The Doctor Will See You Now
Click clack click clack click clack.
The sound of shoes promptly walking down the hallway. Shoes with a purpose. Carrying the news that the bloodwork came back clear, or the scans showed no growth. News that the prognosis is good and treatments are going well. The news that they have found the source of the pain and will administer medication ASAP.
Or news that they found a mass, the size of a fist, on your lungs.
I will never get the waiting room out of my mind. As I write, I have chills remembering the colors, the sounds, the feeling. Waiting..... anxiety through the roof..... uncomfortable...... sick to my stomach. Was it the off white generic walls that seemed to spin under the buzz of the florescent light? Or maybe the sound the chairs made when you moved. I can see the pale green/beige checkered pattern in my mind. How may people have sat here and squirmed in fear just like I have? How many families, daughters, have sat here waiting for the fate of a loved one?
My Dad was a pretty private guy. He wasn't one of those dads who you would come and sit at the edge of your bed with a heart to heart word of advice that would end in a hug and tears. He wasn't one of those dads you heard the words, "I love you." or "I am proud of you." very often. That doesn't mean he didn't feel those things! I don't doubt for a second that he loved me. He told me enough. And even a few times he told me he was proud of me. But he wasn't a feelings kind of guy. I could tell he was nervous that day, though. My dad was infamous in our house for his "dad jokes." I think that was his love language. That, and music. Boy was he deeply passionate about music. Our house was ALWAYS filled with music. He had a whole room full of equipment that I have no idea what most of it was for, but he sure did. He was in a band for as long as I can remember, and before I was ever a thought. He continued playing and writing and singing for as long as his body would let him. But here he was, sitting in a waiting room with his only daughter, and he was scared. Cracking jokes left and right. Vulnerable. I know that he was upset that he couldn't handle this on his own.
Mom had been pushing him to get into the VA for years. When they got divorced, the job them fell to me. Dad was so stubborn, but after a terrifying phone call from him, we both realized he wouldn't live on his own anymore. We were both too young for this. He was too young to have his independence and freedom taken away from him. I was too young to have to care for my parent. Yet, here we were. He finally realized his frailty and we got an appointment at the VA. He was previously diagnosed with MS when I was an early teenager, so we had an appointment with a neurologist to get him back on some seizure medicine.
We quickly found out that MS was not the problem. The scans showed he had a mass on his lungs and they also found one on his brain. Surgery was not an option, they were too advanced.
Stage 4.
I didn't know what Stage 4 meant before that day. I didn't know that Stage 4 meant, you're running out of time.
I believe the doctor said 9 months to a year? My head was spinning. I watched the neurologist administer tests to my Dad. Simple things like hand eye coordination and remembering phrases or words. Suddenly the pieces began to fall into place. All the spills of his coffee, or knocking things over. The stumbling when walking. Falling. Losing words when telling a story.
My Dad has cancer on his brain, and its killing him.
January 31st, 7 years ago, this was my reality. The doctor told my Dad the information, but really he was telling me because he wasn't sure how much Dad would process and remember. Dad went to the bathroom, and I couldn't hold it together any longer. I fell apart, right there into the doctor's shoulder. Tears all over his white coat. I don't even remember the man's name, but his face will forever be in my memory.
God bless the doctor's a nurses who are there and do this everyday. My sister in law is a nurse on a neuro ICU floor, she's a saint.
We left that day with pages of appointments with different tests to run before he could start treatment. Dad never cried. The ride home was pretty quiet. It was too long after that when I reached out to my family and told them I couldn't do this. I couldn't take care of my Dad while he was dying. I was a young mom with two young children and I couldn't figure out how I was going to be able to get my Dad to all his appointments and care for him at home while he just got worse... so I asked if he could come home to Colorado.
I sent him away.
I regret that almost everyday.
My Daddy lost his battle with cancer just over a year later. February 6th, 2012. I wasn't there. I hadn't seen him or talked to him since Christmas. I thought there would be more time.
I was 8 months pregnant with my 3rd child when I got the news. I couldn't travel to be there when they spread his ashes at Fort Logan National Cemetery. I couldn't be there.
I didn't get to say goodbye.
My heart's desire is that I will get to see him again. Daddy "didn't do the whole church thing", but he was intrigued by my love for God. As a child and a teenager, he intimidated me so I wasn't bold in sharing my faith with him. However, as an adult, I found myself in a few conversations when he would open up and ask questions. He was interested when I asked him to watch the case for Christ. I bought him a large print Bible the Christmas before we knew, and when he moved to Colorado, he asked me to pack it for him. He had limited room on what he could bring, so I was surprised to know he wanted to bring that. I had a conversation with him one day before he left about his salvation. I asked him if he believed in God and if he believed if Jesus was the Son of God and if he believed that Jesus came to die for his sins. He said he did believe. I pray it is true. I would love to see my Daddy again.
I was 27 years old when I joined the AWFUL club of people who have lost a parent. But I see him in my children. In Emmy and Elijah's hair when it has that red tint to it. In Gracie when she is spouting her jokes and riddles. In Brad when he is so quick to get upset when he drops something, and his love for music. And in myself, saying the same awful "Dad jokes" to my own kids that Daddy used to always say to me.
You were right, Dad, "You can't always get what you want..."
