My oncologist recently told me I'm "very good-natured." This is my dad coming through. My dad passed away from bladder cancer in 2012, after managing it for 8?10? years, the definition of good-natured.
He was so good at managing it that I don't have memories of him struggling with side effects, even though I know he dealt with them at home and in-between visits. He (and my mom) managed to keep most of the hard stuff out of sight. Instead, he'd show up to a get-together smiling. Or if you dropped by the house, he was still in good spirits.
I can remember my dad being depressed at times for other moments in life, but I can't remember cancer being one of them. I can remember him being tired or realistically sad, but he seemed to accept the moment and push through. I'd be remiss not to mention his faith and how he spoke about his relationship with Jesus, who left him awestruck and lifted him up.
As I deal with the side effects of chemo, which he had to resort to, I'm now understanding how much he processed, and experienced, and kept to himself. He didn't hide what he was going through, to be clear. And it's not that we didn't talk about it at all. But it feels like it should have been more central to our conversations -- earlier on in his treatment too--now that I'm understanding the impact it has on so many facets of life.
Following his lead was the right thing to do. But still.
I miss him so much. I trust that he's with me. Monty's learned how to hug, and sometimes I imagine it's my dad hugging me too. I imagine he's telling me I'll be all right after we shake our heads at the wild fact that we poison our bodies to fight this thing.
🔔💃 Celebrate the end of chemo with me! 🎉🥳
Set an alarm Feb 22 for around 4:30 CT (or whenever) and either ring a bell, play a bell sound, or dance with me! Bonus points if you record and share it with me!
Here's how to join me
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