Busy living or busy dying

It's a choice I suppose.  Yesterday my dad heard the words from the oncologist.  Maliginant.  Grew fast.  Hard place to get too.   Not a candidate for...

So when the hospitalist came in, Pop was fired up about getting the hell out of dodge.  He wasn't wanting to stick around for another albuterol treatment.  He wanted to go home.  With a 30% chance of surviving a biopsy, he didn't want that either.  But then his curiosity started to bug him and he wanted to know what kind of cancer and confirm it was indeed cancer and and and.   So just like he was negoiating to purchase a car, he negotiated with the kind doc a release on Friday to return next week for the ever-so-risky biopsy. 

My mother was there as was my sister.   Mom is such a challenge.  She was talking to Dad about putting up a flagpole this weekend because the weather would be nice.  Then he could string Christmas lights up from the ground in a inverted cone just as he'd done when we were kids.  So at night it was a glorious Christmas tree.  We all snapped at her for being so silly to think he could do that.  But she's legally blind.  It's hard for her to comprehend what's going on when she can't see him or the  machines or any of us.  The patience of Job, that's what Santa needs to bring me for Christmas.  My sister and Mom left after the oncologist left. 

Then it was just Dad and me again. He'll go back the day before Thanksgiving and have to stay 48 hours.  Thanksgiving is his birthday.  And he loves the turkey and dressing and such.  Heck, my dressing recipe is his mother's!

After the doc left, Dad and I talked about radiation (it will destroy the small good part of his 2 lungs when it's killing the cancer), the chemo (he's too immune compromised now to be a candidate), going back on the ventilator and other life support systems.  It was hard.  I told him he didn't have to fight it if he didn't want to anyhow.  I introduced him to the term palliative care and how it's all about making a person comfortable (or as much so as possible) as they are dying.  I kept the conversation as light as I could even throwing in a quip that he'd be a candidate for medical marijuana if we had that here.  But the gloom didn't dissipate.

I stayed as long as I could then kissed him goodbye like always.  A little peck on the side of his face with the words "Love you, Daddy."  But this time my voice cracked.  He smiled in his silly way with the corners of his mouth turned up and his cheeks puffed out.  It was a long walk to my car.   My good long cry is coming.  But just not yet.