Some days, I’m going feel better than others. Yesterday was a good day. Today, the hiccups returned (but quickly squashed, though I must focus on drinking this afternoon, ‘specially that luscious Gatorade.) The side effects of chemo are more apparent. The interior of my mouth is a war zone with the chemo trumping the quick growing tissue – which is the whole idea, right? Taste buds are all askew and even the texture of food is foreign. My stomach is pretty ok, but it does jump about a bit. “Oh the fun we shall have…”
I haven’t talked about telling my parents about the cancer. Cancer is no stranger to our family. That said; I felt a need to protect Mom & Dad until I knew enough to answer most primary questions. When there is a health issue with my parents, I find out later, either after it’s been dealt with or when long term treatment is necessary. My parents protect me, so I protect them?
While I was at Mass General being tested to determine a diagnosis, my cell phone kept ringing. Dad. I dropped the calls not wanting to start a conversation I couldn’t finish. Dad kept calling – I don’t randomly miss days at work and he knows that.
Late afternoon, we had a diagnosis and treatment option #1 in hand. Knowing my sister works nearby my parents, I called Renee and asked her if she could meet Ann & I at Mom & Dad’s condo. I didn’t call my folks, just drove the miles from Boston to Worcester, straight to their door. Renee arrived at the same time, and we all greeted Mom & Dad at once (no, that surprise is not suspicious!) Dad gently noted that he’d been trying to reach me all day. We presented the news and my parents were, as always, strong. Mom alluded to the Snider genes and miscellaneous tumors. Dad told me I’d be fine (and he has been through so much the past five years.) The overall theme was calm. The last thing they wanted was to upset me.
Whenever I need to discuss something “big” with Mom & Dad, the conversation teaches me that they’ve been there, done that. They’ve been on this earth 30 years longer than I and those years reflect a wealth of experience. And, whatever is going on, they’ve figured it out, maybe not the details, but the gist.
This morning, I was thinking of Nana Edith who died of cancer in 1965 when I was 12. In all my images, she is smiling, even when she came home from the hospital after massive surgery. I’ll carry that smile today and forward. And I think of a trip to MGH with Mom & Dad for Dad’s liver biopsy. It was like we were on a family outing. I got me some tough genes in here!
Love…
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