Fuck you Cancer
Cancer.... I hate you
My dad was dying long before I received the devastating news on a cold morning while sitting in the Boulder County Jail, I was crushed. After suffering
many mini heart attacks my father’s stage 4 cancer was discovered quite by accident while he had follow-up tests to prevent further heart attacks and
burning when he swallowed. As my father relayed the news to me, I gripped the phone from the jail and tried to comprehend what he was saying. His cancer was advanced, and suddenly, his time on Earth was finite
His battle was over before it started
At his advanced cancer stage, chemotherapy options were limited and surgery wasn’t doing a damn thing. Radiation wasn’t going to stop the
progression, and when we looked at the hard evidence, it was clear that his quality of life was going to suffer a great deal if he put himself through the
rigors of a chemotherapy regimen that had little to no chance of prolonging his life.
It was fucking hell to watch my buff, built 265 lb. larger-than-life, strongest man I ever seen wither away into a frail cancer patient right before my eyes
(even then he was still the strongest man I ever seen)
My dad was dying, and I was helpless to stop the inevitable.
I relapsed in an instant and for not one second did I feel guilty, people will disagree but for that time I felt like if it wasn't for the dope, I would have gone
crazy and I still firmly believe it was the dope that kept me sane, otherwise in my sober mind I would have went crazy.
A dying parent is excruciating, it hurts unbelievably bad, I would get physically sick as I listened to my father spew the side effects from chemotherapy,
his exhaustion and nausea, and his daily choking and gasping for air and my heart dropping every 30 seconds thinking " is this it " I was sick of the
cancer that was slowly eating away at his insides. I’d lay awake at night and wonder if tomorrow was the day his health would go from bad to worse.
When your parent is dying, you feel like your dying too. (I'm still dead)
A dying parent is exhausting. I forced myself to try to focus on the daily life that came so easy before all of this, raising kids and running a household,
being a wife, all the while trying to keep track of what doctors my father was seeing that day and remembering to call my mom to come over and not
forget about him or just for the rundown of the latest tests and blood work. I longed for the days when our lives didn’t center around the ups and downs
of cancer, when I
could selfishly call my dad just to talk shit to him or make fun of people or hear him talk about President Trump or listen to him talk about his cats,
whatever it was it didn’t matter as long as it wasn’t about the fucking cancer I hated with every bone in my body. One thing my dad loved to talk about
was his grandchildren, my babies they loved their Papa ever so much, and he loved them, no words could express the love that my dad had for them
girls. They were the light in his eyes and all 3 of them let him know how much he meant to them. My daughters were by his side through it all and he
knew who loved him the most.
A dying parent means never knowing what the day will bring, or what you will soon
be seeing, you don't know how to hold it together, you want to give up and cry you don’t know how to be strong not for your babies and not even for
yourself.
A dying parent makes you realize that you are selfish. You find yourself whispering, “Please let him make it to my wedding” because you want your
daddy to give you away. "Please let him make it to her birthday” one more birthday with her Papa. You secretly will him to hold on because you really
haven't learned how to be independent enough without the support of your dad and your terrified, he’ll pass away while you are still learning and you
still need him. And you want to be able to show off to your Dad, with the family you have now and the home you have, how you’ve changed for the
better. I'd find myself thinking “you just barely started getting your shit together and now he's going to die” You hate the fact that you feel like you
haven't been able to make him proud yet! You find yourself irrationally angry because cancer will eventually steal your hero and you can’t bear the
thought of your children not getting to have their grandpa around when they are adults. Or being able to send him video after video of the babies doing
things you know he would have got a kick out of. Having a dying parent means you have to forgive yourself for feeling selfish. And boy oh boy was I
fucking selfish. cause I never wanted to let go... and I still can't let go.
How was I supposed to go on living when his life was being cut short? Having a dying parent means you have to push through the guilt of feeling joy
and happiness because you know that your parent expects nothing less. Or eating his favorite foods or finding yourself not eating because they can't
enjoy it. Every bite you take is a reminder of what my dad could never have a again and how sad is that for a man who loved food. Page 3
I would never bring food, or cook food in his house even though he didn't mind I still was against it, instead I was at the grocery store buying all the
naked juices anything that was liquid and could replenish him in some hopeful lifesaving way, I was in the kitchen making watered down cream of wheat
instead of the enchiladas. frito pies and pasta I would make for him, it was this. And in that moment, I looked over at my dad through the door and
thought " he doesn't deserve this shit " he's honest, loving, has the biggest heart on the planet, does no wrong and look at this, my dad suffering, for
what? Why? Suddenly I'm blinded with anger, and I want to scream at the top of my lungs and beat up the doctors and I just want to die. “Dad you
won't go alone, I will go with you too”
Those thoughts in the back of my mind of how I can meet him there when he makes it to heaven burned holes in my brain!
A dying parent means there’s no rule book. There’s no play-by-play list that you can refer to on the days when the panic and rage are so raw that you
think you might actually lose your mind. And while your friends and family do their best to sympathize with you, no one understands the desperation
that always threatens to bubble over in the middle of the grocery store or a certain song or smell or sound that can throw you into spin of emotions. A
dying parent means that you will be pushed to your limits, and you will find strength you didn’t know you had.
A dying parent means facing your own life with new eyes. In the final months of my dad's cancer, I’d often look at my babies and worry that my death
would bother them in the same way I was bothered and worried and that the fear and anger I felt in those months would be their situation too someday
when their father and I will face our own battles and issues I wondered if I could be strong for them, like my dad was for me, and I prayed that I could
face death with the grace my father showed near the end. A dying parent means realizing that you, too, will someday be the dying parent.
But one thing is for sure, I am not afraid to die because I know my daddy will be waiting for me. He promised. And he always kept his promises.
