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I’ve been thinking about Dad lately.  I guess, around Thanksgiving was the time we found out he was carrying cancer cells.  Lung cancer.  Abnormal, freakish, squamous cells, non small cell in fact.  Death cells.

fucking cancer

I keep remembering the last day, the last hour, the last minute, the last time I saw Dad.  It kills me.  Makes me tear up and cry, clench the calves of my legs until they cramp up and hurt and twist my leg into a pretzel.  

Sadness.

I usually crowd these thoughts out and try not to think.

when it comes down to it.

Painful

I think often about my own mutating cancer cells.  I’m not diagnosed.  I just think it is invietable.  I will get cancer and I will die.  when?  I don’t know.  Probably sonner than later.  If not that then death by heart attack.  

That’s my body type, my destiny, my history, my future… me

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I suppose you could call it a milestone. A marker of time going by. Another summer. The grass still needs mowing, the mosquitoes still biting madly as if they know their time is limited. Dad never got bit by mosquitoes…his skin probably tasted of pure Marlboro. I sometimes miss that scent. How odd, I often think, that I don’t smoke. Growing up in a cloud must have given me enough to last a lifetime. Don’t get me wrong – I tried it. I just didn’t like it. Sometimes I wish I did. Maybe my ass wouldn’t be so big. Lately I find myself wanting to smoke again. Maybe it’s because I’m preaching to the boys so much about NOT smoking. Too late for my daughter…she is smoking like her grandparents used to. It kills me, it really does. She doesn’t realize what she is doing to herself. She used to be such an athlete. I bet she couldn’t run a block now. When she was a baby she had terrible croup. Her lungs are already vulnerable and yet she seems to want to further damage herself. She is 19, an “adult” and in college. I have little influence over what she is doing day to day. I only hope she comes to the realization that smoking is a killer in our family.

It’s bad now.
Everyday someone asks…”So…how’s your dad?”, and I have to pause and say, “He’s not good, he’s not good at all”. Even though I said that yesterday, and the day before that and the day before that…today…he’s worse. Each day unfolds some new, bad. Every day is hell in it’s own way. There is no word for this disease…this parasitic fungi…this appetite stealing, body wasting, sonofabitch cancer.

The serum calcium hasn’t dropped. In fact the last one checked was 12.2 and the alk phos was higher, the SPGOT was higher, everything was higher. I think he was pretty dehydrated though. They are giving him a litre of fluid with each dose and I think that is helping as much as anything.
It just seems like a nightmare. He can’t eat anything. He is crabby about everything. He says his pain is under control and he appears to be pain free. He just sits on the couch with his head hanging down most all of the day. I don’t know how mom takes it. She won’t leave the house. I get the mail, the groceries, we mow their lawn. Mom is held prisoner, as we all are now…to this disease. Dad is on Prednisone now, Miralax for his bowels, Ms Contin for pain…bid, Darvocet for breakthrough pain, Coumadin, Lasix, Aldactone, Potassium. He can eat only smooth foods. His dentures don’t fit and I don’t see him going into the dentist office for a fitting. He is weak. He weighs nothing. He has no shortness of breath really…doesn’t use O2. crazy ass disease