So, my uncle randomly turned up in London yesterday. He was here for a meeting, which I did not know about and rang me up to ask me to meet him for coffee. I have not spoken to this man one-on-one for more than 5 minutes at a time in my life, so the prospect was fairly daunting. After trekking up and down Tottenham Court Rd for a while, we ended up in Starbucks (by the way, British Society, you were not doing yourself any favours yesterday, as the customer service everywhere we went was appalling. I was quite ashamed of the city that I call home) and sat down to talk about nothing.
Eventually the conversation turned to the upcoming trip and my parents arriving in Israel (which they did yesterday, how nice of you to ask! ;-) ) and he started saying some slightly odd things. He was wondering how come I was going to Israel when my brothers are not, why I am so adamant to stay and have I asked my parents what they want from me. Suddenly, and without warning, I thought "Holy shit. Has he been told something that I haven't? What if they don't want me there? What if I am just going to be a burden and my mother thinks she will have to cook for me and do my laundry and generally look after me, as well as after my father? Gah!"
So I rang home and called my mum. She said, "Don't be so silly. We not only want you. We need you. For instance, I can't leave the house to get a pint of milk if there is no one to look after your dad. We are counting the days until you get here" (Obviously, this was all in Hebrew, but you get the gist).
So I'm rather chuffed. The title of the post refers to something my uncle said, which suggested that I was going to be with them out of a selfish need to see my father, when he didn't necessarily want me there. So nah to that! Apparently it is unimaginable that a daughter could take time out of her life to be with her sick father.
I told my uncle the following: Let's pretend that there are two options. One option is that I run off to Israel and take 6 months out of my life, only to have him fully recover and I am left feeling like a bit of a ninny. Fine. Option two is that I don't. I decide that everything is fine, I stay in London, get on with things and, 9 months down the line my father is dead and I spend the rest of my life regretting the time with him that I will never get back. I know which option I choose, selfish or otherwise.
And this brings me on to my next point. My uncle kept talking about the circumstances in which my father is dead. People have been intentionally avoiding this, which includes everyone from my immediate family to random acquaintances. So, just to put it out there and thus confront the fear: Dead. Death. Dying. Terminal. My father may die. The chance is pretty damn high.
Phew. Do I feel better? No, not really. But if I need any justification as to why I am doing any of what I doing, let's go with that. And furthermore, let's go back to the start. 27 Percent. It's the 73 percent that is driving me right now. And everything else is bullshit.
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
Monday, 12 October 2009
Gearing up to going back in
My father feels ill. Well, duh. On Saturday he had chemo, but what is really making him feel shitty is the operation he had on Thursday to sort out his stent. It's basically like having a big piece of metal stuck up your pancreas. So I can sympathise.
The doctors didn't give him enough drugs right after the surgery, so my mother was ringing all and sundry to try to get him some decent, morphine-based medication. In the meanwhile, they were supposed to fly out of Houston yesterday and do a stopover in Geneva. However, my father was not feeling well enough at the time, so they stayed and extra day and have scrapped the stop-over. They will be in Israel this afternoon. I should probably return my grandmother's call. But it's freakishly restful being out here doing nothing.
I am going back into the eye of the storm on Friday. Speaking to my brother, I got the impression that my father does not want him in Israel. I worry that I am wedging myself in where I am not needed or wanted, and wonder how far I should go with what I want without becoming a truly selfish being. When speaking to my father on the phone yesterday, I mentioned that I wanted to talk to him, when I saw him, about the dates for my future comings and goings. He sighed. It's too much effort for him to talk about booking flights, so how can I expect him to talk about anything of substance, which we will have to be discussing at some point. Note to self. Bring a notebook and pen, in case he has enough energy. If it's not too macabre, I might take my video camera.
In the meanwhile, I have had a steady stream of visitors and visits. I am still lining them up for before I go, but I will be back about a week on Friday, so let me know if you would like to meet up.
Just a small, really selfish rant, before I go to M&S to buy more shirts for my dad: Why is it that all the good jobs come up when I can't apply for them. I have had to ban myself from looking at the job pages, because it's too depressing that I can't do any of them. "starting now", "starting next week", "starting 28th October". Gah! I will just have to be amazingly productive all on my own, with nothing that needs to be done longterm, or in direct contact with other people. Now would be a really good time to start that novel...