My dad was dying long before I received the devastating news on a cold morning while sitting in the Boulder County Jail, I was crushed. After suffering
many mini heart attacks my father’s stage 4 cancer was discovered quite by accident while he had follow-up tests to prevent further heart attacks and
burning when he swallowed. As my father relayed the news to me, I gripped the phone from the jail and tried to comprehend what he was saying. His cancer was advanced, and suddenly, his time on Earth was finite
His battle was over before it started
At his advanced cancer stage, chemotherapy options were limited and surgery wasn’t doing a damn thing. Radiation wasn’t going to stop the
progression, and when we looked at the hard evidence, it was clear that his quality of life was going to suffer a great deal if he put himself through the
rigors of a chemotherapy regimen that had little to no chance of prolonging his life.
It was fucking hell to watch my buff, built 265 lb. larger-than-life, strongest man I ever seen wither away into a frail cancer patient right before my eyes
(even then he was still the strongest man I ever seen)
My dad was dying, and I was helpless to stop the inevitable.
I relapsed in an instant and for not one second did I feel guilty, people will disagree but for that time I felt like if it wasn't for the dope, I would have gone
crazy and I still firmly believe it was the dope that kept me sane, otherwise in my sober mind I would have went crazy.
A dying parent is excruciating, it hurts unbelievably bad, I would get physically sick as I listened to my father spew the side effects from chemotherapy,
his exhaustion and nausea, and his daily choking and gasping for air and my heart dropping every 30 seconds thinking " is this it " I was sick of the
cancer that was slowly eating away at his insides. I’d lay awake at night and wonder if tomorrow was the day his health would go from bad to worse.
When your parent is dying, you feel like your dying too. (I'm still dead)
A dying parent is exhausting. I forced myself to try to focus on the daily life that came so easy before all of this, raising kids and running a household,
being a wife, all the while trying to keep track of what doctors my father was seeing that day and remembering to call my mom to come over and not
forget about him or just for the rundown of the latest tests and blood work. I longed for the days when our lives didn’t center around the ups and downs
of cancer, when I
could selfishly call my dad just to talk shit to him or make fun of people or hear him talk about President Trump or listen to him talk about his cats,
whatever it was it didn’t matter as long as it wasn’t about the fucking cancer I hated with every bone in my body. One thing my dad loved to talk about
was his grandchildren, my babies they loved their Papa ever so much, and he loved them, no words could express the love that my dad had for them
girls. They were the light in his eyes and all 3 of them let him know how much he meant to them. My daughters were by his side through it all and he
knew who loved him the most.
A dying parent means never knowing what the day will bring, or what you will soon
be seeing, you don't know how to hold it together, you want to give up and cry you don’t know how to be strong not for your babies and not even for
yourself.
A dying parent makes you realize that you are selfish. You find yourself whispering, “Please let him make it to my wedding” because you want your
daddy to give you away. "Please let him make it to her birthday” one more birthday with her Papa. You secretly will him to hold on because you really
haven't learned how to be independent enough without the support of your dad and your terrified, he’ll pass away while you are still learning and you
still need him. And you want to be able to show off to your Dad, with the family you have now and the home you have, how you’ve changed for the
better. I'd find myself thinking “you just barely started getting your shit together and now he's going to die” You hate the fact that you feel like you
haven't been able to make him proud yet! You find yourself irrationally angry because cancer will eventually steal your hero and you can’t bear the
thought of your children not getting to have their grandpa around when they are adults. Or being able to send him video after video of the babies doing
things you know he would have got a kick out of. Having a dying parent means you have to forgive yourself for feeling selfish. And boy oh boy was I
fucking selfish. cause I never wanted to let go... and I still can't let go.
How was I supposed to go on living when his life was being cut short? Having a dying parent means you have to push through the guilt of feeling joy
and happiness because you know that your parent expects nothing less. Or eating his favorite foods or finding yourself not eating because they can't
enjoy it. Every bite you take is a reminder of what my dad could never have a again and how sad is that for a man who loved food. Page 3
I would never bring food, or cook food in his house even though he didn't mind I still was against it, instead I was at the grocery store buying all the
naked juices anything that was liquid and could replenish him in some hopeful lifesaving way, I was in the kitchen making watered down cream of wheat
instead of the enchiladas. frito pies and pasta I would make for him, it was this. And in that moment, I looked over at my dad through the door and
thought " he doesn't deserve this shit " he's honest, loving, has the biggest heart on the planet, does no wrong and look at this, my dad suffering, for
what? Why? Suddenly I'm blinded with anger, and I want to scream at the top of my lungs and beat up the doctors and I just want to die. “Dad you
won't go alone, I will go with you too”
Those thoughts in the back of my mind of how I can meet him there when he makes it to heaven burned holes in my brain!
A dying parent means there’s no rule book. There’s no play-by-play list that you can refer to on the days when the panic and rage are so raw that you
think you might actually lose your mind. And while your friends and family do their best to sympathize with you, no one understands the desperation
that always threatens to bubble over in the middle of the grocery store or a certain song or smell or sound that can throw you into spin of emotions. A
dying parent means that you will be pushed to your limits, and you will find strength you didn’t know you had.
A dying parent means facing your own life with new eyes. In the final months of my dad's cancer, I’d often look at my babies and worry that my death
would bother them in the same way I was bothered and worried and that the fear and anger I felt in those months would be their situation too someday
when their father and I will face our own battles and issues I wondered if I could be strong for them, like my dad was for me, and I prayed that I could
face death with the grace my father showed near the end. A dying parent means realizing that you, too, will someday be the dying parent.
But one thing is for sure, I am not afraid to die because I know my daddy will be waiting for me. He promised. And he always kept his promises.
