It Hurts

Imagine the worst pain possible. So bad you can barely move, much less breathe. Every tiny motion sends waves of indescribable knife shards into your body.

Now multiply that pain by about 1,000.

That was Dad's pain today.

He woke up this morning with a shoulder that felt like it was about to split in half, and nausea to boot. Despite a trip to the day hospital for some pretty heavy drugs, he continued to rate his pain at an 8 on a scale of 10 for the rest of the day. He finally got some rest about 6:00 this evening, but it didn't last long. A good friend of ours who happens to be an orthopedic surgeon says that the tumor in his shoulder has probably grown to the point that it split open the bone where it is growing. Just the thought makes my own body hurt.

Not to mention my heart. The worst part of all of this (for me) is watching the man who has always been my rock, physically, emotionally, practically, be so vulnerable that he can barely lift his arm. Seeing him shrink into his pillows and be unable to find a position that doesn't hurt. Seeing him keep his eyes wrenched shut to avoid any light that might sneak in and overwhelm his dizzy head. I had to leave the room for a few minutes and let the tears fall this afternoon. They just wouldn't stay put.

A very close friend of my father's (and a palliative care specialist) uttered the dreaded word to my mother: hospice. He also mentioned that the oncologists' estimate of 3-6 months is "optimistic." The plan is still to try round 2 of fighting this sucker but the fact that end-of-life issues are at the front of peoples' minds is not reassuring.

This is moving way too fast. I'm not ready for this at all.