Go ahead…turn off my water.
I’ve been late on my mortgage payment three times in the past 6 months. It’s due on the 1st of the month with a two-week grace period. The due date has swooped into my subconscious each time around 3am (post due-date), disrupting my already anxiety-ridden sleep, sending me downstairs to my laptop in a haze.
When a parent is sick, the rational brain shifts to auto-pilot while it focuses on what it deems important. My brain has taken the responsibilities that used to reside in the frontal lobe, and re-located them to one of the back burner lobes to make room for new information. Information such as the effectiveness of drugs that never crossed my radar: Taxotere, Xtandi, Casodex, Newlasta, Eligard, bicalutamide, Tramadol. Differences between a CAT scan, bone scan, MRI, PET and how to decipher a Gleason Score.
There are good days and bad days, for my dad…and me. His good days instantly transform into my good days, which mean laundry will be done and dinner will be on the table. His bad days, the days where his voice wavers and he didn’t have a good night’s sleep, send my brain back into auto-pilot and I coast through the day being reactive rather than proactive, my three boy’s needs and requests become increasingly irritating. The daily visit or phone call to my dad sets the tone.
One year into treatment, his disease is getting worse. To think that this active man, who went for annual physicals without one iota of a raised PSA level is now covered in cancer from his prostate is incomprehensible. Regularly at the health club or on the golf course, he’s no longer allowed to even cross his legs since his right femur can spontaneously fracture. Oh- and his spine? “Think of it as an egg,” the doctor says.
My lens on the world has changed in so many ways. Seeing a sick child has always tugged at my heart but now the tug is ten-fold. It’s beyond unfair for a child to endure a physically taxing disease and incomprehensible to understand how a parent can cope. There are parents with children going through similar treatments; children that rarely see their own bedrooms. I should feel lucky to have so many years with my dad. I shouldn’t feel resentment when I see an 80-something year old man smoking a cigarette in front of a tavern- why can’t he be the one? I shouldn’t subscribe to the “she had a good life” mentality when I hare about a 96 year old that just passed away. I should feel lucky that my dad was here to walk me down the isle; to see his grandsons and regularly take them go-karting or to the water park.
My social circle has narrowed since my dad has been sick. The patience I once had for those who incessantly speak about bullshit has dwindled. I’ve avoided phone calls that will last an hour without a single “How’s your Dad doing?” since that’s all I can think about. But as water seeks its own level, so many have risen to meet me. The people that offer to take the kids, bring dinner, push me to do something for myself; those are my new people.
Once an afterthought, I’ve even come to appreciate the ladies in my Dad’s life…women that came into his (our) lives over two decades ago after my parents got divorced. Women he remained friends with after a break-up. Always a nuisance when they would show up at family holidays unannounced and try to befriend me, these ladies have become part of the support team. The “I don’t understand what the hell he sees in her,” mentality has shifted. We talk on the phone. They bring him food. They are with him when I am not.
My multi-tasking mom brain is asking me questions that I’m not ready to answer about the near future and I don’t know how to make it stop. Where will he stay when he can no longer be on his own? Should I get window treatments for our 1st floor office so he can have privacy if he stays with us? How will I take care of him with a full-time job and the kids’ schedules? What will my boys wear at the service? I don’t think they have any dress shoes that fit them. When the time comes, how do I let everyone know? I’ve seen friends post obituaries on Facebook and I do not want to go that route.
It’s early and I haven’t checked in yet with my Dad. The sun is shining through the windows and writing this piece has somehow taken a mini load off my chest. While my boys are still sleeping, I’m going to turn off my brain and solely play the role as ‘mom’ and make some banana bread. And while I watch them eat, I will secretly hope that there will be enough left over for my Dad.
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