Conflicted

So I'm back in North Carolina after a very enjoyable 8 days with the fam! 'Got to meet my dad's oncologist and the nurses and spend a day at the infusion center with him while he received Round 4 of the dreaded chemo. Very interesting but very sobering...really hit home what my dad is facing. Mom and I pored over the radiology reports from the March diagnosis so she could point to various anatomical words and ask me what they meant. 'Don't know whether knowing what these reports mean is a good or a bad thing.

The mid-point scans they did a few weeks ago actually look pretty good. Several of the smaller spots in his bones seem to be clearing up, leaving the bigger ones more glaringly obvious and easier to see. He can only take 6 rounds of this particular chemo so we'll know a lot more in July when they do the next round of scans. Hopefully continued progress will be made and they'll be able to put him on a maintenance protocol that at least keeps the little bastards at bay, if we can't kill them all. But who knows how long that will last...

The most intense part of the week was a therapy session we attended Wednesday night with a psychologist who specializes in working with cancer patients and their families. There's such a fine line between being hopeful and being realistic and this lady made us look squarely in the eye the possibility that this disease could very well kill him. Not a fun thought. But she also reminded us that if we allow ourselves to go there, we will treasure our time now that much more. She referred to it as a "window" - we have a certain period of time to enjoy with Dad and we have no idea how long it will be. But we should live it to the fullest so that if the time is short there are no regrets, and if the time is long, it's full of warm memories.

To that end I face the inevitable question: what the hell am I doing 3,000 miles away, about to enter a rigorous 16-month program that will consume my life at the very time when I should be with my father? Then again, where do I get off thinking I can just drop everything and move back to CA, leaving my husband with a mortgage and bills to pay? How do I weigh logistics against what I truly want, which is to be around my dad as much as possible? If I could find a way to realistically be there and take care of my everyday responsibilities, I'd be in a much better place.

It's frustrating to think I've worked so hard for the past two years to get ready for this next adventure, only to be foiled by f*cking cancer. But then I kick myself for being so selfish. Nursing school will always be there, there's no hurry. But what happens to my marriage, which is already facing its share of struggles? What happens to my roommate if I ditch her at the last minute? Too many questions and never any answers.

Change of Course

Three weeks after my last post, the charming world I had known came crashing down when my 56-year old father was diagnosed with lung cancer. And not just any lung cancer. Stage IV non small cell adenocarcinoma that had already metastasized to several of his bones by the time they caught it. Dad had been suffering from lingering upper respiratory problems for months but no one ever suspected this because he wasn't a smoker and never had been. Chest x-rays were clear, it turns out because the tumor was hiding behind his trachea and couldn't be seen on a chest film.

The bad news is that statistically the five-year survival rate is less than 2%, and that radiologists seem to have missed a couple of spots that were there all along (a frightening thought!). The good news is that Dad's oncologist is trying to defy the odds. His philosophy is that the only statistic that matters is individual - your survival rate is 100% or it is 0%, and he is encouraging us all to fight hard. Given all the negatives, Dad is in wonderful health and great shape and because he never smoked, his chances are better overall. The other week he met an 88-year old survivor of six years with the same kind of cancer. So there is hope. After three rounds of chemo and radiation to some of the scarier spots on his spine and in his femur, all of the tumors are shrinking gradually. Dad is skinny and bald, save for a soft tuft he calls his "peach fuzz", and fatigues easily. But he is still working half-time, and he is still the same silly Dad we all grew up with.

But this means "People Are Crazy" will no longer be filled with rants and raves about the state of our world today. I'm even considering changing the name of this blog, if I can figure out how. What matters is here at my parent's house, where I sit after coming home to CA to participate in the Relay for Life. What matters is family and friendships. There will always be crazy people and there will always be something to bitch about, but all that seems so much less significant. I'm even looking for nursing jobs out here for when I graduate next December. North Carolina has been home for 8 years, but my real home will always be here.

Our parents are headed to Hawaii in June to celebrate their 30-year wedding anniversary. We're all going to Santa Catalina Island in August for a family vacation. Life is good. So it's time to tell our story...