This morning was an easy appointment at the cancer lab. I was in by 8:45 am and out by 9 am.  I had taken some tincture with a ratio of 1:1 of CBD and THC.   I’ve felt puny since the chemo started on Tuesday and I hoped it would help. As a result, I was feeling pretty weak but not in pain for now. 

Driving home, I found myself crying while listening to the words of some of the songs on my playlist. Specifically,  Bridge Over Troubled Water. Perhaps it is the cancer, perhaps it is the THC, or perhaps it is a combination of both, but I am deep diving into a lot of emotions.  As my mind swirled with memories and emotions, I found myself thinking about my Dad.  

I realized that I haven’t told you about my dad‘s cancer.  The experience of being with him from his diagnosis to his death is proving to have a tremendous influence on how I am handling my own cancer and my diagnosis of a shortened lifespan. 

My dad was a big influence in my life. { I’ll include his obit  so you can get a feel for how much he was able to accomplish from such humble beginnings.}

Anyway, after my mom passed away in 2008,  dad and I realized that we needed to spend more time together instead of just seeing each other when I could get up to Alexandria, VA where he lived or when he could come visit us in Florida. Three to four time a year of sharing our lives just wasn’t going to cut it anymore.  Dad ended up buying a house four blocks away from ours and become an official Snowbird.  

 In 2020, my dad began to lose weight. Judith and I ultimately ended up taking him to be diagnosed during the height of Covid. Here’s what the experience was like. Because of Covid, the nurse put Judith and I in separate rooms. My sister  went with dad, who was very hard of hearing   After the doctor had repeatedly told him his diagnosis, my dad still could not hear or comprehend what the doctor was saying. Judith asked  the doctor to write it down instead.  He found  a pen and a piece of paper and wrote in large letters       

                  UNTREATABLE      

                       INOPERABLE

and held it up to my father’s face.  

That scene stays with me. Even after that experience,  dad took a while to accept that there was nothing the medical community could do for him except to make him comfortable for the 3 to 6 months that they expected him to live. In that time, we called in Hospice (angels),  moved him to our guest house and hired full time caregivers.  Dad had an inexplicable lack of pain, which was a great blessing.  Judith and I saw him every day. One morning,  he turned to me and said, “I must have been a good dad, because you and your sister turned out so well.“ 

As time went by and his condition deteriorated, the hospice nurse who visited weekly asked me if dad wanted to know what was going to happen. He was sitting right next to me, so I used the whiteboard and asked him, “hey dad, do you want to know what’s going to happen?” He looked at me solemnly and nodded. At this time,  dad was still able to shuffle around but he was very weak and weighed about 119 pounds.  (Down from 220) The nurse explained that soon he would be unable to get around on his own and he would become bed-bound.  He would stop eating, then stop drinking, then pass away.  He took in the information and said,”I’ve had 88 years, which is longer than most people, so I can’t complain.” 

A funny story about those stressful days began when I  ordered a chair from Sears for dad. He did love to watch the Yankees play!  It was the kind of chair that lifts you up and helps you to stand up and I had shown dad a picture of it. He was very excited to use it.  

Unfortunately, due to Covid, delivery was delayed again and again. One day, I was sitting down with dad and the whiteboard having our version of a conversation.   I wrote on the surface of the whiteboard, “are you angry,  scared…?? “. He looked at me quite seriously and answered,   “ I’m angry.”  What are you angry about dad?” I asked, expecting him to tell me about the injustice of the cancer etc.  Instead, he continued , I’m angry because Where’s the hell my chair?“ (It finally did arrive and he loved using it).  

Dad passed away peacefully on May 15, nine months after his diagnosis. He accepted his pending death with dignity and strength.  He was resigned, and he was ready.

Teenage me and my dad.