This Shit Year (On Thanatophobia)
When 2015 began I was in Austin, Texas asleep on the floor next to my younger nephew. The plan had been to go out, with both my nephews sleeping over a friend's house. But plans changed as the younger of the two developed a fever. I volunteered to stay behind and we watched a few South Park episodes before sending him to bed. My nephew did not want to be alone in his room, so a grabbed a nearby pillow placed it against the wall and went to sleep.
I thought this was a good start to what I hoped would be a great year.
Four months later I was in a car accident. On Friday the 13th no less. My car was totaled, my body bruised, a large cut ran from me left shoulder to my right stomach. The first week every movement was painful. Sleeping hurt. Closing my eyes made me dizzy and anxious.
For months crossing intersections while driving filled me with dread.
Eventually things settled back down to normal, at least until the early summer where I received a call from my uncle that my father was in the emergency room due to several shocks from his defibrillator. After a number of tests, it was clear three arteries were clogged and a to increase blood flow a stent needed to be placed.
But of the three arteries clogged, only one was eligible for a stent.
The operation went smoothly, and soon he was back at home. A week after his return, his throat began to fill with blood. A lot of blood. Which he coughed out in large volume. I rushed him to the emergency room where by the time a doctor saw him the bleeding had stopped. The offered diagnosis, an inverted nose bleed made excessive due to blood thinners. Or, possibly, throat cancer.
Or definitely throat cancer.
Identified soon after a second episode of bleeding. Followed by a tracheotomy and diagnosis of stage four cancer and the recommendation that his voice box be removed. Followed by review by a number of physicians trying to determine the best course of treatment due to a number of preexisting ailments.
Due to the recently installed stent, blood thinners were mandatory and thus surgery was not an option. Chemotherapy was risky due to failing kidneys. His heart monitor risked malfunction from radiation. His borderline diabetic condition made an treatment risky. His lungs, worn from smoking, occasionally had difficulty expelling carbon requiring constant oxygen.
But the doctors came up with a plan. Targeted radiation and a chemotherapy-like treatment over two months. And I was there with him, almost every day. At the hospital, then at the respiratory facility. I was with him when he lost vision in his left eye, a retinal rupture that filled the orb with blood and requiring yet another surgery.
It was around that time my father got that look that things had gotten overwhelming. That maybe the pain was not worth it. It is hard to overcome that kind of low. It requires a lot of patience and encouragement from the people around you, and my father had no shortage of either.
As 2015 comes to a close I can say that my father is cancer free, his breathing tube removed and tracheotomy incision healed. Everyday he regains a bit more of his energy. There is no promise that the cancer will not return, but we are better prepared to deal with what may come.
Surprisingly, this shit year managed to end on a high note.
I thought this was a good start to what I hoped would be a great year.
Four months later I was in a car accident. On Friday the 13th no less. My car was totaled, my body bruised, a large cut ran from me left shoulder to my right stomach. The first week every movement was painful. Sleeping hurt. Closing my eyes made me dizzy and anxious.
For months crossing intersections while driving filled me with dread.
Eventually things settled back down to normal, at least until the early summer where I received a call from my uncle that my father was in the emergency room due to several shocks from his defibrillator. After a number of tests, it was clear three arteries were clogged and a to increase blood flow a stent needed to be placed.But of the three arteries clogged, only one was eligible for a stent.
The operation went smoothly, and soon he was back at home. A week after his return, his throat began to fill with blood. A lot of blood. Which he coughed out in large volume. I rushed him to the emergency room where by the time a doctor saw him the bleeding had stopped. The offered diagnosis, an inverted nose bleed made excessive due to blood thinners. Or, possibly, throat cancer.
Or definitely throat cancer.
Identified soon after a second episode of bleeding. Followed by a tracheotomy and diagnosis of stage four cancer and the recommendation that his voice box be removed. Followed by review by a number of physicians trying to determine the best course of treatment due to a number of preexisting ailments.
Due to the recently installed stent, blood thinners were mandatory and thus surgery was not an option. Chemotherapy was risky due to failing kidneys. His heart monitor risked malfunction from radiation. His borderline diabetic condition made an treatment risky. His lungs, worn from smoking, occasionally had difficulty expelling carbon requiring constant oxygen.
But the doctors came up with a plan. Targeted radiation and a chemotherapy-like treatment over two months. And I was there with him, almost every day. At the hospital, then at the respiratory facility. I was with him when he lost vision in his left eye, a retinal rupture that filled the orb with blood and requiring yet another surgery.
It was around that time my father got that look that things had gotten overwhelming. That maybe the pain was not worth it. It is hard to overcome that kind of low. It requires a lot of patience and encouragement from the people around you, and my father had no shortage of either.
As 2015 comes to a close I can say that my father is cancer free, his breathing tube removed and tracheotomy incision healed. Everyday he regains a bit more of his energy. There is no promise that the cancer will not return, but we are better prepared to deal with what may come.
Surprisingly, this shit year managed to end on a high note.
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