Blake and I went home for naptime, and after that, we went to my mom's for dinner. TJ was in the midst of his very first progress reports (which is very time-consuming at his school). He was pretty stressed and had a lot of work to do, but he went with me to the hospital on Wednesday evening while we left Blake with Grandma.
When we got to the hospital, Dad was sleeping. I didn't want to wake him, so I left him a note that said I would visit again in the morning. But I didn't want to leave without any answers. I still didn't know what was wrong. So we waited for Dad's doctor to have time to talk to us. We watched Survivor while we waited. Dad's doctor came in after about half an hour of waiting. He got right to the point. The ugly "c word" was in his first sentence. I felt my heart drop, but I didn't cry. My brain was really busy concentrating on what the doctor was saying because there were so many technical words in the diagnosis. The doctor told us up front that even though they didn't know for sure what stage his cancer was in, it was most likely not treatable. He told us that we should have a family meeting sometime in the upcoming days about what Dad's plan would be in the event of being diagnosed with weeks or months to live. The message was clear: Dad was going to die and probably soon.
I don't remember what our conversation was like on the way home from the hospital, but I do remember that I had to drop TJ off at LCCS to finish his progress reports, so I drove the rest of the way home by myself. And I don't think I was crying yet, but I wanted to cry, and I wanted to talk to God about it, but yet I didn't because I was too angry. I felt angry, and I felt sad. And I felt scared. Because my dad is supposed to be the strong one for me, not the other way around. I was having a baby soon. How would I be able to, also, take care of my dad?
Taking care of Blake during that week was like an escape. You would think it would feel like such a burden amidst all the emotions, but it was, for me, a time to turn off my emotions and just go with the familiar motions of taking care of Blake. I picked him up at my mom's house that evening, and I told her what the doctor said. And I remember feeling like, why wasn't she reacting more? And then I had to call my brother and tell him, and I felt the same thing: why wasn't he reacting more? My world turned upside down, and I felt like screaming out a mixture of anger and sadness and fear.
I was expecting bad news like that my dad needed a transplant, as I mentioned in my previous post. I wasn't expecting to hear that he had terminal cancer. And one question that haunts my mind still is did they ever get a chance to tell my dad that he had cancer? And how did he feel in that moment? Remember, I spoke to my dad for the last time that morning, before results came in from his CT scan. We never got to have a conversation about his diagnosis.
I don't remember what our conversation was like on the way home from the hospital, but I do remember that I had to drop TJ off at LCCS to finish his progress reports, so I drove the rest of the way home by myself. And I don't think I was crying yet, but I wanted to cry, and I wanted to talk to God about it, but yet I didn't because I was too angry. I felt angry, and I felt sad. And I felt scared. Because my dad is supposed to be the strong one for me, not the other way around. I was having a baby soon. How would I be able to, also, take care of my dad?
Taking care of Blake during that week was like an escape. You would think it would feel like such a burden amidst all the emotions, but it was, for me, a time to turn off my emotions and just go with the familiar motions of taking care of Blake. I picked him up at my mom's house that evening, and I told her what the doctor said. And I remember feeling like, why wasn't she reacting more? And then I had to call my brother and tell him, and I felt the same thing: why wasn't he reacting more? My world turned upside down, and I felt like screaming out a mixture of anger and sadness and fear.
I was expecting bad news like that my dad needed a transplant, as I mentioned in my previous post. I wasn't expecting to hear that he had terminal cancer. And one question that haunts my mind still is did they ever get a chance to tell my dad that he had cancer? And how did he feel in that moment? Remember, I spoke to my dad for the last time that morning, before results came in from his CT scan. We never got to have a conversation about his diagnosis.
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