Last year at the end of January I had been in South Alabama for a month as my father began his courageous battle with cancer. After Christmas 2006 he had exploratory surgery which confirmed he had Non-Hodgkins Lymphoma. Armed with my mom as researcher, translator, interpreter, advocate, and mediator, he decided that doing nothing was not an option. With the assistance of my brother, Henry, who works closely with local physicians (Director of the Imaging Department -- South Baldwin Regional Medical Center -- Foley, AL), Daddy was able to confidently select a surgeon and oncologist to see him through the process.
As was the case when he battled and conquered Prostrate cancer some years back, my father adopted the attitude that treatment may kill him, but he was not going down without a fight. He was 81 years old at the time of this decision. The prospect of dying did not frighten him. If there was even the slightest chance he would live to enjoy his family a little longer it was worth the effort.
Mentally, my father was prepared. That was a good start. I don't think he ever expected to be taken to death's door in the process. He was aware of everything he might have to face. I don't think he knew it would be so bad. When the little things, like just walking out to get the mail, or getting up to the table to eat, or holding his tiny twin great-granddaughters became overwhelming tasks I think he was truly surprised. He expected not being able to mow the grass, or work in his shop, or do the grocery shopping. It was the little things he never expected that were initially difficult for him to deal with.
Fighting cancer is a rollercoaster ride to hell and back. At some point I think one becomes resolved that cancer and the process whereby it can be cured is in the driver's seat and he or she has to focus all his or her attention and energy on that. It was painful for those around my father to see him go from determination to resolve in so few months. To see him just managing to get up at some point during the day only to be able to sit in his chair, wrapped up in his prayer shawl, sleeping most of the time was heart wrenching. To see an illness rob this once vibrant man of his vitality was crushing and was the catylist for many secret crying sessions.
It was difficult to be upbeat and encouraging every day. My mother and I vowed that anything my father wanted we would get for him. We were desperate to find foods that he might enjoy because nothing tasted good to him. I don't know how many orders of chicken and dumplings we got from Cracker Barrel because that was about all he had a taste for and they were very filling. He couldn't even stand to eat anything sweet and that is when we knew he was really sick because he has always had a sweet tooth. I got up and made eggs and bacon and grits and toast and juice and coffee for days on end because he would eat that in the morning. He even shocked us by going through a hot pepper jelly phase when he thought a little hot pepper jelly might taste good with eggs, etc. He isn't a hot and spicy kind of guy.
Thankfully, I was living in Birmingham, four hours from my parents, when my father's cancer was diagnosed and I was not employed. James was married and in CT and Will was a freshman at the University of Alabama in Birmingham, so I didn't have any child related duties. Jim is resourceful and told me to do whatever I felt was best. Just knowing I was married to a loving and generous man who understood where I felt I needed to be gave me freedom and peace to deal with the daunting tasks ahead.
I spent half or more of February with my parents, sometimes going back within days of arriving home because Daddy had to go back into the hospital for one reason or another. I tried to make a schedule that would allow me to be there about every other weekend to take him to Pensacola for his weekend treatments on Saturday and Sunday so my brother, Henry, wouldn't have to do it all the time. On those weekends we stopped for Hardees steak biscuits after the treatment because it was something daddy seemed to enjoy. If we ever run out of oil reserves, we can just run things on those steak biscuits.
Daddy's oncologist didn't offer the ongoing treatments for its patients on the weekend, so the patients had to go to Pensacola for their Leukine injections. Many of the patients just didn't take their treatment on the weekend because it was too hard to travel that far. My father's attitude was that he had to do everything required to fight his cancer wether he felt like it or not.
On the long drives to Pensacola and back -- usually spending less than ten minutes getting the injection -- I would engage Daddy in talking about his life and family and being in Korea and farming and friends and many other things just to keep him from focusing on how bad he felt. My philosophy is that you need to keep your mind busy with something other than how bad you feel. We would take various routes back from Pensacola, winding through back roads familiar to our youth and observing how some things had changed and how others hadn't. If we saw something interesting, like the day we passed a row of blooming aloe vera plants, we would turn around and look at whatever it was that had caught our eye. Once we stopped at my nephew's to see the progress he was making on the new house he was building. Another time he told me about all the robberies at the bank where he worked for over fourty years, including the time the sheriff and chief of police caught the guys on the way in to the bank and had my father follow them to the police station in the robbers car. My Daddy worked long, hard hours when my brothers and I were young, so I regarded the time I had him all to my self as a great gift.
In the midst of everything, Jim decided to quit his job. He did have another one lined up, thank goodness, or I would have come totally undone, I am sure. A new job meant moving again. Moving meant I wouldn't be able to be readily accessable to my parents on a moments notice. My heart was being torn up. I knew my place was with my husband and I felt I needed to be with my parents. We put our house on the market the first of March 2007. We moved in June. I was still able to continue my trips to my parent's house up until a few weeks before we moved when I needed to get everything prepared to go.
My father's last treatment roughly coincided with the time I was to move, so I knew that would allow my parents to settle down again and, hopefully, not need me. It was still a difficult move. Pennsylvania, where we were moving, seemed so far away.
In August we took William back to Birmingham to school. Jim and I went down to see our families and pet sit for some friends while they took their daughter to school. My father was still frail and ashen looking and had no hair. He had some energy, but nothing like before his illness. I suggested they think about coming to stay with me at Christmas. They could ride up and back with William and James and Kim would come for a few days and we could celebrate Christmas together. It was tentative, but viable if they felt they could travel by Christmastime.
As it turned out, that is just what they did. The trip up even got routed through Tifton, GA., to see my brother and his family and through Rock Hill, S.C. to see my daddy's sister and her family. William was a good sport because all he wanted to do was just come home a.s.a.p.
One day, while my parents were with us, I looked up from what I was eating and started crying as I watched my father. "Daddy," I said, "do you realize that the last time I saw you you had no hair?" He had his color back, his strength was returning, and he had his georgeous wavy white hair back. The twinkle was back in his amazing blue eyes and he was eating all the sweets I could bake!
Although I never had any doubt my father would get a good prognosis when he had his PET/CT scan in January to confirm the status of his cancer and the success of his treatment, it was awesome to get the call and hear my mother's extatic voice telling me Daddy is in remission.
I almost never catch my father at home these days. He is back out doing something for someone and running errands for Mama. When I do talk to him it is a strong healthy voice I hear on the other end of the line. I have never known my father to waste much time, but it is as though he got another chance to squeeze in a little more life and he isn't about to waste it.
When I was little and we sang 'Jesus Loves Me' I thought the part where it says "They are weak but He is strong" was talking about the children of our Methodist Church Sunday School being the weak and my daddy, who was the Sunday School Superentendant, was the strong. When I watched my father become weak (physically) everything seemed out of kilter. My father is getting stronger with each passing day and the world has been set right again for me.
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