On this day last year, my father was diagnosed with cancer. It came out of nowhere. He had been feeling weak, tired and just not himself for several weeks. His doctor ran lots of lab work and discovered abnormalities that they then dug deeper into and discovered Waldenstrohm’s Macroglobulenemia, a rare form of bone marrow cancer. This type of cancer is not curable, but it is kept in control with chemotherapy. For six long months last year, he underwent chemo and suffered in quiet dignity. They gave him a reprieve for a few months, and today, he starts again – on the anniversary of his diagnosis.
Just a few weeks after his diagnosis, my mother had surgery that sent her into plethora of illness, infection, organ shut down and a very long recovery. I watched as my dad sat next to her bed and held her hand as a tear occasionally rolled down his cheek. He didn’t know I was watching, but I will never forget how I felt as I watched him. We’d been dealing with my mom’s ups and down for years already, but seeing my dad sick was new and different for me. He was the strong one – the one who kept it together. I turned my back to them and caught my breath.
And although it has been a year, it is still new and different. There is a sting every time I think of him lying in a recliner, hooked up to the poisons that will supposedly “help” him. When I see him too weak to walk, too tired to talk, and too sick to eat, I hurt. And in the midst of hurting for them, I struggle to deal with the fact that all of the maladies that wreak havoc on their lives are genetic.
It is not an easy day. None of them lately are very easy. But I know the Lord is watching over us and that in this, we have hope.
Just a few weeks after his diagnosis, my mother had surgery that sent her into plethora of illness, infection, organ shut down and a very long recovery. I watched as my dad sat next to her bed and held her hand as a tear occasionally rolled down his cheek. He didn’t know I was watching, but I will never forget how I felt as I watched him. We’d been dealing with my mom’s ups and down for years already, but seeing my dad sick was new and different for me. He was the strong one – the one who kept it together. I turned my back to them and caught my breath.
And although it has been a year, it is still new and different. There is a sting every time I think of him lying in a recliner, hooked up to the poisons that will supposedly “help” him. When I see him too weak to walk, too tired to talk, and too sick to eat, I hurt. And in the midst of hurting for them, I struggle to deal with the fact that all of the maladies that wreak havoc on their lives are genetic.
It is not an easy day. None of them lately are very easy. But I know the Lord is watching over us and that in this, we have hope.
No comments:
Post a Comment