The doctors didn't give him enough drugs right after the surgery, so my mother was ringing all and sundry to try to get him some decent, morphine-based medication. In the meanwhile, they were supposed to fly out of Houston yesterday and do a stopover in Geneva. However, my father was not feeling well enough at the time, so they stayed and extra day and have scrapped the stop-over. They will be in Israel this afternoon. I should probably return my grandmother's call. But it's freakishly restful being out here doing nothing.
I am going back into the eye of the storm on Friday. Speaking to my brother, I got the impression that my father does not want him in Israel. I worry that I am wedging myself in where I am not needed or wanted, and wonder how far I should go with what I want without becoming a truly selfish being. When speaking to my father on the phone yesterday, I mentioned that I wanted to talk to him, when I saw him, about the dates for my future comings and goings. He sighed. It's too much effort for him to talk about booking flights, so how can I expect him to talk about anything of substance, which we will have to be discussing at some point. Note to self. Bring a notebook and pen, in case he has enough energy. If it's not too macabre, I might take my video camera.
In the meanwhile, I have had a steady stream of visitors and visits. I am still lining them up for before I go, but I will be back about a week on Friday, so let me know if you would like to meet up.
Just a small, really selfish rant, before I go to M&S to buy more shirts for my dad: Why is it that all the good jobs come up when I can't apply for them. I have had to ban myself from looking at the job pages, because it's too depressing that I can't do any of them. "starting now", "starting next week", "starting 28th October". Gah! I will just have to be amazingly productive all on my own, with nothing that needs to be done longterm, or in direct contact with other people. Now would be a really good time to start that novel...
Thursday, 8 October 2009
Someone else's story
Still not much to report. Father has gone back to work (apparently. Although I am pretty sure the medical advice says that he probably shouldn't). He is getting his stent removed today, the little valve-opening device that keeps his pancreas functioning. This is a leftover from the days when they thought he had pancreatitis. It's working fine, but they are replacing it because the chemotherapy is going to block it off completely unless it's made of hardier material.
After all the other things that he's been through, it feels like a walk in the park, even though he is still going to be anaesthetised and it still may take a couple of hours of surgery. It's strange how your perspective on things change with the situation. Under epistemology, I would call it contextualism, but I would lose all my readers, so I won't!
Still in London. Very easy to pretend that things are normal when I am here. In one way, it's nice and comforting and it's the least stressed that I have been in a good long time. On the other hand, I wonder whether I should be feeling normal. You can very normally shut your eyes and go through life blind to the triumph and tragedy of it all. Yes, you can ignore it, and we say ignorance is bliss. I am not suggesting this is a good way to go, but as a thought experiment: What if I avoided it all? Whatever happens happens, and I don't want to be in the loop, I don't want to be told whether things are better or worse. If they work out, great, and if they don't, I don't need to know.
Clearly that would not work on a practical level, but what about the emotional one? Let's pretend that it was not my father who was ill, but some beloved film star. Let's call him Patrick Swayze. If I truly care about his fate, is it healthier to follow his progress determinedly and to know the instant something happened, or is it better to not know the circumstances of his death and live happily in the belief that he's fine somewhere?
For now, I will say, all other considerations aside, it's the "sadder-but-wiser girl for me". And the thought experiment does not work anyway, because he's my father and the criteria are different.
Meh. Dawn is breaking. And waiting.
After all the other things that he's been through, it feels like a walk in the park, even though he is still going to be anaesthetised and it still may take a couple of hours of surgery. It's strange how your perspective on things change with the situation. Under epistemology, I would call it contextualism, but I would lose all my readers, so I won't!
Still in London. Very easy to pretend that things are normal when I am here. In one way, it's nice and comforting and it's the least stressed that I have been in a good long time. On the other hand, I wonder whether I should be feeling normal. You can very normally shut your eyes and go through life blind to the triumph and tragedy of it all. Yes, you can ignore it, and we say ignorance is bliss. I am not suggesting this is a good way to go, but as a thought experiment: What if I avoided it all? Whatever happens happens, and I don't want to be in the loop, I don't want to be told whether things are better or worse. If they work out, great, and if they don't, I don't need to know.
Clearly that would not work on a practical level, but what about the emotional one? Let's pretend that it was not my father who was ill, but some beloved film star. Let's call him Patrick Swayze. If I truly care about his fate, is it healthier to follow his progress determinedly and to know the instant something happened, or is it better to not know the circumstances of his death and live happily in the belief that he's fine somewhere?
