What a month
I met someone recently who is in love with rollercoasters. Perhaps my own love for them could have better prepared me for this past month.
The month started with a holiday with mom - we were both extremely excited, but a bit apprehensive to leave my dad at home on his own after some recent more severe health issues he’d been having. But we went ahead, and truly enjoyed every second of it. Lazy breakfasts and beach time, hiking the Cinque Terre, helping a lifelong family friend celebrate her marriage in the south of France and daily phone check-ins with dad. It was blissful. And at the end, we made a pact: our number one family priority is to get dad’s health back in order. The holiday helped mom realize she can do it.
We didn’t know we’d be forced to deliver on that pact so immediately, but when mom arrived back home on Monday night dad couldn’t even get out of the car to greet her at the aiport. He was that weak. In the morning, it was off to the doctor, who immediately sent them to the emergency room. I was now 5,000 miles away from the two most important people in my life and all I wanted to do was be there with them. But Dad assured me he was fine and there was no need to come home. Yet the lack of diagnosis proved the doctors didn’t have the same faith.
Last Sunday I decided the distance and unknown was too much and booked an emergency flight home. 2 train rides, 2 plane rides and a car ride….20 hours…and I was beside my dad. The first feeling of relief. But that feeling of relief was immediately replaced by a heavy weight in my chest, one that got heavier each time I questioned what was wrong with him. It hung around for 3 days until we got the news last Tuesday.
You have Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, a type of cancer. You are in Stage 4 B. It’s serious, but Hodgkin’s is 95% curable and we have a plan. 12 rounds of chemo, 1 round every two weeks, and we start Thursday.
Relief: we know what it is. But, of course, that didn’t last long. Then the questions came pouring in: how? why? what in the world took so long to find this when he’s been feeling like shit for so long? And anger. But we again quickly agreed there was no time or energy we could waste dwelling on that. It was time to fight.
Tuesday and Wednesday night were probably the worst of my - and his - life. Fevers, coughing, moaning, bad dreams….my 6’6” dad full of super powers was not supposed to suffer like this. Thursday started with a quick surgery to place a port (through which he’ll get his chemo going forward) and then the what felt like an eternity wait for the chemo to start. IV 1, 15 mins. IV 2, 15 mins. IV 3, 30 mins. IV 4, 1 hour. Sleeping, eating, chatting and bathroom breaks all the while. And then we waited again: what effect would it have? would there be nausea? more pain?
But the doctor was right, after a bit of grogginess, Friday provided relief. And Saturday, the first smile and intense laughter we’ve shared in months. It was working! Sunday, a few steps and more smiles. Monday, two full laps around the 7W “block” with the help of a walker. Tuesday, an un-aided lap and many trips in and out of bed. And Wednesday, two un-aided laps, a firm handshake and assuring smile from the doctor, and the words we were waiting for: you’re going home today!
A month-long wild ride, with at least 6 more to go. But, I have a feeling I’ll share that love for rollercoasters at the end of this; anything for more smiles, strength and many years ahead of good times together.
I love you, dad. Let’s do this.
