Entry 23: Cancer

I held the test results and scanned the words, looking for something recognizable among all the medical terminology. Then my eyes hit the word, carcinoma. "Cancer?" I asked, lifting my eyes. Dad nodded his head. Two masses found, one quite large, the report continued.

"I want you and your sister to join me when I meet with the Oncologist next week," he said, trying to put on a brave face. And so a week later, I found myself sitting in the stale yellow waiting room that smelled of bleach, having been suddenly ushered in by my family. It was surreal sitting with them, when they'd not even been willing to include me in regular family dinners. "I think I'll just go in first, and then come in afterwards," Dad whispered, as he crouched down next to us.

After he was called in, my sister and I sat next to each other, bringing up cute animal videos on our phones in order to distract ourselves. Each time the door opened, our eyes darted away from our screens, only to see another unfamiliar person exiting. Then an hour later, the door opened and my stepmother came out. "Your dad didn't know how tell you the news. It's stage four cancer, and he only has six months to live if he doesn't do chemo, and a year if he does."

My sister immediately burst into tears as I sat there in shock. Suddenly, Dad appeared. I got up and ran into his arms crying. "I'm so sorry," I said, as he let out a giant sob.

We all went for lunch after receiving the bad news, with us settling on a dark and empty pub, as we talked about his diagnosis and took turns crying in the corner. He'd try the chemo, and whatever else it took to preserve his life longer. I could feel my desperation bubbling to the surface again, hoping to be ushered back into his life now that he was terminally ill.

I waited for the dinner invites and calls from Dad, wanting to spend some quality time with me now that he was sick, but little changed. The only thing I was allowed to be part of was his medical check-ups and updates. Just like our relationship, his cancer wasn't progressing very much either, with little to no growth of his tumors. Because of this, Dad had gone from fully accepting he was going to die, to full on denial, as he went on vacations, bought a new vehicle, and played regular rounds of golf. His positive attitude had help him health wise, but it had done nothing to create a sense of urgency when it came to getting his affairs in order. So, I painfully sat and waited for "the turn" to occur with his health, as I found myself placed on the outside looking in.

It's where I'd always been placed since leaving the church, but now it felt especially isolating as the clocked ticked on with Dad's fragile health. No one in the family seemed to care that I too was about to lose a parent or that they were hurting me, as they continued to be praised by the church. And so I continued to wait, wondering if there'd ever come a day when my father would want to put some faith in us. I could only hope...