For now, I will say, all other considerations aside, it's the "sadder-but-wiser girl for me". And the thought experiment does not work anyway, because he's my father and the criteria are different.
Meh. Dawn is breaking. And waiting.
Tuesday, 6 October 2009
The Lack of Straight Dope
Very little to report, actually. My father had shortness of breath yesterday, relating to his chemo, and my mother flipped out and called every doctor in the world.
He's actually feeling surprisingly good, which is good, although I don't know how crappy he is supposed to feel after the chemo.
Remember that PET scan that he had done? Within all the excitement, I never asked how it went. So my brother tells me that the spot on my dad's liver does not register as cancer, which doesn't mean that it isn't. All it means is that it doesn't register. My parents are still convinced it is a fat deposit, and the race is now on to find a scan from 2003 that has it on it to prove the fact.
The jist is this: If, after the chemo, the spot stays exactly how it is, then it's a fat deposit. If it disappears, then it was cancer, but the chemo destroyed it. If it shrinks, but does not go away, then we have issues. In any case, we won't know until my father finishes chemo in mid-november and goes back for restesting.
In other news, I tried to book in for a PAP smear test yesterday (better safe than sorry), and got told that I have to figure out when my next period is and make an appointment for a week after that. What?! I might not be in the country, I have no idea when my period is and I can't think that far ahead! Oh well, when I have it I will try to figure out where I will be and take it from there. I am pretty sure that I can find a Ob/Gyn in Israel to check me. Although I do seem to have made an appointment to have a flu jab. Which I don't want. So I am an idiot who is seduced by advertising, especially if it comes in the form of a letter which says, "HAVE THIS NOW!"Silly me.
Being back in London is, overall, lovely. Closed the show last night and was really sad about it, even though the last few weeks with it have been hellish because of the theatre. I am also planning to see lots and lots of friends before I bugger off back to Israel, so please, if you want to see me and are in the UK, drop me a line. Seeing my friends is lovely and makes the world seem like a better place. I am keen on this illusion, so I will keep up with it. It's doctors that I wish would tell me something straight.
Basically, I am struggling with hope right now. Hope seems to be messing me around, and I am not impressed with it. People are so intent on giving me Hope that I feel like I am being lied to. I want to believe that my father will be absolutely fine like everyone else seems to, but if he isn't, I really need to know, because preparations must be made. Financial, legal, emotional. If this is goodbye, I can't have Hope standing in the doorway, barring my path. Because I think that there are many more important things, if things are really bad. "But they're not", the well-meaning bystanders are going to say. Well, if I don't know that, how the hell does anyone else? Not that I am angry. I am simply frustrated by being given what is potentially an illusion. It's fine for when you need to be strong and when you need to put on a brave face. But when that face is the only option you are being given because the doctors are trying to spare you the grief, I worry. In short, I want to have the choice. I want to be able to choose whether to cry or laugh, fight or grieve, support others or myself.
So, a request to the doctors in the ether: Give it to me straight. Because the truth will out, eventually, and I want to be able to say that I chose what to do with it.
He's actually feeling surprisingly good, which is good, although I don't know how crappy he is supposed to feel after the chemo.
Remember that PET scan that he had done? Within all the excitement, I never asked how it went. So my brother tells me that the spot on my dad's liver does not register as cancer, which doesn't mean that it isn't. All it means is that it doesn't register. My parents are still convinced it is a fat deposit, and the race is now on to find a scan from 2003 that has it on it to prove the fact.
The jist is this: If, after the chemo, the spot stays exactly how it is, then it's a fat deposit. If it disappears, then it was cancer, but the chemo destroyed it. If it shrinks, but does not go away, then we have issues. In any case, we won't know until my father finishes chemo in mid-november and goes back for restesting.
In other news, I tried to book in for a PAP smear test yesterday (better safe than sorry), and got told that I have to figure out when my next period is and make an appointment for a week after that. What?! I might not be in the country, I have no idea when my period is and I can't think that far ahead! Oh well, when I have it I will try to figure out where I will be and take it from there. I am pretty sure that I can find a Ob/Gyn in Israel to check me. Although I do seem to have made an appointment to have a flu jab. Which I don't want. So I am an idiot who is seduced by advertising, especially if it comes in the form of a letter which says, "HAVE THIS NOW!"Silly me.
