Wow, so I guess the first thing I need to do is offer my sincere apologies for being so late in getting a new blog post up! This past month, flown by does not even start to describe it! We had Harper’s birthday party at the beginning of the month, it was fabulous and you will see pictures soon. A week or so later we got some not great news about my father. He’s been battling Multiple Myeloma for 5 years, and the past few meds they’ve had him on have just not been working very well…his numbers kept going up and he was having more and more symptoms, which basically meant he felt lousy and was in pain. The doctors decided to put him in the hospital on an “intense” round of chemo for 5 days. To say I didn’t handle it well would be an understatement. I cried, and I cried, then I cried some more. Literally everything made me cry. Songs on the radio, commericals on TV, billboards…anything that even remotely made me think of my dad turned me into a sobbing mess. Then one day I was driving in the car, and a Billy Idol song, Dancing with Myself, came on the radio (thank you Sirius 80’s channel!). I’ve always liked Billy Idol so I turned it up…then I turned it up again…and again. Before I knew it the radio was cranked to 22 on the volume meter (I usually listen at 7-10) and I was yelling, not singing, but yelling along with the song. Once the song was over I turned the radio down and realized I was crying again, but another realization hit me at the same time…they weren’t sad tears, they were angry tears. I was mad. Really really mad. Irrationally mad. I was mad that my father had to go through all this. Mad that my son would have memories of his beloved grandfather being sick. Mad that my daughter would never know the person I knew and that my son knew. Mad that I had to watch my dad, the strongest and most amazing man I’ve ever known, get weak and tired to the point where he will fall asleep sitting up in a chair. Mad that the doctors waited as long as they did to go with this aggressive route, and at the same time, mad that they were putting him through this. Mad at everything and everyone.
Usually when I’m mad I yell and scream and slam doors…sometimes there is nothing more satisfying that the BOOM of a really well slammed door. If you ask my husband, he’d tell you that sometimes one slam isn’t enough and I’ve been known to repeatedly slam a door 2 or 3 times until I feel better. I will neither confirm nor deny that statement… But in this case, there was nothing to yell at, no one to scream at, no one to blame. Cancer is an invisible enemy. And then I got mad that I couldn’t yell and scream and make it back down in that “wrath of Julie” way that I have (according to my mom). Then it hit me. If I’m this angry; what is my dad feeling. How does he get through every day knowing there is thing inside him plotting against him and making him feel horrible? The next morning I called my mom, they were packing his bag for the hospital. I told her to make sure he had a picture of his grandchildren with him, and told her she had to make sure it was somewhere he could see it, so that when things were bad, and he felt like giving up, he could look at that picture and remember what he was fighting for.
He made it through the 5 days and is back home. He’s doing ok, very weak and tired, but that is to be expected. So far he hasn’t lost his hair, though he did buzz it off just in case, and he hasn’t had any of the horrible side effects we were worried about. For that I am eternally thankful. He will go back into the hospital in about 2 weeks for another 5 day round of chemo, and then, if the doctors are right, we can hope for complete remission.
I know one thing. Cancer picked the wrong person. He’s going to kick Cancer’s Ass.