Thank you to all my wonderful friends and family for your support and messages. I haven’t been so good about getting back to everyone, but I appreciate and love all of the notes of love and encouragement.

Here’s an update on my dad…

His jaundice had gotten much worse on Thursday and his legs were swelling. He had finally gotten an appointment to get the biopsy a week from Thursday. It felt so far away, especially as I watched him look and feel worse. I made an appointment for him on Friday morning. During that appointment, the doctor decided he needed to go into the hospital for additional care. The doctor said if he continued the way he was, he wouldn’t be able to handle the biopsy by Thursday. All I could think was “DUH People! He needs medical attention and you aren’t moving.”

At the same time, I felt like I was living a nightmare. I never thought I’d ever see my dad so helpless and so sick. This is a guy who has seen a doctor about six times in the past 30 years. He’s tough. He’s invincible. He’s my dad.

We took him to the hospital on Friday and a whirlwind of tests and doctors started flying. He had three MRI’s, a bone scan and the biopsy. He was really exhausted from all the tests but at least he was getting attention and they were looking at all angles.

On Friday we also met a doctor whom I’ve dubbed “Doctor Death.” Doctor Death has no hope, not a lot of tact and gets emotional when she talks to us. Her only real answer to all our questions is a tearful “just remember, every day is a gift.” She gives no hope and just tells us to focus on today. She has also told us that treatment isn’t always the best option. Sometimes, it shortens or decreases quality of life for the patient. Even my dad has said, he feels like she has given him less than a week to live every time she talks to him.

My dad’s nurse mentioned to us that she overheard Doctor Death telling us prognosis and she felt Doctor Death didn’t handle it well.

In walks Doctor Hope. Doctor Hope is/was my dad’s oncologist for the weekend. Unfortunately he is only filling in for the weekend and we start over with a different oncologist tomorrow.

Doctor Hope does not paint a rosy picture of rainbows and happiness for us. But he does something that puts a crack in the clouds and helps us feel stronger…he gives us just a tiny bit of hope. There’s a small chance my dad will be able to try treatment. The treatment won’t cure the cancer, but it may slow the growth or even shrink it. There is a chance it won’t help at all and there is a chance that my dad won’t be able to tolerate it. But it sits out there waiting for him. It’s something to look forward to. It’s something that makes me focus on hope for my dad, rather than just focusing on losing him.

Yes, I will lose him. I just hope to keep him around as long as I can. Every day is a blessing. At this point, even hearing he has 6 months or 3 months gives me hope.

This can’t be happening.

We are all still in shock, including my dad. None of us can make sense of someone who ate healthy, exercised regularly and was seemingly fine about a month ago being so sick and in so much pain so fast.

Here’s what we know so far (I will try to keep my blog updated).

He has Stage Four cancer. They believe it began in his kidney and has spread to his liver, his lymph nodes and bones. It’s aggressive. They are going to try to put in a stent in his kidney on Monday to help it drain to help the jaundice. If he can get rid of the jaundice, they will look at some treatment options. Chemo doesn’t seem to work on kidney cancer. It’s too wide spread for radiation so they are hoping to do a treatment that involves a pill that will hopefully shrink or slow down the cancer.

He had a fever tonight when we left so we are hoping there isn’t an infection or something else brewing.