I recently wrote something called, “Sometimes Life is Hard.” That’s a straightforward
kind of title; it’s the one that occurred to me at the time. I was unable to go
into detail then, but I would like to say more now. Even after all these years,
even knowing there are quite a few of you out there, you still feel like roughly
50 people to me. You feel like friends.
So okay, here’s the situation:
At the end of September, my father went to the
doctor because he had been hoarse for quite a long time. Tests were done, and on
Friday, September 29th, we found out that he has thyroid cancer.
There are a number of types of thyroid cancer. Unfortunately, his is one of the
difficult ones. It’s called medullary thyroid cancer. It is a very aggressive
cancer, and no chemotherapy or radiation will work against it. The only option
is surgery - immediate surgery to cut out anything that has cancer in it.
That surgery takes place tomorrow at Scott and
White hospital in Temple, Texas. It will be a long surgery – about 10 hours -
because at this point it is clear that the cancer has spread into his lymph
system. A number of lymph nodes will have to be removed; some of them are deep
in his chest, near his heart. If they are able to cleanly remove his thyroid and
all the lymph nodes, they tell us that the cancer will return, but he will have
a few years before that happens. The initial report was that he would not have
much time at all, so believe it or not, we’re feeling pretty thankful that he
may have time to do some things that he wants to do.
Well, I think that’s probably enough medical
information. There are more details, but you get the picture.
Here’s some other stuff I want to tell you:
My father’s name is Hollie Atkinson. He’s 69
years old. He is a good man, and I love him dearly. By that I mean that I like
to be around him. I like to spend time with him. I like to hug him, and I have
immense respect for him. Our relationship has blossomed over the years into a
friendship. He feels the same way about me. I know this because he has told me
that he loves me many times.
My emotions have been all over the map. I cried
a lot at first. I would be fine, then suddenly I would start sobbing. When we
thought he might only have a few months to live, I found myself thinking about
his funeral and what I would like to say on that day. My sadness at that time
was for him. I want my mom and dad to enjoy their retirement years together.
They have things that they would like to do together. This is a precious time of
life, and I don't want him to miss it.
Right now I’m numb. I really can’t feel
anything. I’ve allowed myself to get caught up in the medical details, the
planning, going back and forth to doctors, and getting ready for the big
surgery. Those busy things have been nice for me. They have allowed me to put my
own emotions on hold for the time being.
I have prayed often these last days. I have
given myself the luxury of not saying what I think I should say to God.
Instead, I've prayed more like a child. Children don't think too much; they just
ask for what they want. I have asked. The world moves ever onward, and no one knows
exactly how the Creator is involved. Thankfully, it's not my job to know those
things. In this situation, prayer is about me being honest and speaking from my
heart. I can do that. It feels good to do that.
My father is very calm. He is happy with his
life, and if he were to die today, he will not have left anything unsaid. There
is no unfinished business between my dad and any of us.
I'm beginning to understand how important that
is.
rlp
I don't know when I'll write
again. I might feel like writing tomorrow, or it could be Thursday. I'll see you
when I see you, as they say.
