CANCER: Not Your Typical Birthday Weekend

All in the same weekend

My dad was diagnosed with cancer the weekend of my 38th birthday.

And that was when I stopped writing.

It wasn’t a conscious decision – in the midst of my grief – it just sort of happened. 

That was 11 years ago – and I haven’t written much since.

I’ll never forget that day.

I woke up to a missed call from my dad. That in and of itself was a little strange as my dad doesn’t call – unless it is to wish me or one of the grandkids a happy birthday. We also live across the country and our time zones are separated by 3 hours. It all seemed a little weird but then, I didn’t think much of it as there was no follow up text or voice mail. 

I stayed home from church to take my daughter to the urgent care with what I was sure was an ear infection. We’d been plagued with ear infections and I was getting pretty good at diagnosing the ailment.

As we were waiting for the dr to confirm my diagnosis, I received an odd and somewhat random text from my sister. It read, “Dad is in hospital room ___. Here’s his number. You can try calling or texting.”

Immediately concerned, I texted back and asked what she was talking about – why was Dad in the hospital?

She replied, “they think it’s cancer.”

To say I was completely shocked would be an understatement. My heart started pounding in my chest, my hands started shaking and it was a struggle to fight back tears. Breathing became difficult and the room started spinning.

The doctor could not come fast enough, and yet, my sweet little girl was completely oblivious to the fact that our world had just forever changed.

Finally, after what seemed like hours (yet was likely only a few minutes), we were in the car in the parking lot and I called my sister to find out exactly what had happened.

She apologized for breaking the news by text – for some reason, she assumed I had already heard about the trip to the emergency room. But again, we live across the country so we often miss out on communication.

Apparently, my dad had been bothered by some strange bruising over the weekend and so, probably as much to stop my mom’s persistent bugging, he went to the quick care. After waiting for quite some time (quick care is a misnomer), the dr looked at him – for not very long from what I understand – and sent him immediately to the local emergency room.

While I slept soundly (or as soundly as a parent can sleep while dealing with a child with an ear infection) across the country, my parents faced a long, scary and stressful night. 

I don’t really know – or at least I don’t remember – the details of the next several days. But I do know that my dad was diagnosed with chronic lymphocitic leukemia. Had it not been for the strange bruising – also known as ITP (idiopathic thrombocytopenic purpura), who knows how long it would have taken to get a proper diagnosis and start treatment.

I also know that the next day – Monday, January 30, 2012, was not my happiest of birthdays. My husband tried to cheer me up and took me to look for an entryway table – something I had been wanting since we had moved into our house – 5 years earlier. But my heart wasn’t in it. 

I was in fog of grief – and once again, I felt as I had often felt ever since we moved across the country and away from my family – about 12 years earlier. I was heartbroken. I was too far away to do anything to help. If only I was closer – I could visit, I could take in a meal, I could clean their house or I could simply just go and sit with my mom and dad. But instead, I was thousands of miles away during the most difficult time of our lives.

And I felt guilty.

Cancer is such a strange thing. My parents had visited us in Ohio the previous Fall. My dad looked great and we had a wonderful visit. How was it even possible that this disease was circulating throughout his body – silently and invisibly wreaking havoc in ways that would impact all of our lives forever? And we had no idea.

I don’t know if it was the guilt or the sadness or a combination of that and the chaos that is life with a young busy family but I stopped writing. I tried to work on my blog a few times after – but I didn’t continue. I didn’t feel much like looking for the good or the funny, entertaining things that are simply a part of everyday life – especially when raising a large family. Prior to the diagnosis, I blogged regularly. I told myself it was to keep a journal of our family – a sort of life history. 

And it was fun.

But after that cold, gray day in January, most things weren’t fun anymore.

My dad was diagnosed with cancer the weekend of my 38th birthday.

And that was when I stopped writing.

It wasn’t a conscious decision – in the midst of my grief – it just sort of happened. 

That was 11 years ago. 

But as is always the case in life – there are good things, even in the midst of the hard things. Thanks to great doctors and various treatment protocols, we are living with cancer.

And now, it is time to write again.