, a pacifist, a humanist.  And I've learned a lot over my years of grief and healing, all of which I'm drawing upon all at once:
1. light candles
2. be quiet
3. be patient, it's a process
4. ask for help
4.5 make the gratitude lists
5. cry freely
6. ask for more help
7. cry some more
8. be gentle with yourself

Sometimes I'm crying because I'm afraid; sometimes I'm crying because I don't want my father to suffer; sometimes I'm crying because I don't want to suffer; sometimes I don't know why I'm crying but it just comes and I've learned to let it because it's a great release.

Of course I spent time researching, with the little bit of time that we've had before meeting the surgeon, and when I did it helped calm me and then send me spinning.  I'm ill-prepared for cancer.  I'm 37 years old and none of my friends have battled this yet, even with their parents.  I've heard the lango but I don't know what it means and it all sounds scary (I have to assume because I lack understanding.)

I need to find some hope; some faith.  I'm feeling fatalistic, and it's coming upon be naturally yet it feels foreign in my head.  This is my mom's side of the family, which is strange because my mother is a very faithful person.  She's also Irish and fond of saying, "the Irish love to taste their troubles before they are realized."  It might be the lawyer in me trying to problem-solve and weigh the risks.  It might be the Irish in my, expecting the worst and hoping for the best.  It's probably all of it. 

He feels good - but has cancer

This was not what I was expecting.  While settling in the parents; trying to arrange for doctors for mom; purchasing the walker for mom; introducing them to the YMCA for mom; dad gets cancer.

This was not in the cards.  Dad is the well one.  Dad is the one who's never had a test out of line.  Dad is the one who's not afraid to die.

First there was blood in the urine- infection, kidney stones, stress.  None of these.  Would they go back to Chicago to visit the grand kids, or would he be in the hospital having kidney stones removed.  If only that was our worry.

The doctor said, "after the CT we found a mass in the bladder with cells that look like cancer.  But the game changer are cells I see in the lower part of your lungs at the top of the scan.  If it were just the bladder, I would go in and scrape it all out but because it looks as if it has spread, I would like to do a whole body scan."  Jesus Christ!  Isn't this enough?  Who wants to know you also have brain cancer?

"The good news is, this is not a heart attack or aneurysm, Roger.  This is something you can do something about - if you are committed to your plan."  Plan what plan?!  This wasn't the plan.

This is so unfair.  This is supposed to happen to smokers and drunks, murders and rapist.  Not my father the former priest.  Now we are in the hallway and he's talking about getting his affairs in order.  WTF!

I feel like I want to throw-up.  My head is on fire.  I had a feeling, a premonition this was going to happen.  I thought it was because I'm Irish and we like to taste our troubles before they happen but it was a very clear feeling that what I've learned from what I've been through was preparing me for this.

When do I get a break?  It's been almost 8 years since Mike died.  I thought that was the worst thing that would or could ever happen to me.  I thought I paid my dues early and I could leave a problem free life.

My grandmother was 98 almost 99 when she died.  She survived two husbands.  What little I know of my great grandmother (she was 106 when she died) she had 3 children die on the farm in South Dakota.  I guess if you live along life you have to expect there are going to be some trials.

Meet my parents

My mom and dad have moved to Seattle.  My mother is going to be 77 years old in September.  This is easy for me to remember because she was 40 years old when she had me and I'm going to be 37 the end of August.  My dad is 6 years younger and this was never really a big difference, until my mother started to get old, and by old I mean "less abled."

My parents have been married for almost 38 years and lived in the suburbs of Chicago for a little over 40 years.  They have another adult child, my younger brother Matt.  Matt and his beautiful wife and three babies live in the suburbs of Chicago.   This was probably the major obstacle that delayed my parents move to Seattle.

Why did they move to Seattle after 40 years, leaving behind 3 grand-babies?

Several reasons, in no particular order:

• I'm their favorite (sometimes).
• My dad needs my help.  He's been caregiving by himself for the past few years and I'm not quite sure either of them is aware of how much energy this has taken from both of them.  My mom is not ready to let him help her and he's not quite sure how to do it.  
• My mom needs an advocate, and a major change to try and get her medical issues resolved.  I only see my parents about every six months for the past 3 years and it appears I'm the only one who can recognize the degree of change that takes place over that period of time.  

It feels and seems as if my mother is 10 years older than she should be.  Part of this theory comes from comparing my mother to her sisters and her mother.  More about Grandma Sis and the aunts later.