7I had planned last week to write a few posts about a dear friend whom I lost in January. Then my life turned upside down on Wednesday.

My dad has been complaining about injuring his shoulder and then his back since early March. He didn’t know what he had done to hurt himself, but the pain was immense. He reached a point two weeks ago that the pain was more than he could tolerate anymore and went to Urgent Care. They x-rayed him, told him he has the joints of a 45-year-old and told him to rest. A few days later on a Saturday, he was back, because the pain was not lessening.

They gave him some Vicadin, said he had back strain and sent him home. On Monday, he returned, explaining that he had run through his prescription. At this point, an alert trauma nurse practioner noticed he was also yellow. Back strain doesn’t make you yellow. The doctor thought he may have hepatitis. I quickly did research. Two bad kinds, one kind that is fully recoverable. Scary but I’d go with Hep A. If he had that, the description said it takes about three months to recover. I thought, three months…that’s a long time to have him not feeling good. It would take him into the summer until he was up and running again.

He went back in on Tuesday for an ultrasound and lab work. Then he was scheduled for a CT scan on Wednesday. Now, the doctors suspected a blocked bile duct in his liver. Not Hepatitis, good, but would he have to have surgery to get it unplugged? What would this entail for recovery? At least it was curable and fixable.

I met my parents at the medical office for the CT scan. I had seen my dad the previous Saturday. He looked pained,  yellow and very weak. He had gone down a lot in five days. It was scary. I wanted them to find the blockage and get him feeling better and fast. I had just lost a friend to liver failure and I could tell he was going septic.

I made arrangements with my mom to babysit my dad the next day. I didn’t think he should be alone in case he didn’t feel well or if he needed emergency attention. He was not well.

Thursday.

My mom and my dad both called me independent of each other to tell me a miracle had happened over night. The pain had stopped. My dad told me I didn’t need to come over anymore. He was feeling better and on the mend. I decided to come visit anyway. I wanted to make sure he was still going to go back for follow up to make sure what had blocked would stay unblocked. Again, research online the night before had taught me about a liver disease where bile ducts plug and unplug until the liver becomes very damaged and requires a transplant. I was ready to put my name on the transplant list if it was needed.

Then the doctor’s office called. They would see him over the lunch hour. When we got there, I learned he didn’t have an actual appointment. We were told it isn’t hepatitis or a blockage.

It is cancer.

Cancer of the kidney. And it looks like it is metastasizing and moving outside of his kidneys. The rest of the conversation revolved around getting a biopsy to then work on prognosis and treatment. They also told my dad he needed to gather his family and discuss next steps. He needed to make sure all of his affairs were in order. He needed to name a medical power of attorney. A prognosis plan. Would he want hospice? There wasn’t anything about positive outlooks or treatment. It was all about making decisions on how he wanted it all to end.

I felt cold. I wanted to throw up, run out of the room, hug him, cry, deny and crawl under the covers and hide. I had to be strong for my dad. For the first time in my life, he wasn’t stronger than me. I was the strong one.

I asked questions, listened to everything that was said, tried to retain as much as I could while trying to find my way back to the beginning of the day when the miracle had occurred and he was better.

We walked out of the doctor’s office in shock. He turned to me and said “I guess my mother will outlive me. I never thought I would get cancer.”

He’s right. Cancer does not run in my family. Most everyone I know on my dad’s side has died from old age. My grandmother is 93 and just graduated from hospice.

I drove him home. I walked him to the door, but it was obvious we both needed some time alone to absorb and try and make sense of what had just happened.

I called my husband and brother and worked to lure my mom home so we could tell her. The rest of that day was full of tears. Full of family. Full of realizations.

I didn’t eat dinner. I had skipped lunch. I went home and finally threw up. I have had a series of challenges and stressful events occur this year. This just blew everything away. It’s amazing how something like this makes everything else that seems so big so small.

I tried to imagine life without my dad. Tried to imagine what the next few months hold. I crawled inside myself. I did my best to ignore and deny but it wouldn’t go away. It was there when I woke up in the middle of the night. It was there when I stared out the window. When I drove my car. It was always there. I couldn’t make this go away.

I felt a little better Saturday as I prepped for the Easter Bunny’s visit. I felt like I briefly stepped out of the nightmare and back into life. But just as quickly as I had rejoined my life, I ran from it again. I couldn’t research anything online. I began sobbing inconsolably at the mention of “my dad.” I couldn’t eat. I just couldn’t function. I would shake and feel sick. I felt like I was watching my life instead of participating. I didn’t know how to deal with this.

When something happens in my life, I talk. Ask my husband. I talk and talk and dissect and analyze every piece. I couldn’t talk about this. I couldn’t call friends. Couldn’t talk to family. The only thing that kept me out of bed was my parents and my girls. I had to keep going for them.

I had no idea I would lose my ability to cope with this type of news. I’m not completely naive. My parents are getting up there in age. I have thought about what would happen when they are gone. Somehow, I never thought I’d actually get to that point.

Everyday I’ve made a little progress towards acceptance.

Yesterday I felt a little better. I ate a little bit. I did a little bit of research while tears streamed from my eyes. I learned there is some hope.

Today I was back at my job. Back at shuttling my girls to and from school. Back to responding to emails and working on projects. My dad is also a bit stronger. Pain and jaundice have eased a bit.

Today I rejoined my life. I found myself again.

Now, I’m ready for the fight.