Very early in the morning on September 12th, I wrote this poem. It was one of those nights that you scream into your pillow for no real reason, other than the fact that your life has suddenly, just now, become overwhelming and you have no idea why. I really had no idea why... Nothing was different from normal. It was just a passing moment, and nothing more. But it was painful.
Then, five days later, my dad was diagnosed with glioblastoma in his brain. I'll let you Wikipedia that if you want to be depressed. Otherwise, don't. Suffice it to say that it's a scary, uncool, depressing diagnosis.
On September 12th, I had no idea what pain was.
My dad has been in chemo and radiation treatments for four weeks, and has just begun a clinical trial for an experimental cancer treatment drug, Avastin. He's doing really well with the treatments: he's eating well and getting plenty of rest, and he's able to get out and do things when he wants. He gets cold and tired more easily than he used to, and his head itches from the radiation, but on the other hand, he can tell people that he had brain surgery whenever he forgets something or does something weird. Which is handy, because that happened all the time before he had surgery, anyway.
7 years ago