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.
7 comments:
Vanessa, I'm so very sorry. My grandmother (not the one I share with Sam) died of multiple myeloma back in 2003. Doctors didn't even make the diagnosis until the last few months when it was too late to do anything at all; it had metastasized. She was in horrible pain, yet so patient and cheerful, trying not to worry us. You're right that this is a beast of a cancer and I hope your dad can buy some extra time to spend with you and your lovely family. I'll be thinking of you.
You guys have been in my prayers since I first heard. I'm so sorry! Your family has been through the ringer over these last few years. You guys are an incredible strong family! We'll continue praying and anxiously await any updates!
Vanessa, I'm so sorry to hear this. My father has had four different cancers, but has been lucky in that they were curable (so far). He has to keep checking. It's a horrible thing to think about being without one of your parents. I pray that the treatments will allow your father to be with you all for many more years. My prayers are with you. Love,H
Ness, we seriously need to talk. I am so devastated for you and your family. I seriously know how you feel as reading your story is so familiar. My 29 year old brother was diagnosed with Brain Cancer that is inoperable last June. They found the tumor and he couldn't travel for my sister's wedding a few weeks later and we found out on her wedding day that it was cancer. He is also on chemo and did radiation. I am a constant mess and I just want you to know that I am here for you and I know how awful this is, until you go through it, you don't know... but i do and you can call me anytime and we can breakdown together. This sucks, there is no other way to say it. I am so so so sorry, and you are in my prayers REALLY. I'm not just one of those people who is saying that and then going on with my life. You are in my thoughts and I love you to pieces!!!! xoxo hang in there.
Praying for your dad and your family!
Vanessa: I grew up in the same ward and just around the corner from where your Dad lived. I use to see him at work at the WCB but have not lately so was hoping you could give me an update on him. Our family has always thought so much of the Collard family, and I watched as you and your siblings have grown up. My email is pardonla@id.doe.gov or I am on facebook. My name is Lisa Pardonnet. Thanks so much.
I'm a little behind the times with this news, but add me to the people who will be praying for your family. I hope your dad's cancer fightin' spirit is still going Mohammed Ali strong.
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