Being back in London is, overall, lovely. Closed the show last night and was really sad about it, even though the last few weeks with it have been hellish because of the theatre. I am also planning to see lots and lots of friends before I bugger off back to Israel, so please, if you want to see me and are in the UK, drop me a line. Seeing my friends is lovely and makes the world seem like a better place. I am keen on this illusion, so I will keep up with it. It's doctors that I wish would tell me something straight.
Basically, I am struggling with hope right now. Hope seems to be messing me around, and I am not impressed with it. People are so intent on giving me Hope that I feel like I am being lied to. I want to believe that my father will be absolutely fine like everyone else seems to, but if he isn't, I really need to know, because preparations must be made. Financial, legal, emotional. If this is goodbye, I can't have Hope standing in the doorway, barring my path. Because I think that there are many more important things, if things are really bad. "But they're not", the well-meaning bystanders are going to say. Well, if I don't know that, how the hell does anyone else? Not that I am angry. I am simply frustrated by being given what is potentially an illusion. It's fine for when you need to be strong and when you need to put on a brave face. But when that face is the only option you are being given because the doctors are trying to spare you the grief, I worry. In short, I want to have the choice. I want to be able to choose whether to cry or laugh, fight or grieve, support others or myself.
So, a request to the doctors in the ether: Give it to me straight. Because the truth will out, eventually, and I want to be able to say that I chose what to do with it.
Sunday, 4 October 2009
Staying on my father's side of the fence
A Dream: I am wandering the halls at MD Anderson, waiting for a very important appointment with a doctor. Only problem is that I am late and I don't have any of the paperwork, so I don't even know his name. All I know is that it's in zone F and that it's at 11:14am. So I'm trying to find it and people keep sending me to the wrong places. Eventually, I look at the map and see it on the other side of the hospital. So I make my way down there where an extremely bored receptionist tells me to take a seat. And, as far as I know, I'm still sitting there.
I woke up in London, which feels very strange because nothing is feeling like home at the moment, and I don't know why. I'm not sleep deprived (I don't think) and the view out of the window has been familiar to me for the past 5 months. Strange. Too many airports, that's what I am going to put it down to.
My father had his first chemo appointment yesterday and was feeling fine in the afternoon. The doctors say that he will only feel crappy after about a day. They will arrive in Israel at the end of next week, which, once again, leaves me with the eternal question: When do I go to be with them? There are many things that I want to do while I'm here (not least of which is getting a smear test, which I have been putting off), so maybe rushing off is not a good plan. Then again, we are time dependent, all of us, and the clock is ticking very loudly inside me at the moment.
I notice that the last post I wrote seemed rather self-obsessed and a bit too focused on my largely insignificant problems. These things may or may not come to pass, and, as much as I worry about them, they are not my focus right now. So I ask you to forgive me. My mood varies from minute to minute, and, when I wrote that, I was feeling cynical but quite mischievous. Today seems more and less real in different ways and I am hoping to do something concrete to pass the time.
To close that chapter, for the time being, we are waiting again, for the genetic test to come back from my father. He took it on Thursday, so we won't know anything until the 15th. So I am going to calm the fuck down and focus on him.
Nothing else to be done.
I woke up in London, which feels very strange because nothing is feeling like home at the moment, and I don't know why. I'm not sleep deprived (I don't think) and the view out of the window has been familiar to me for the past 5 months. Strange. Too many airports, that's what I am going to put it down to.
My father had his first chemo appointment yesterday and was feeling fine in the afternoon. The doctors say that he will only feel crappy after about a day. They will arrive in Israel at the end of next week, which, once again, leaves me with the eternal question: When do I go to be with them? There are many things that I want to do while I'm here (not least of which is getting a smear test, which I have been putting off), so maybe rushing off is not a good plan. Then again, we are time dependent, all of us, and the clock is ticking very loudly inside me at the moment.
I notice that the last post I wrote seemed rather self-obsessed and a bit too focused on my largely insignificant problems. These things may or may not come to pass, and, as much as I worry about them, they are not my focus right now. So I ask you to forgive me. My mood varies from minute to minute, and, when I wrote that, I was feeling cynical but quite mischievous. Today seems more and less real in different ways and I am hoping to do something concrete to pass the time.
To close that chapter, for the time being, we are waiting again, for the genetic test to come back from my father. He took it on Thursday, so we won't know anything until the 15th. So I am going to calm the fuck down and focus on him.
Nothing else to be done.
Saturday, 3 October 2009
Having one's head in the sand may be the superior option to having it sliced off by a passing shit-conducive fan
So I am preparing to leave Israel and go back to London.
