It all started in January. Of this year. I was in Dallas for a girls' weekend with my besties (Mo and Jax). They have been my best friends since before I was born. Really. We are soul mates. But that's another story all together. So in Dallas, having fun, drinking, eating too much. We got our nails done. It was a brief visit so we didn't get to do to much. And we were in Dallas because that was only a few hours away from Jax and it was sort of in the middle of me and Mo (coming from the East and West, respectively).
So the weekend ends, not tearfully but still pretty sad. I'm sitting at my gate (a whole 3 or so hours before my take off, Mo had an earlier flight and we just had Jax drop us both off) and I figure I'll call the hubs. Check in, let him know I'm still alive. That I'm coming home and not running off to the West to live with Mo forever (I have threatened this). So, the next few phone calls are pretty blurry. I like to not remember them fully. He either told me to call my mother or he told me the news and then I called my mother, I'm not sure. It really doesn't matter. But what they were keeping from me is that my dad had broken his leg on Friday! It is now Sunday! Broken leg. No big deal right. Wrong! Because of the mri/x-ray they (the evil drs) were able to see that something else wasn't right.
Of course. Because when you have a broken leg, that's exactly what you need. Something else to be wrong. So it turned out that Dad had bone cancer. Now here is a little medical lesson (one I figured out by googling once I got home). Bone cancer doesn't just pop up. It's not magical. It has to start somewhere else. And my Dad's bone cancer was no different. I could guess (really we all could) where it started. In the lungs. Those big bags of awesome that make it so you can breathe. And of course, we were right.
What we didn't know was that it was stage 4. Now, again, medical lesson. Stage 4 = Seventh layer of hell. It's not good. No where near good. You want to be Stage 1, maybe 2. Never 4. I'm not trying to make cancer funny but this is how I saw it. And still do.
So of course we had all the normal questions. How long? What do we need to do? Etc. Dad started chemo/radiation/shots/everything under the sun. And because of the chemo/radiation his leg wasn't able to heal and so crutches and eventually a walker were required. Mom started working from home to care for dad. He lost his hair (which is really a shame, he had nice hair). And for awhile things looked great. Really great.
In this time hubs and I managed to celebrate an anniversary, go on a cruise, go to Vegas, lots of trips that I was hesitant to go on simply because the last time I went on a trip something bad happened. Even the first time I went on a cruise something happened (my little second cousin (or first cousin once removed?) passed away, also from cancer (but his was really rare)). So you can see why I would be nervous to go on vacation. But all trips were fine.
Then one day I'm driving down to Newport News for a work conference (end of July). I haven't gotten far maybe 10-15 minutes on the road. And it was already a rough morning (had some kind of heat exhaustion/headache). But I call my mother to check in and see how things are going. Let her know I'm heading out of town for a few days. And she relays a conversation she had with the dr with me. It went something like this:
Mom: So what do the scans say?
Dr.: You need to start preparing yourself.
Mom: But he was doing well. Is doing well. What do you mean?
Dr.: You just need to be ready.
Apparently there had been some masses on his brain in the scans. This was not good. Hubs' dad had passed away the previous year from brain cancer and we knew all too well what happens with that. Meanwhile, my mother is telling me this while I'm driving 65 mph on the highway after having thrown up just a few hours earlier. Soo this was probably not a good time to be hearing this news. Eventually I managed to not shed the tears collecting in my eyes. Until I hung up.
Then I made a deal with God. I know, I know, not a good time to instantly become religious. But just because I don't go to Church regularly doesn't mean I don't have faith or belief in some higher power. So I made a deal with whoever is up there and in charge. I just wanted to have my Dad until the new year. 2011. Just 4 months. I wanted Thanksgiving and Christmas. I wanted one last year of holidays with the magical man that was my dad. If that happened, I would show my faith more. I signed off, hung up the phone, spit in my palm, whatever you do when you make a deal and went on my way. I blasted the music and had to change songs frequently because some were too sad.
Long story short? It may be too late for that. So I'll keep going. Conference went fine. We lost our softball tournament, no surprise there. And then it was August. The month of my birthday and my mother's. Also other people, but this isn't the time for that. My mother's birthday (and her twin sister) is the 12th. Almost just half way. And by this point, Dad seems fine. Yes, he has had some deep convos with Mom that she shared with me (sorry Dad, it's ok). But he is fine. We celebrate Mom and Bee's birthdays with only one hitch (the dreaded Angel food cake, also another blog post). Things continue on as normal.
Here comes August 20th. The Friday two weeks before my birthday. The majority of my coworkers go out for my birthday and another coworkers. We go to Old Town Alexandria. We go drinking and dancing. It's a great time. I'm actually having fun. We don't get home until probably 1:30am. My feet are killing me. I was stupid and wore high heels to Old Town. Think cobblestone. Not my brightest moment. But I don't go out in Old Town often so how was I supposed to know. Here is a photo from that night:
We crawl into bed and pass out. I'm awoken to this evil buzzing noise at 7:45am. Not when I wanted to get up. Not at all. I realize it's my phone vibrating. Apparently it has been vibrating for the past few minutes. It's my mother. They (EMTs) are taking my Dad to the hospital. He can't breathe. Not exactly how I wanted to wake up. I had a minor headache and was starving. And my feet were dying. I quickly threw on clothes. I'm not even sure what grabbed a water bottle and shouted to hubs (who was still asleep) that I was leaving.
My car was currently in the shop. I think. A lot of this time is blurry. Lots of tears and headaches. But I'm pretty sure I drove hubs massive car. I think I made it in record time. Got there just about the same time Mom did. And I was coming from 15 minutes further away. We get inside and Dad is of course uncomfortable. Now would be a good time to mention that that stubbornness and hardheadedness I get from my Dad. Sure a little is from Mom. But a lot from Dad. This part of the story isn't interesting. Eventually we get a private room in the ICU. That's not a good sign. But apparently this is a good thing. HA! I'll tell you a good thing. Dad coming home.
So we get a private room. Room 10. And it's freezing in there. I haven't eaten all day and it is now 2 in the afternoon.
More later. I promise.
