Yesterday I went to the hospital to visit the father of one of my very best friends. He is currently battling cancer for the second time and is in the hospital with complications from a combination of things.
When he first started this second battle, it was right before Emmalyn was born. I remember my friend telling me that he had cancer and I remember the feeling I got. Sick to my stomach. All I could think was "Nothing can happen to him. It would break my friend to the point of no return. He is her rock and one of the greatest men I've ever known. He is the closest thing to a father figure that I have. And the closest thing to a grandfather that my daughter has. Nothing can happen to him... the world would just fall apart. And so would my friend."
Once they figured out where all the cancer was and determined a course of treatment, it became evident that he would have both radiation and chemotherapy. The treatment wasn't the most traumatic part at that point. It was the fact that he was going to lose his hair. Don't get me wrong, he is by no means a vain man, but he had GORGEOUS hair that even Fabio would kill for. It was the only way I've ever seen him... with hair often longer than mine. In my mind, it was his "signature look." And, being the man that he is, he did not want to wait for the radiation to take his hair. So he buzzed it off. I can only imagine what that was like for him. The first time I saw him with no hair was the day my daughter was born. It was such an amazing day and I was so happy that he and my friend were there. But when he walked in that room and I saw him for the first time, it was suddenly a very real thing to me. Cancer. I started to cry. I was mad. And sad. Not for the loss of his hair, but for the battle he was (and still is) to endure. That bald head just made it very apparent that this was really happening to the people I love. Little did I know that the heartbreak would continue, and worsen, over the next few months.
When I walked into that hospital room yesterday, a different man was lying in the bed. The physical changes were the most shocking at first. He has lost so much weight! And I could tell he was tired... physically, mentally, and emotionally. But he put on a brave face through everything. The needles and procedures and testing... It was heartbreaking to watch such a vibrant, loving man go through such a thing. And it is still not over. There are still two more months (at least) of chemo and scans and testing and procedures to go.
HOW is this fair?? I wouldn't wish this disease on anyone, but why does it seem to only torture the good ones? Maybe because they are the only ones who can deal with it. Physically, mentally, and emotionally. I think he is more emotionally together than my friend and I combined. I watched her yesterday, and maybe its because I know her so well or because we are so much alike, but I noticed the face she puts on. I can tell that she's scared and worried, but she will never show it. And there is nothing I can do to make the situation any better, any easier. So how do you deal? What do you do? It seems like there is nothing to do but sit around and watch the torture continue. The helpless feeling is... well, it sucks.
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