There is a fair amount of confusion between my parents about whether I am or am not insured in the States and whether, if the genetic testing comes back positive, I need to be tested at MD Anderson. So, I am potentially facing the prospect of having to decide whether to head to Houston every x months to be poked by American doctors, or whether it would be sufficient to do it in London (or wherever). I think I am arguing that if a doctor knows what they are looking for, then where the test is done becomes irrelevant. But my father swears differently, and says that his tests back in June say, in big letters on them "Patient wanted to know he was clear for cancer. And he is". Sadly, this turned out to be bullshit.
Anyhoos, enough about me. My dad starts chemo in about 6 hours (7am Houston time). I am pretty sure he is terrified, although he talks a lot of fighting talk on the phone. My mother says that I should stay in London for a little while longer than I first thought, as I can be the most use just after his chemo, when he is feeling shitty. He is supposed to be treated every two weeks. Clearly, though, the Israelis are not going to be treating him on a Saturday, so I am thinking his next treatment will be on Sunday 18th (which is a weekday. Don't ask). So I will kick around in London and hope for the best until then.
Funny thing is, I haven't heard from my brothers. I hope they are ok. If they read this, perchance, maybe they would like to give me a call? I miss them.
To sum up, I am still on the short-list for cancer of the everything and going home to think about my dad in peace. My mother finally agrees with us that, if it is the case that he is not going to be with us for all that long, he wants me with him. My dad and I just gave her the you-finally-got-with-the-programme look.
Oooh, oooh. Before I go, a list of lovely screening options for the various forms of cancer:
- Breat Cancer: Mammogram
- Ovarian: Pelvic Exam (which doesn't really tell anyone anything), Transvaginal ultrasound (which is not nice), CA-125 Assay (hoorah for blood tests)
- Pancreatic: Currently no standard screening exists although they are recommending Endoscopic Ultrasound coupled with Endoscopic retrograde cholangiopancreatography (ERCP) (tubes down my throat. Yummy).
Is it just me, or is cancer starting to sound good?
There is a fair amount of confusion between my parents about whether I am or am not insured in the States and whether, if the genetic testing comes back positive, I need to be tested at MD Anderson. So, I am potentially facing the prospect of having to decide whether to head to Houston every x months to be poked by American doctors, or whether it would be sufficient to do it in London (or wherever). I think I am arguing that if a doctor knows what they are looking for, then where the test is done becomes irrelevant. But my father swears differently, and says that his tests back in June say, in big letters on them "Patient wanted to know he was clear for cancer. And he is". Sadly, this turned out to be bullshit.
Anyhoos, enough about me. My dad starts chemo in about 6 hours (7am Houston time). I am pretty sure he is terrified, although he talks a lot of fighting talk on the phone. My mother says that I should stay in London for a little while longer than I first thought, as I can be the most use just after his chemo, when he is feeling shitty. He is supposed to be treated every two weeks. Clearly, though, the Israelis are not going to be treating him on a Saturday, so I am thinking his next treatment will be on Sunday 18th (which is a weekday. Don't ask). So I will kick around in London and hope for the best until then.
Funny thing is, I haven't heard from my brothers. I hope they are ok. If they read this, perchance, maybe they would like to give me a call? I miss them.
To sum up, I am still on the short-list for cancer of the everything and going home to think about my dad in peace. My mother finally agrees with us that, if it is the case that he is not going to be with us for all that long, he wants me with him. My dad and I just gave her the you-finally-got-with-the-programme look.
Oooh, oooh. Before I go, a list of lovely screening options for the various forms of cancer:
- Breat Cancer: Mammogram
- Ovarian: Pelvic Exam (which doesn't really tell anyone anything), Transvaginal ultrasound (which is not nice), CA-125 Assay (hoorah for blood tests)
- Pancreatic: Currently no standard screening exists although they are recommending Endoscopic Ultrasound coupled with Endoscopic retrograde cholangiopancreatography (ERCP) (tubes down my throat. Yummy).
Is it just me, or is cancer starting to sound good?
Friday, 2 October 2009
whose cancer is this, anyway?
Speaking to my parents yesterday, I got only one clear indication: They are worried about me. Sounds weird? Well, here's why.
