Two Dancing Girls and a Bottle of Whiskey

This experience is proving to be a lesson in patience, anxiety and a complete lack of control.  Going into the doctor pre-chemo visit, check-in, whatever you call it, my dad tells the nurse that last night his incision has opened up again and is oozing some fairly nasty stuff.  So pretty much, I know right away that we are NOT gonna start chemo today.  The good news is that dad has gained 6 lbs since his last visit and his nutrition counts are getting better.  When I bring up the possibility of an anti-depressant, my dad asks the doctor if he would prescribe two dancing girls and a bottle of whiskey.  Thank the Lord his oncologist is a good humored man who can roll with my dad's embarrassing/brilliant sense of humor.  I cannot believe it, but my dad has agreed to take the anti-depressant.  Maybe now he will rest.

FMLA papers are filled out finally and I'm worried about surviving this myself. That sounds ridiculous and perhaps even selfish, but I'm serious.  I've got so much stress and anxiety running wild through my body.  With every set back, minor and major, every prescription that needs filling, chasing down every food that might possibly be tolerable (I don't dare hope for actually tasting good or being satisfying), with every one appointment leading to three more appointments, I grow more uptight and tired.  Not to mention spending my every free moment holding down a high stress, full time job, mother my two toddlers and lastly, but God knows is not the least of these, be a wife to one amazing man.  I'm so wiped out right now and all I want to do is curl up on the couch and sleep.  But I can't.  I have to go to my dad's doctors office to pick up FMLA papers and then get my boys and come home to start dinner.  I don't know how any one does this without the support that I have. God bless them.  A support group would be great.  But when? After chemo starts? Next week?

Two dancing girls and a bottle of whiskey.  Yeah.  I get it dad.