Everyday Mom

When did I grow up?  How did I get this old?  I don’t recall ever becoming an adult.  It just happened.  I remember turning 18 and thinking that I was finally there but still did all of the things that kids do.  I can look back and see that I was still acting like a teenager in my 20’s even.  I remember the rush of emotion, reponsibility and even maturity when my children were born, but I don’ think that even then I was “grown up”.  When did I get all of these bills, this house, and these cars?  How did I ever get to this place where my mom and dad aren’t watching over me anymore?  Who’s in charge?  It’s scary to me that I have these questions.  It’s even scarier to think that I am an adult.   I am fully responsible for my home, my family, my finances, and myself.  Gradually over the years, I have grown up.  It happened without me noticing.  There was no party, no celebration, no notice.  With the realization comes so many changes.  I have to act like an adult.  I have to be a good example.  I have to act responsibly in the world.  I have to respresent a generation.  I have to hope it’s not too late for me to be the kind of person I’ve always wanted to be when I grew up.  I have so many hopes and dreams. 

This life changing realization of my place in the world came just a few weeks ago when I found out that my father was not feeling well.  He had simply called to say hello.  When I asked how he was, he gave the usual canned answer of “just fine”, and probably would have let it go at that until his wife (my stepmother, not wicked) told him to tell the truth.  At that point, with every word he spoke, my world started to change.  He had lost 20 pounds over a 6 week period.  He was tired and weak.  He was also having all kinds of trouble processing food through his body.  I was immediately terrified.  I don’t know about you, but I have parents that do not take very good care of themselves.   My father smokes and has all of his life.  He eats a very fatty, salty, sugary, vegetable free diet.  Of course, excersize of any kind has always been nonexistant.  My sister and I have wondered on a number of occasions how long it would be before we would get the call that he had suffered a heart attack or stroke.   I think his last doctor’s visit of any kind was in 2001.  You can now imagine the panic I was feeling knowing that he was voluntarily admitting that he was sick and needed to go to the doctor.

After his consultation and more than a few tests, his doctor ordered a colonoscopy, and scheduled surgery for the following day.  Of course after a number of telephone conversations and much research on the internet, I had a pretty good idea what the doctor was looking for–CANCER.  I was a wreck.  How could this be happening?  When did I get old enough to have an ill parent?  What did our immediate future hold?  Was my father going to die?  Was he going to be able to care for himself?  So many questions that I had racing through my head.  When he called after his colonoscopy to tell us that the doctor found a tumor, I was devastated and so so worried.  I quickly made arrangements to be there for his surgery.  He told me not too make a big deal of it and rearrange my life on his account, but I was feeling so anxious and concerned that I was certain he could die.  I could never have forgiven myself if I had missed seeing him one last time. 

The drive (2 hours) to be with him was so hard.  I just couldn’t keep my mind from wondering what was about to happen to his life and mine.  I got there just minutes before they took him in.  The surgeon had prepared dad for a colon resection which is basically a shortening of the colon via removal of a mass and reconnection of the healthy ends.  He was supposed to have about a foot of colon removed, but they just never know for sure until they actually get inside.  As it turns out, he had two large tumors along with a number of matastisized lymph nodes.  He lost his dystal small bowel, his sygnoid colon and about 2 1/2 feet of colon on the right side.  He also came out of the orperating room with a colonostomy.  It was all I could do to keep my composure during our postop discussion with the surgeon.  I had so much emotion yet too many questions to allow the emotion to be in control.  We had to wait for biopsy results, but it was clear that he had cancer, stage three in fact.  It was the hardest week of my life.  The results have since shown that he does, in fact, have Stage III Colon Cancer.  There is a silver lining though in that it does not look as if the cancer has spread to his liver or lungs.  We do have 6 months of chemotherapy if front of us, and the road looks long.  However, we are hoping and praying for a full recovery.  Of course, I am not unaware of the statistics, nor am I expecting him to be in perfect health when all is complete.   For now, I will prepare to watch over him closely.  I will pray for his health and safety every night.  I will demand that he be rushed to the emergency room at the hint of anything life threatening, and I will share with everyone how much I love him and how proud I am to be his daughter. 

We’re trading places.  He’s done the work in caring for me.  Now it’s my turn.  How did I get to this place?  How did I get so old?  I’m not ready.  I’m not prepared.  When the time comes, will you be?