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Dad’s birthday is coming up. January 18th. I can’t believe it going to be his second birthday gone. Time is passing so quickly.
Mark drove Dad’s pick up around a few days and it seemed weird to see it parked in our driveway. I caught myself glancing up at it and remembering Dad sitting out there, cigarette in hand, waiting for the boys to come out, waiting for us to see him and come outside and visit with him, all the while smoking one of his “little friends“.
In reality when I think of Dad, I think of cigarettes. The two go hand in hand. The smell, the sight, I can’t think of him without those damn cancer sticks.
We are going to Kearney tomorrow. We missed Dads Zymeta infusion on Tuesday. We just plain thought it was scheduled for thursday. Dad needs to see the Dr. too. He hasn’t had much improvement in his breathing since the last thorecentesis. His activity is very limited. He doesn’t like to wear the oxygen except when he is sitting on the couch. He doesn’t want to wear the portable at all.
We will take it tomorrow anyway.’
I don’t know if the chemo damaged dad’s heart…put him into heart failure, if the excess fluid around his lower extremities will remain, if he has fluid building up in his lungs again, if the cancer has spread, if if if if if . I listen to his lungs and I hear diminished sounds, rhonci, but I can’t really tell if there is fluid in the pleural area. I just have the worst time assessing his lungs. I always have…even before he had cancer. I don’t know what to do really.
I caught him smoking on the back step the other day. He says he has been. 1 or 2 maybe. I didn’t know what to say really. I felt pissed and sad and yet I understood.
Nothing is enjoyable for him or for mom. He sits on the couch and “rests” all day. Watches a bit of TV, eats sparingly. He drives to town once in awhile but he doesn’t want anyone to see him gasping for breath so that has generally limited his errand running. He can’t mow. He can barely get to the step without grabbing furniture because he’s so short of breath.
Everything seems overwhelming and uncertain.