Evelyn Waugh said it very well:
‘A blow, expected, repeated, falling on a bruise, with no smart or shock of surprise, only a dull and sickening pain..’
Of course, he was referring to Sebastian Flyte’s fall from grace, into an inevitable future of alcoholism, and I am referring to the fact that my father’s cancer is back.
Back? I don’t think it ever went away, in spite of what the surgeons said. It was lurking and sneakily growing, lost in the more acute symptoms of recovery from a life-threatening infection. They thought (and said) that they had taken it all but I never believed that. I live in the Land of Realism, not the Land of Hope.
He had a CAT scan to see if the abscess was healed enough to reconnect the plumbing. It was but there were also nodules around his kidney and in his lung. The doctor recommended chemo and my father, previously vehemently opposed to it, has said that he will meet with the team to discuss the options. I know he doesn’t want it but he is thinking of his wife and how hard it will be on her.
Still, I hope and pray he decides against it. It wouldn’t be kind and it won’t save his life, maybe just prolong it a little. I wrote an email telling him that I loved him and I would support whatever he chose but that, much as I hate the thought of a world that doesn’t have him in it, I would rather that than prolonging his presence at the cost of misery.
I think if he doesn’t have it, it will go fast. It makes time spent with him so much more precious. It’s a period of loving closeness amongst the family and we are all appreciating each other so much more than we used to.