Writing is the one thing that keeps me sane. It’s my own private therapy. I’ve only been to actual therapy once in my life and I wasn’t a big fan. Didn’t really seem like that person was invested in anything except pointing fingers and taking my check. For me, working it out through the words I write, edit and delete on the page seems to help more. And so, I write.
My dad has cancer. Not a sissy kind, (is there a sissy kind?) A big, bad scary kind. Two weeks ago, he had a seizure, which lead to a hospital stay, which lead to a diagnosis of Stage Four Colon Cancer. It is now in his colon, liver, lungs and brain. Well, hopefully not in his brain anymore. Last Thursday he did radiation. CyberKnife radiation which hits each tumor directly and has a 90% success rate. I hope, it’s not in his brain anymore.
He is also doing Chemotherapy. They put in a medi-port and are administering the Chemo for 48 hours every two weeks. The first round wasn’t too bad, he didn’t get sick. His mouth was a little sore but that was it. He’s taking the second round right now. There is a weird side effect with this type of Chemo, where he will be affected by cold. The doctor said he won’t be able to drink anything cold or even touch anything cold without having it physically hurt. He told me today that side effect has started.
This whole thing has been really hard for me to understand. I don’t know why it never occurred to me that anything would ever happen to him. I guess I always saw my dad as larger than life. We haven’t always got along great. But when I reflect on that, my hurt and anger was always about not having more of him, and instead of making that happen, I shut down and shut him out and now… now I have regrets.
I love my dad and I know he loves me. That’s all that really matters. He’s taught me a lot. He’s taught me how to whistle. And I can whistle REALLY loud. He taught me how to cook, and I’m a REALLY good cook and he taught me the love of the sale, even if it’s just selling your point. I love to argue. I think I can turn people to my way of thinking.
Selling something is just getting your way and getting paid for it. I’ve had many a moment in a car, right after you leave a business and you know you’ve got them in the bag, and you turn up the radio REALLY loud and sing your ass off, because NO ONE is as AWESOME as you are at that moment. I got that from my dad.
We have a tough road ahead. I find it ironic that I want to be a nurse and have often spoke about working in oncology and now my dad has cancer. Fucking Funny how life works, huh? I’ve put off school for the summer. I just want to spend time with him, I want my kids to spend time with him. I hope he can teach them how to whistle, and to cook. I want to put all of the damned regrets aside.
The Jackson’s have been called many things, one of the nicer one’s is that we’re stubborn. We are also fighters. Sometimes, not in the best way, but we don’t let the shit get us down. I am a Jackson. “ILLEGITIMI NON CARBORUNDUM!” I think I learned that phrase when I was about 10. It’s Latin and it means don’t let the bastards get you down. Well the bastard is cancer, and it’s time to fight like a Jackson. I love you, Dad.
