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In the News
Remembering: February 2nd, 2009
Tuesday, February 2, 2010
This was the day I was tired of not getting the answers I wanted from Dad's onchologist. He was very nice, but he always seemed to avoid answering my questions and I was tired of that. I understood where he was coming from, Dad's was a difficult case from the begining. But no one seemed to be saying what I needed so desperately to hear. I wanted someone to tell me he would make it through this, that he would fight like he had for so long. But, that wasn't how this story was going to end. And if that was the case, I needed to hear that too. In the days to come, I got very good about assessing for myself what people meant with the words they didn't use.
The onchologist's office was in front of the hospital so I told Dad I was going to drop off my FMLA paperwork, this was a half truth. My other intention was to ask what I couldn't in front of my Dad. I always tried to not burden Dad with too much of my sadness. Partially because I wanted to show him I was strong, and the other part was because I didn't think I could stop drying when he told me I would be ok. Maybe becaue it was true, I would be ok, but he wouldn't.
The doctor wasn't in but the nurse offered to speak with. As she lead me into a side room, I was immediatly aware of what was about to be said when the woman pointed to the chair in front of the only tissue box in the room. She had clearly done this before. I can't remember how I asked her my questions, I may have said them really quickly in a hushed mumble. But she answered them honestly, guiding me to the realization that I needed. I remember her face when she said the word dying, it was like it burned her to say it. Little did she know, the word crushed me.
As the nurse gave me a minute to collect myself, I felt the saddness of the room. I knew that I wasn't the first person to hear this news in this sterile room, and I wouldnt be the last. That's the thing about cancer, everyone knows someone that has had it. And more people than should know someone that has died from it.
This was also when I started becoming angry at my sister. Angry that she didn't answer her phone when I called, upset that when I did see her she was rude; frustrated that she couldn't understand the situation. I would eventually get over my anger when I realized that it was she who was missing out. Even as I write this I feel that same saddness. She doesn't have these memories to share, good and bad.
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