29 June 2001
You might remember my recent father's day post, where I talked about my fears for my dad's health.
Well, last night one shoe dropped.
I don't quote know how, but I'd manage to not think about it for a couple of days, so when my mum was pestering me to bring my dinner plate down right now and wash it I'll admit I was a bit annoyed. I was busy. I had just got my printer back after being repaired and I was printing out a test picture. So I yelled back that I was busy and I went down when I'd finished the print.
I took the print with me, tipped my plate into the basin and showed my dad, because I knew he hadn't seen it and I wanted to know what he thought of it, while he was looking at it, my mum came in, and reminded me once more to "wash the dishes, don't just leave them there". So I showed her the print too.
Then she cleared her throat, and said "your dad was back at the hospital today and, well, the news isn't good", and in that second, I felt sick. I felt sick, and I felt selfish for forgetting, and I felt scared of what I was going to be told, even though I kind of knew already.
I stepped back, glad that the sink was behind me, and I held on to the first thing I touched. The fake drawer-front in front of the sink. I held on for dear life. I held on so I wouldn't fall. I held on so tight that my fingers hurt. I held on so tight, and I bit my lip so that I didn't cry when my dad said "it's cancer".
I don't know why, but the first thing that ran though my head was that stupid soundbite from the Celine Dion "Behind the Music" on VH1.
"Cancer. It's never part of your vocabulary."
I think I mumbled a bit. I might have said "oh". Mostly I was concentrating on not falling over and/or bawling my eyes out.
Then they told me the details. There is a tumour the size of an apricot. It's not in his lungs but behind. Next to one of his lymph nodes. They're taking him into hospital either next week or the week after and they'll remove the lymph node and from that they'll be able to tell whether or not it's crossed over into the other node (or anywhere else), and what sort of cancer it is.
If it hasn't crossed over, they'll remove the tumour and probably go for some form of chemotherapy and radiotherapy. If it has crossed over, they won't be able to remove the tumour, and will probably attempt a different course of therapy, and hope that it shrinks the tumour and kills the cells enough that it will become operable.
So now we wait. Wait for a phone call from the surgeon's secretary to find out when he'll be admitted. Then we'll wait 2 or 3 days for the operation and the tests to be completed, and then he might get out of hospital. If his diabetes remains stable. If not, he'll be kept in a bit longer until they stabilize him.
So now we wait.
Oh no no no!
... the online home and (not very) alter(ed)-ego of Ann McMeekin, a recently freelance Web Accessibility Consultant.
... passionate about many things, most of which will turn up on this site at some time or other.
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