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Tales from the Steppes2005-07-11 5:15 p.m. And around and around and around went the big sail I got back to my desk to discover a message from my mom, giving me my father's CT scan results. Not good. Seems there is a mass on his left kidney but no indication of what it might be. Wait a second. Haven't I been here before? Except this time it is my father and not the SU. And my father has lost 30 pounds quite rapidly and has all of the other symptoms of kidney cancer with only the pain displaced downward. Needless to say, he and my mother are both extremely worried. I am having a bit of a problem putting myself into the emotional state that is generally acceptable in situations like this. I know I sound like a total asshole, and it's not that I am not concerned, it's just that I am not going to freak out about an abnormal mass. I am so used to dealing with abnormal masses with the SU that I am definitely less shocked by them. I have spent so long being the voice of reason, the one who is responsible for keeping things on keel that I am not certain I can abandon that role. My job has always been to keep things calm, to not allow excess freaking before the facts are known, to remain optimistic at all times and keep morale up. But this is a completely different situation and I am not sure how to respond. If I show how much I am actually concerned, my parents will worry even more. My parents seem to think I have some medical expertise, as my mother has always asked my opinion about medical issues, even before the SU's cancers. This is very strange, given that my mom is a nurse and I have no medical training whatsoever. I hold medical power of attorney for them because they trust that if a decision ever needs to be made, I will make it based on the information available and their wishes and not allow my personal emotions to cloud the decision. I will make sure my father gets the best medical care, regardless of what this mass is, and will thouroughly research the options for him. It is the emotional response that is much harder here. We are not a touchy-feely kind of family. I do not talk about my feelings with my family members, except perhaps my older sister, but instead with my friends. I cannot recall my father ever talking about how he feels, even when my grandparents died. It is not that he doesn't have feelings - he is just reserved. So I am not sure what to do here. I guess just give him the opportunity that if he does want to talk, he feels like he can. As long as I can get my mother to shut up. The last few times I have spoken with my parents on the phone, my mother has gone on and on and on about stupid stuff that is not relevant to my father's medical situation and it has made it hard to talk. I realize that this is probably her response to the stress of the situation, so I do understand. It's just really not helpful for anyone but her. 12:49 a.m.Monday, July 11, 2005 Take these roses all from me I was going through my camera, cleaning up my memory stick and found some funny things. The first was a movie that the EM shot of Doodle when we were in NY recently. She was dancing to the sound of the next door neighbor's lawn mower, with the EM giving directions on stopping to pose and then restarting her dance. Most charming. The next amusing photos I found were of the Skullmaster's office. These are about a third of the collection of skulls, bones, and other assorted animal objects currently in the room that my cubicle is in. Note the turtle shell filled with a collection of rare cicada shells. Because one cicada shell is not enough.... I am not sure what the flags correspond to. Perhaps places he has visited. The Skullmaster is only in his office once a week and I keep forgetting to ask him. I have been thinking about buying a human skeleton (not real, a good fake) and sprinkling the bones in with his collection. How long will it take for him to notice? The last picture is one I like to call "Three mongols on the side of a small mountain/large hill with a beast." Notice the darkish hair on the MM. This is due to the black crap that got sprayed in his hair at camp so he could pretend to be a Beatle in a skit. (Whatever you do, now is not the time to sing "Yellow Submarine" at me in a really bad Brittish accent. Ugh.) For some reason, my kids are always coming home from camp with stuff in their hair. Last Friday, it was red stuff. Earlier in the week, a counselor decided to put gel in the YM's hair. Why? She just liked playing with his hair. Gee, thanks. If he liked to wash his hair, it would not be such a big deal. At this point in time, the YM does not see the equation of "crap in hair = washing hair that night" so it is always a surprise when I insist upon it. Last week, the YM decided to cut his hair. He took a pair of scissors and cut his bangs back pretty seriously. And of course, he did not do it in the bathroom. I found blonde curls on the floor of several rooms and basically followed the trail to find that it was him. Now when he goes swimming he looks like he has a Jheri curl mullet. |
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