The sound of shoes promptly walking down the hallway. Shoes with a purpose. Carrying the news that the bloodwork came back clear, or the scans showed no growth. News that the prognosis is good and treatments are going well. The news that they have found the source of the pain and will administer medication ASAP.
Or news that they found a mass, the size of a fist, on your lungs.
I will never get the waiting room out of my mind. As I write, I have chills remembering the colors, the sounds, the feeling. Waiting..... anxiety through the roof..... uncomfortable...... sick to my stomach. Was it the off white generic walls that seemed to spin under the buzz of the florescent light? Or maybe the sound the chairs made when you moved. I can see the pale green/beige checkered pattern in my mind. How may people have sat here and squirmed in fear just like I have? How many families, daughters, have sat here waiting for the fate of a loved one?
My Dad was a pretty private guy. He wasn't one of those dads who you would come and sit at the edge of your bed with a heart to heart word of advice that would end in a hug and tears. He wasn't one of those dads you heard the words, "I love you." or "I am proud of you." very often. That doesn't mean he didn't feel those things! I don't doubt for a second that he loved me. He told me enough. And even a few times he told me he was proud of me. But he wasn't a feelings kind of guy. I could tell he was nervous that day, though. My dad was infamous in our house for his "dad jokes." I think that was his love language. That, and music. Boy was he deeply passionate about music. Our house was ALWAYS filled with music. He had a whole room full of equipment that I have no idea what most of it was for, but he sure did. He was in a band for as long as I can remember, and before I was ever a thought. He continued playing and writing and singing for as long as his body would let him. But here he was, sitting in a waiting room with his only daughter, and he was scared. Cracking jokes left and right. Vulnerable. I know that he was upset that he couldn't handle this on his own.
Mom had been pushing him to get into the VA for years. When they got divorced, the job them fell to me. Dad was so stubborn, but after a terrifying phone call from him, we both realized he wouldn't live on his own anymore. We were both too young for this. He was too young to have his independence and freedom taken away from him. I was too young to have to care for my parent. Yet, here we were. He finally realized his frailty and we got an appointment at the VA. He was previously diagnosed with MS when I was an early teenager, so we had an appointment with a neurologist to get him back on some seizure medicine.
We quickly found out that MS was not the problem. The scans showed he had a mass on his lungs and they also found one on his brain. Surgery was not an option, they were too advanced.
Stage 4.
I didn't know what Stage 4 meant before that day. I didn't know that Stage 4 meant, you're running out of time.
I believe the doctor said 9 months to a year? My head was spinning. I watched the neurologist administer tests to my Dad. Simple things like hand eye coordination and remembering phrases or words. Suddenly the pieces began to fall into place. All the spills of his coffee, or knocking things over. The stumbling when walking. Falling. Losing words when telling a story.
My Dad has cancer on his brain, and its killing him.
January 31st, 7 years ago, this was my reality. The doctor told my Dad the information, but really he was telling me because he wasn't sure how much Dad would process and remember. Dad went to the bathroom, and I couldn't hold it together any longer. I fell apart, right there into the doctor's shoulder. Tears all over his white coat. I don't even remember the man's name, but his face will forever be in my memory.
God bless the doctor's a nurses who are there and do this everyday. My sister in law is a nurse on a neuro ICU floor, she's a saint.
We left that day with pages of appointments with different tests to run before he could start treatment. Dad never cried. The ride home was pretty quiet. It was too long after that when I reached out to my family and told them I couldn't do this. I couldn't take care of my Dad while he was dying. I was a young mom with two young children and I couldn't figure out how I was going to be able to get my Dad to all his appointments and care for him at home while he just got worse... so I asked if he could come home to Colorado.
I sent him away.
I regret that almost everyday.
My Daddy lost his battle with cancer just over a year later. February 6th, 2012. I wasn't there. I hadn't seen him or talked to him since Christmas. I thought there would be more time.
I was 8 months pregnant with my 3rd child when I got the news. I couldn't travel to be there when they spread his ashes at Fort Logan National Cemetery. I couldn't be there.
I didn't get to say goodbye.
My heart's desire is that I will get to see him again. Daddy "didn't do the whole church thing", but he was intrigued by my love for God. As a child and a teenager, he intimidated me so I wasn't bold in sharing my faith with him. However, as an adult, I found myself in a few conversations when he would open up and ask questions. He was interested when I asked him to watch the case for Christ. I bought him a large print Bible the Christmas before we knew, and when he moved to Colorado, he asked me to pack it for him. He had limited room on what he could bring, so I was surprised to know he wanted to bring that. I had a conversation with him one day before he left about his salvation. I asked him if he believed in God and if he believed if Jesus was the Son of God and if he believed that Jesus came to die for his sins. He said he did believe. I pray it is true. I would love to see my Daddy again.
I was 27 years old when I joined the AWFUL club of people who have lost a parent. But I see him in my children. In Emmy and Elijah's hair when it has that red tint to it. In Gracie when she is spouting her jokes and riddles. In Brad when he is so quick to get upset when he drops something, and his love for music. And in myself, saying the same awful "Dad jokes" to my own kids that Daddy used to always say to me.
You were right, Dad, "You can't always get what you want..."
😓😢ðŸ˜love you girl!
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