Diary #18 (5-29-23)

The Cancer Diaries

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I’m still home, in Lompoc, 50 minutes north of my folks’ in Santa Barbara. Mom and I’ve been communicating via text—and this morning via phone call. He’s not doing well. Mom said his port-hole for his stomach peg-tube is bleeding again. This is the cancer breaking his organs down. Mom’s been continuing to administer Morphine as needed, and he’s been on the Fentanyl patch for several days now. My plan had been to return home tomorrow morning, which is still the plan.

The reason my mom and I spoke on the phone today is that she surprised me by saying that my 18-year-old niece was planning to stay with us for a few days because she doesn’t want to go with my sister and brother-in-law and my nephew to Bass Lake. Never-mind the fact that they’re going to Bass Lake while my father is literally dying. Set that aside. I immediately felt uncomfortable and under attack. It’s been the three of us this whole time, 23 months now, me, my mom and my father. And now, last-second, we’re going to add my teenage niece into the mix right when he’s planning to expire?!

Oh, and that’s the other thing: He has decided, for sure now, he says, that he wants to take the Death Med when we get it. The doctor is coming for her second visit today sometime, and the oncologist finally signed on board by using their previous Zoom call from two weeks prior as their official “talk” about competency. They now have to officially prescribe and then the pharmacy will receive it; they will literally have to close the place down for a few hours to safely mix and handle the highly toxic drug, and then I’ll pick it up and bring it home. And then, Dad says, he’ll take it.

I didn’t so much argue with Mom as plead for her not to invite my niece over. I love my niece. We always enjoy spending time with each other. Any other time would be fantastic. But not now. I wouldn’t feel like I could be myself around her, not during this. Dad wouldn’t want it, either, I’m sure of that. He loves his granddaughter, but he is a very private man. He wants his wife and his son.

So anyway Mom refused to call it off with my niece. I let it go. We texted a bit after the call. Then I texted my sister. Thankfully, my sister was understanding and on the same page; they’d already planned to have my sister’s brother-in-law (my brother-in-law’s older brother) stay with her from Sat-Tues. They leave for Bass Lake on Thursday, so she’ll only be alone for like a day and a half. Problem solved. I texted my mom about this and of course she got annoyed that I’d texted my sister because Mom had said she’d do that. I understood my mom’s irritation…but I’m still glad I did it. It wouldn’t have been the right thing to do. For anyone, including my niece. In a weird way I think my mom was making it “about herself” by doing everything she could to preserve her good standing with my niece. But that doesn’t mean never saying NO. Sometimes it’s healthy to say, “You know what, right now just isn’t good timing.” She’s 18.

Anyway then my sister and I texted for a while. I feel mixed about my sister. Mostly, if I’m fully honest, I feel deeply angry and resentful towards her. She currently wants to “take care of phone calls and arrangements for Mom” after Dad dies. Okay. That’s nice. That’s a good thing. I’m glad she offered. But she’s been absent from this whole experience almost entirely until a week and a half ago, and even then she’s come to the house to see Dad very much on her own selfish terms. The last time she came she pointed to a section of Dad’s bedcover that had flopped off his body and, catching my eyes, mouthed silently, Can you fix that? I did fix it. But it’s the gall of her coming in late and suddenly acting as if she’s been here the whole time, as if she has the goddamn right.

She’s not his biological daughter, though he’s raised her since she was three years old. (1973.) She has every right to be here and to see him, and I’m sincerely happy that she is, and it’s meaningful to Dad, which is the most important thing. But I’m afraid of her psychological games; I’m afraid she’s going to try to project and deny and pretend and lie and revise history and come in at the 9^th inning and act as if she’s been here all along, as if she’s really the one who was the caregiver. It sounds insane as I write it…but my sister is a very powerful force. And the psychological games she’s capable of are startling.

Anyway. I feel so sad right now. My mom does, too, of course. She said she feels so sad she “can barely hold on.” I get it. It’s brutal. Ruthless. No matter how much time we’ve had to prepare it just doesn’t feel like enough. And really there is never enough time. How do you prepare for losing someone you love permanently, who raised you, who you’ve known all your life? I’ll never have another conversation with him, never engage in another political debate, never listen to another podcast, never discuss my writing, never get his advice or feedback, never eat dinner with him, never see him smile or laugh. It’s hard to grasp this reality.

My guess is we’ll have the Death Med by Wednesday or Thursday. My mom asked him this morning how he felt and he gave her two thumbs down. She asked if he’d take the med now if he had it and he said yes. His condition has gone up and down but overall the general trend has always more or less been down. That trend has sharply fallen over the past two weeks. He might improve a little in a day or so, but this is more likely to be his temporary “new normal.” His body is breaking down. We’ve been feeding him a tiny amount (one protein shake per day, now half that) because the doctor told us he needs something internally to absorb the medication. As a result he had really terrible diarrhea. It was so bad it got on his feet somehow, Mom said. He’s increasingly uncomfortable physically, though still, he claims, not in any “pain.” He’s exhausted. I do not blame him, of course. (Understatement.)

So who knows when he’ll actually consume the drug: Thursday? Friday? Saturday? We’ll just have to see. I feel terrible and sad and all twisted up, but I also sense the relief coming, for me, for my mom, and especially for Dad. It’s time. I keep telling myself, Once he goes to the other side the grieving process officially starts, and that’s a brand-new path to walk on, which is good because it means relief and an end to suffering, and it means change. In many ways I’ve already been “pre-grieving,” as has my mother. We’ve done a lot of crying and telling of old stories and recasting of memories, feeling the deep dark chill of terrifying sadness at this great man’s impending end. But there will be more grieving to do, Lord knows, and it’ll be from a new position, that of my father in the past-tense.

I just don’t want the boat to be rocked right now. By my sister, my niece, my mom, myself. We’ve gotten all the way here, let’s not screw it up now. It’s as if my mother and I have driven 3,000 miles, across the spiritual highways, with a plethora of stops along the way, and we’re finally arriving at our destination. Let’s not get hit by a wayward car not paying attention going on the crosswalk. We made it this far. Let’s end this peacefully and respectfully.

I was going to write my book review for my other stack, Sincere American Writing, about Maya Angelou’s I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings, which I just finished last night at last. (Brilliant book.) But I can’t focus right now. I’ll do it tomorrow, while back in S.B.

Pray for us. I’m sure I’ll have a couple more posts before my Dad goes, unless he leaves us before the med even gets to him, which is also entirely possible.