I'm Writing a Book

I was up at the hospital with Dad last night, and although the serious complications seem to be under control, the harsh realities of chemotherapy are definitely setting in.  We held a pep rally complete with spirit fingers and a few back handsprings to get him to eat his dinner, which actually worked!  Right up to the point where his stomach rejected our efforts.

Now, of course I can't relate to most of what Dad's been going through, but there's one thing I get.  Throwing up.  I'm something of a puking prodigy, if I do say so myself.  Dad has had more than his fair share of holding my hair back while I hork my guts out.  He's never as much as flinched.  And yesterday as I sat there, seeing him in such discomfort, I couldn't help but wish it was me instead.  I mean, it only makes sense.  I've had way more practice than him.

Watching a parent suffer evokes indescribable emotion.  It's painful, and sweet, and extremely raw, all at the same time.  Sometimes I leave the hospital feeling encouraged, and so hopeful that I literally skip down the hall to the elevator.  Other times, like yesterday, I go home aching over the fact that I can't switch places with him.  I can only imagine what it must have been like for Dad and his siblings to witness their own father battle Parkinson's disease for 30 years.  It had to have been heart-wrenching.

I'm so thankful that this phase of Dad's situation isn't permanent.  Actually, I'm thankful that there's a good chance this whole thing will all be a distant memory at some future point.  But until then, he'll probably have 3-4 days of being wracked with nausea  in between each of his six treatments, during which time I'll happily force feed him, and then give him my best puking tips.  I should write a book. 101 Ways to Harf.  New York Times best seller, no doubt.

Today is a big day for Sammy.  He'll drink some dye and then let them take pictures of his insides.  Tomorrow, he and I have a hot date scheduled to go view the results.  Then we plan to hang out and watch YouTube videos while he's infused with all sorts of exotic fluids. We might even get a little crazy and go for a walk around the treatment room.  Who needs dinner and a movie when you can have chemo and a CAT scan?