Surreal...
"Surreal" is the best word to describe what's happening around me. My dad has been diagnosed with Stage IV lung cancer with a possible lesion in his liver. We'll know the results later this week from his PET scan that was performed today. My dad asked the oncologist how long he had. The doctor kept saying, "Do you really want to know?" I think he asked my dad three times. He finally said, "ten months." But he said they don't like to tell their patients the estimate, which I understand. With chemo, it could be longer. If it's metastasized into the liver, it could be shorter.
Phyllis had her D and C last Tuesday. After waiting through a weekend that seemed to go on forever, the doctor called last night after hours. We had given up on him calling. When I was taking Buddy outside, I was wondering if he might call after his office closed. I walked back in the condo and Phyllis is on the phone. She's waving me over to the other phone to pick it up. I'm trying to judge by her facial expressions what he's said so far. I click the button and hear "oncologist." Phyllis tells him I'm on the phone and she repeats what the doctor had told her to confirm it: endometrial cancer. He wanted to confer with the oncologist today to make absolutely certain it was cancer before he called. The oncologist had an appointment opening this morning. Phyllis has a CA-125 blood test tomorrow to check for ovarian cancer and a CAT scan with contrast to make sure it hasn't spread outside the uterus. After they get those results, they'll decide on treatment (chemo/radiation). Surgery should be in the next three weeks when the OBGYN surgeon and the oncologist can coordinate a date.
While I was listening to him talk, I moved to a chair and sank down. I had feared Phyllis had uterine cancer because she was exhibiting a lot of the symptoms. In fact, we both thought she probably had uterine cancer. But thinking it and hearing it confirmed are two entirely different things.
After we got off the phone, we hugged each other and cried. Then we made phone calls. I sent out e-mails.
I had a therapist appointment today at 11:00. Phyllis's appointment was at 9:30. I told her I wasn't going to the therapist appointment. But she came out of his office and insisted I go (my therapist's office is just across the street from the hospital complex). She had to talk to them about scheduling the tests.
During my appointment with my therapist, I told him this was "surreal." And that I felt like I was watching someone else going through all of this. He said, "You realize that is normal, don't you?" I did. I also told him I found myself "compartmentalizing." That there was my dad's cancer and there is Phyllis's. I can't think of them at the same time. It was the only way I could deal with it.
My brother is coming in from overseas next weekend and will be here two weeks, which is good. We can talk as a family. And Phyllis has such a strong relationship with her family. Her family is my family, and mine is hers. We're very blessed that way.
The really odd thing was, as we were sitting in the oncologist exam room waiting on the resident to come in first, I stared at the linoleum. I was tapping my foot and my knee was bouncing. And I thought that this is just like the scene from my book, Two for the Show, when Lisa and Frankie were waiting for Frankie's doctor to enter the room to discuss the lump they had found in her breast. Again... surreal.
We've decided to still go on our trip to Atlanta for my book launch party Friday night. We'll be leaving early Thursday morning. We both need to get away, if only for a few days.
Phyllis is worried about me dealing with my dad and now this. I'm worried about my dad and her. But as long as I talk about it and continue to allow myself to feel what I'm feeling (like crying when I need to), I'll be okay. And as long as Phyllis is by my side, I'm okay. She has such a strong faith in God. She keeps saying, "I'm right where God wants me to be. Whatever happens, happens. He'll look over us." You know how some people say those words, but they're just words? They don't really mean them? But Phyllis? She means every word.
So we pray. We stay together as a family. And we accept that sometimes, that's the only thing you can do.
Phyllis had her D and C last Tuesday. After waiting through a weekend that seemed to go on forever, the doctor called last night after hours. We had given up on him calling. When I was taking Buddy outside, I was wondering if he might call after his office closed. I walked back in the condo and Phyllis is on the phone. She's waving me over to the other phone to pick it up. I'm trying to judge by her facial expressions what he's said so far. I click the button and hear "oncologist." Phyllis tells him I'm on the phone and she repeats what the doctor had told her to confirm it: endometrial cancer. He wanted to confer with the oncologist today to make absolutely certain it was cancer before he called. The oncologist had an appointment opening this morning. Phyllis has a CA-125 blood test tomorrow to check for ovarian cancer and a CAT scan with contrast to make sure it hasn't spread outside the uterus. After they get those results, they'll decide on treatment (chemo/radiation). Surgery should be in the next three weeks when the OBGYN surgeon and the oncologist can coordinate a date.
While I was listening to him talk, I moved to a chair and sank down. I had feared Phyllis had uterine cancer because she was exhibiting a lot of the symptoms. In fact, we both thought she probably had uterine cancer. But thinking it and hearing it confirmed are two entirely different things.
After we got off the phone, we hugged each other and cried. Then we made phone calls. I sent out e-mails.
I had a therapist appointment today at 11:00. Phyllis's appointment was at 9:30. I told her I wasn't going to the therapist appointment. But she came out of his office and insisted I go (my therapist's office is just across the street from the hospital complex). She had to talk to them about scheduling the tests.
During my appointment with my therapist, I told him this was "surreal." And that I felt like I was watching someone else going through all of this. He said, "You realize that is normal, don't you?" I did. I also told him I found myself "compartmentalizing." That there was my dad's cancer and there is Phyllis's. I can't think of them at the same time. It was the only way I could deal with it.
My brother is coming in from overseas next weekend and will be here two weeks, which is good. We can talk as a family. And Phyllis has such a strong relationship with her family. Her family is my family, and mine is hers. We're very blessed that way.
The really odd thing was, as we were sitting in the oncologist exam room waiting on the resident to come in first, I stared at the linoleum. I was tapping my foot and my knee was bouncing. And I thought that this is just like the scene from my book, Two for the Show, when Lisa and Frankie were waiting for Frankie's doctor to enter the room to discuss the lump they had found in her breast. Again... surreal.
We've decided to still go on our trip to Atlanta for my book launch party Friday night. We'll be leaving early Thursday morning. We both need to get away, if only for a few days.
Phyllis is worried about me dealing with my dad and now this. I'm worried about my dad and her. But as long as I talk about it and continue to allow myself to feel what I'm feeling (like crying when I need to), I'll be okay. And as long as Phyllis is by my side, I'm okay. She has such a strong faith in God. She keeps saying, "I'm right where God wants me to be. Whatever happens, happens. He'll look over us." You know how some people say those words, but they're just words? They don't really mean them? But Phyllis? She means every word.
So we pray. We stay together as a family. And we accept that sometimes, that's the only thing you can do.
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