I've been in sort of a daze lately. I guess it's probably actually a sort of depression because I've been floating around a little detached from everything. And when I feel this way the first thing that goes, is my writing... so forgive me, little blog, for having left you barren for so long.
The truth is, this holiday season was a repeated left hook to my jaw. Wait. Maybe a right hook. Which one is worse? Okay, it was that one.
Why the melodramatics? I'll tell you...
On November 19th, my dad injured his back carrying groceries, and in the following weeks, through MRIs, tests, and constant agony, they discovered he had some tumors in his spine. Naturally this development was startling and led to biopsies and more tests to try to discover their cause.
We had all planned to spend Christmas together at my sister, Meradith's, house, but with my dad unable to travel, we all trudged up to snowy Idaho to await the news with my parents. And finally, New Year's Day came... and we got the results.
We all sat around, clenching our teeth and gripping onto each other as my dad returned home from his appointment, gathered us together and delivered the crushing blow... at the ripe age of 59, it was cancer. And not just any cancer... a real sonoffabeech systemic cancer called multiple myeloma. One that is both aggressive and even worse, incurable.
I can't really describe the devastation. The strange rattling of your entire life and reality in the blink of an eye. I was a total basketcase. For days. Literally. Walking around like a zombie and sortof avoiding being alone with my dad. Mostly because I knew NOT EVEN ONE, itty-bitty thought that didn't revolve around the monster lurking inside of him was capable of entering my mind. Regular conversation was absolutely out of the question. And, wouldn't you know, you get a little sick of being a debbie-downer and ugly-face crying in peoples' faces after a while. And so, instead, I did a lot of bug-eyed staring, followed by fleeing the room and flying-squirelling onto my air mattress in the basement. Inevitably I'd get it together long enough to reemerge into the general population, strutting around like nothing had happened... but then I'd hear my dad talk or hear one of my babies call for "Papa!" or notice the dirty bowl he'd used to eat the oatmeal I'd made him that morning and off I'd go, screeching around the nearest corner.
Literally never felt so emotionally inept in all my life.
Need a break from the sad crap? Here's a couple pictures to lighten the mood. But don't you go gettin' too comfortable feelin' happy... cause in a minute I'm plannin' on bringin' you right back down! Right back down ta Chinatown!
My dad, Mera's Isla and baby Eve. Right before I took a flying leap over that banister to escape to my air-mattress.
And one more with my mama. Aren't we cute when we're all cry-swollen and foggy? The answer is yes.
This was the start of my second round of right hooks to the face--my tiny family becoming repeatedly, deathly ill for more than a month. It's like the sickness gods sniffed out our sadness-induced weakness and picked us off like sickly baby wildebeests.
Alright, back to business. Since my dad's diagnosis on New Year's Day, he has completed 5 weeks of chemo therapy and has undergone four separate "vertebrae cementing" procedures. His particular kind of cancer weakens the bones so the vertebrae in his spine are the consistency of chalk, resulting in continual, tiny fractures in his back. His last "cementing" relieved a great deal of his pain, finally, and while the chemo wipes him out, we are anxiously awaiting tests that will reveal if it is doing any good in staving off this wretched disease.
The good news is, my dad has really ruffled up his feathers in preparation for this fight. He's basically Mohammed Ali. Pretty sure he'd be shadow boxing around the living room and shouting, "Bring it on!" type insults at his reflection in the mirror if he could. And my mom is the strongest and most watchful and attentive care-giver in the world, so he's in the best, most capable hands imaginable.
I am hopeful and continually aware of that great plan ever being weaved by our tender and loving Heavenly Father. I am also aware that cancer research is constantly progressing and perhaps, in time, they'll be able to nudge this one off the incurable pile.
Until then, we'll be praying and fighting. And would love your prayers as well.
Thanks for reading.
