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.