Apparently, there is quite a high chance that my father has a specific genetic predisposition to pancreatic cancer. And breat cancer. And ovarian cancer. He is being tested today to find out if he has this mutation. If he does, then there is a 50% chance that his children do as well. However, I have managed to pick up every single one of his genes and seemingly none from my mother, so the chances are pretty good that I have it, if he does. And so do my brothers. This is more of a problem for me, though, obviously, as they don't have breasts or ovaries.
So, in a couple of weeks when those test results come in, I might have to be tested myself (and don't start me on how much I am going to have to deal with having blood tests), and, if the test is positive, I am going to have to be screened for all these cancers every few months for the rest of my life.
My parents are worried about the inconvenience. I am worried about my potentially shortened lifespan and the prospect of having cancer coming out of every orifice. Nice.
I have a very poor record when it comes to considering my own mortality. I truly think I am going to die on airplanes and I think about death a lot. So the idea that I might be halfway through my life scares me shitless. Yet another reason to run off, get married and start having sprogs as quickly as possible. Only not really.
Yeah, but it's all contingent on him having this mutation. Which everyone actually thinks he does this time. The reason is that, if he does have it, it makes the cancer much easier to treat, because they know what type it is and what to target. So, good for him, not so good for the younger generation.
I'm feeling mildly cynical today, can you tell?
In other news, I have taken my grandmother's advice to not take anyone's advice and have booked flights back to London for the very immediate future. I want to be back in Israel when my parents arrive, and I reckon I am going to be bouncing back and forth for a while. So, London on Saturday night, where I will stay for 10 days. Then we will think onward. Life, shouldn't stop, they say, but until my personal view of my father's prognosis improves, I am not taking any chances. Plus, I hear that chemo isn't nice.
Finally, I want to thank all the people who have dropped me messages via any means this week. People that I have not spoken to in years have come out of the woodwork in support. Funnily enough, this is not like my attitude on birthdays. I disabled my facebook wall every year on my birthday, because I think that if people want to wish me a happy birthday, they should make an effort. I think this is different because people genuinely care, and also, because I have received several very thoughtful and heartfelt messages. So thank you. Thanks for being supportive. Thanks for making me smile. Thanks for showing me that people out there care and that there is a point in my writing all of this (other than for informational purposes anyway). You guys rock.
Apparently, there is quite a high chance that my father has a specific genetic predisposition to pancreatic cancer. And breat cancer. And ovarian cancer. He is being tested today to find out if he has this mutation. If he does, then there is a 50% chance that his children do as well. However, I have managed to pick up every single one of his genes and seemingly none from my mother, so the chances are pretty good that I have it, if he does. And so do my brothers. This is more of a problem for me, though, obviously, as they don't have breasts or ovaries.
So, in a couple of weeks when those test results come in, I might have to be tested myself (and don't start me on how much I am going to have to deal with having blood tests), and, if the test is positive, I am going to have to be screened for all these cancers every few months for the rest of my life.
My parents are worried about the inconvenience. I am worried about my potentially shortened lifespan and the prospect of having cancer coming out of every orifice. Nice.
I have a very poor record when it comes to considering my own mortality. I truly think I am going to die on airplanes and I think about death a lot. So the idea that I might be halfway through my life scares me shitless. Yet another reason to run off, get married and start having sprogs as quickly as possible. Only not really.
Yeah, but it's all contingent on him having this mutation. Which everyone actually thinks he does this time. The reason is that, if he does have it, it makes the cancer much easier to treat, because they know what type it is and what to target. So, good for him, not so good for the younger generation.
I'm feeling mildly cynical today, can you tell?
In other news, I have taken my grandmother's advice to not take anyone's advice and have booked flights back to London for the very immediate future. I want to be back in Israel when my parents arrive, and I reckon I am going to be bouncing back and forth for a while. So, London on Saturday night, where I will stay for 10 days. Then we will think onward. Life, shouldn't stop, they say, but until my personal view of my father's prognosis improves, I am not taking any chances. Plus, I hear that chemo isn't nice.
Finally, I want to thank all the people who have dropped me messages via any means this week. People that I have not spoken to in years have come out of the woodwork in support. Funnily enough, this is not like my attitude on birthdays. I disabled my facebook wall every year on my birthday, because I think that if people want to wish me a happy birthday, they should make an effort. I think this is different because people genuinely care, and also, because I have received several very thoughtful and heartfelt messages. So thank you. Thanks for being supportive. Thanks for making me smile. Thanks for showing me that people out there care and that there is a point in my writing all of this (other than for informational purposes anyway). You guys rock.
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