Saturday, July 01, 2006

The most terrifying sound in the world

I was helping Superdad move furniture back into my Grandmother's apartment tonight. The replacement carpet (from the flood damage) has finally been laid. I worry that he's trying to do too much. Superdad is always busy doing something. Yardwork, gardening, fixing this, that, or the other thing, finish work on the house in Maine - he's like the Energizer Bunny. He just keeps going & going....

I know he wants to try and maintain some sense of normalcy. I know that he wants to keep busy to avoid thinking about it. I know that keeping busy means physically doing things for him. I know that any physical exhertion causes him to feel the affects of the disease invading his body. I know that, that, scares the hell out of both of us. To hear him get winded so easily. To hear that horrid wheezing. Watching the effort it takes to get air in and out of his lungs almost paralyzed me with sorrow.

It took everything I had to maintain an appearance of calm. I was on the verge of tears, from fear and anger. I vaguely heard him say something about getting winded so easily, as terrifying thoughts were racing through my mind. I was surprised at the calm in my voice when I responded, "It really bothers me to hear you breathing like that". What kind of stupid comment was that? "It bothers me?" Like he has any control over it? If it "bothers" me, how the hell do I think he feels about it? I could have cut out my tongue as soon as I said the words. I was really thinking: Daddy, it scares the living shit out of me to hear you breathing like that. I don't want you to be sick. I want this all to go away.

But you know something? It occurs to me as I reread what I just typed, he knows what I meant. He's my Dad and he knows me better than anyone else, besides my Mom. He has this sixth sense about him, he always has. I once made a comment to my brother, "All Daddy has to do, is look at you and he knows everything". He's the reason why I cannot lie. I get all flustered and beet red if I try and lie. It doesn't matter if it's a big lie or a white lie. So I just don't do it. It's not worth it. He has instilled a sense of honesty in me, like any good Superdad would. I wish I had inherited that sixth sense. I have a hard time telling if my son is lying to me.

I know, I digress, but it's my stream of consciousness and I'm not doing drafts of this post. I'm not checking myself. Right now, this is my haven to spill my guts, to vent. Grammar doesn't count. Spelling doesn't count (screw spellcheck). My readers (I have readers!), have been so wonderful and supportive, I think that you will be understanding and forgiving of "Sharfa in the raw", and it could get pretty raw. I've been guarded since I started blogging. I'm sure most bloggers are. Some bloggers want to be careful, just in the off chance that someone might connect what you blog with who you really are. You could get fired from your job, or piss off family & friends. Perhaps, I'm feeling the lifechanging affects of having a family member with cancer. (Most likely). Whatever the cause, it doesn't matter. A good friend said it best, in a recent E-mail: "No point in steering now". (Bonus points if you know where the quote is from). I could lose my father to cancer. That changes your perspective on what really matters. That said, I blog nothing to intentionally offend or cause anyone any kind of hurt or harm. That's my disclaimer for any and all possible future posts.

Dad showed me the pictures from his bronchosopy. His left lung, with spacious passageways and healthy pink tissue. His right lung, with almost swollen closed passageways and portions of red, raw tissue. It was difficult for me to discern the enemy. It was hidden beneath the swollen lining of his lung, closing off the flow of oxygen. I don't know what I was expecting to see, but I wanted something more tangible to my eyes. Something I could lock onto and direct my anger at. I wanted to see the 6 cm. tumor as an invading mass, something that could be removed in one easy operation, and my Dad would be healthy again.

I left my parents home, with a promise from my Dad to call me when he needed anything requiring any physical effort done. I'll go down tomorrow and mow the lawn.

I cried all the way home.

6 comments:

KFarmer said...

I started reading this last night but could not get past the third paragraph- I was bawling like a baby so could not make a comment, much less read the rest. I'm so sorry you are going through this.

No sense stearing now? I have no idea so I guess I'll get no points. But I like the quote and who ever said it hit the nail on the head.

I think raw suits you. I felt like I was sitting on your couch and you were talking to me. I wish I could be there. I wish I had some magic pixie dust to sprinkle on your dad. I wish a lot of things but there are still some things I can do-send you strength to get through this, send and bathe you with my love when you feel alone, send my prayers to the Father for you and your family and send hope and healing thoughts to your dad.

For my two cents, I think you did well and handled yourself wonderfully with your dad. Keep that rod in your spine girl, your mom and dad are going to need you. And again, if you need me, you know where I am.

All my mojo headed north- love love love love love love.......

Chunks said...

Oh Sharfa, I can't imagine! Good news to hear that it hasn't spread, and I agree, "Kill the fucker" indeed!

No point in steering now is a MM line, if ever there was.

Be strong in front of your dad, feel free to be raw and let it all hang out here. We are all rooting for him and praying he will beat this. Godspeed!

James Cooper said...

Sounds like your dad is rather stubborn and stubborn people don't give up the fight easily, if ever at all. Cry if the tears come, lean on us if you need it, but know that your dad will keep fighting and having you in his corner will only give him strength.

Cancer is sneaky, dirty fighting bastard but it can still be beaten. People like your dad are the ones who most often rise up to the occasion. So keep supporting him and let him know he's got a web-ful of people backing him up.

James Cooper said...

Sounds like your dad is rather stubborn and stubborn people don't give up the fight easily, if ever at all. Cry if the tears come, lean on us if you need it, but know that your dad will keep fighting and having you in his corner will only give him strength.

Cancer is sneaky, dirty fighting bastard but it can still be beaten. People like your dad are the ones who most often rise up to the occasion. So keep supporting him and let him know he's got a web-ful of people backing him up.

Ericka said...

"No point in steering now." The Adventures of Bob & Doug McKenzie: Strange Brew (1983)

now that i've impressed the hell out of you... i cannot tell a lie. my father would also know and he'd get me. at any rate, i googled the phrase and milk and cookies had it. i think you can download audio bytes there. i love google.

many, many, many years ago, in a case of mistaken identity that pretty much proves that my whole freakin' family is cursed, my uncle was shot several times by hell's angels. he died several times that day, and to this day, pieces of metal work their way out of his chest and throat. at the time, the doctors told him that it was amazing how little lung you actually need to survive. he's missing most of one of his, and part of another, and he's okay.

so this is my roundabout way of saying that i think your dad will pull through. by all means, though - kill the f*ck*r.

Sharfa said...

Ericka gets first prize, "Doncha know?".
All I can say is - Wow.