I was too little to remember the first time Dad had cancer. Well, I'm pretty sure I'm going to remember it this round. After fifteen years of clean health, guess what shows up in his colon again? Hello, Mr. Cancerous Polyp!

Now, I'm not particularly worried. Actually, I'm more annoyed than anything else. I don't like seeing everyone freaking out and, when I tell everyone my dad's cancer is back, they inevitably freak out. Sometimes I feel like I'm not allowed to freak out because then everything will collapse, which makes me even more annoyed. Cancer sucks and not just for the patient.
Case in point, my mother broke out in shingles because of the stress. And on top of everything, the plumping is doing another one of its tri-monthly freak-outs so we spent a good part of the morning playing "Save the Books!". (It did have to sploosh down the wall with all the shelves. )
Strange as it may seem, a good part of my irritation is due to the fact of how normal disasters like this are. I can just imagine the conversations our friends and relatives have:
*This is a fictional conversation and none of the events referenced have happened before. Hopeful they never will.*
"Uh-oh! The Selby's barn caught on fire! They're going to have to stay over a couple of days."
"But it isn't the barn metal?"
"Selby's, remember?"
"Oh, right. I'll go dig out the spare sheets."
I'm exaggerating. A little. But as my friends will testify, we generally have about two incidents a year. I'm hoping this one counts for at least until I graduate college.
Praying for you guys, Lisa.
ReplyDeleteThank you, Katie.
ReplyDelete