That sinking feeling that there is no fixing this,
no going back.
I imagine that this is what drowning feels like,
the suffocation of fighting
against such strong forces
that will ultimately win.
We know it will get us,
but we fight anyway.
We hang on until our fingers bleed,
and our hearts cry.
We didn’t get good news at the doctor appointment on Thursday like we had hoped. The doctor told us that not only had the chemo not worked, the tumors have grown significantly. The cancer is now in his bones, and it is weakening and breaking his ribs, which is causing so much of the horrible pain he has. His pain patches were increased, as well as his morphine intake, to help control the pain. There is no sense in suffering more than he already is.
We have decided to go with hospice care to help support us until it is his time to go. Nurses will come in periodically and are available 24 hours if we should need.
I am scared, like I said before. I am scared, but that doesn’t change the fact that he is ready. That is the only comforting part. He does not seem to be scared, just more ready to be done with the pain. Two different priests came, two of his favorites. I think he is at peace with dying, and both priests, Father Tim and Father Peter, helped him in a way that maybe I don’t understand.
So yes, we are on a different course now, one we knew we would have to take eventually but not this soon. Please keep my dad in your thoughts and hope for the least amount of pain possible for him.
I am sure most of us have a list of things that, if we could, we would change or do differently the second time around, or appreciate a little bit more. They say hindsight is 20/20, right? I have been trying to be better at soaking in the good moments and taking every single chance to make every minute a good one.
I don’t let my injury/paralysis stop me from doing what I want most of the time. I’ve been swimming. I rode a rollercoaster (probably never do that again, but hey I can say I tried). I ride in the Arctic Cat. We’re talking maybe about skiing next year (I’m not so sure snow will ever, ever, ever be my thing). But the thing I miss most about moving my legs is running. So simple, I know, but man, it was my way of relaxing. I miss that jelly-filled muscle ache of finishing a good long run. Of all things, I miss that most.
Things I miss:
+ running (duh)
+ the simple freedom of high school. It was so easy.
+ a valid reason to buy office supplies (now I just justify it as art?)
+ summers that didn’t seem to want us to overheat
+ not having bills (this adult thing is lame sometimes)
+ Rusty – best dog ever
+ my invincible attitude. I feel so high-strung sometimes now.
+ college. It’s where I really grew up.
+ riding bikes.
+ that silly feeling that comes in your chest when swinging too high at a playground.
Makinna is one of the prissiest, prettiest, sweetest little tomboys I know. She is witty and stubborn and super sensitive at times. She’s the girl with tap shoes on one day, and muddy cowgirl boots the next.
She turns six at the end of this week, but since her mom is working crazy overnight hours and weekend at the hospital, we celebrated early. And her princess party went off without any problems. The kids had tons of fun playing and being dressed up. They ate cake and ice cream and gorged themselves on candy and pink lemonade. So fun.
The bright tulle dresses were made by Ashley, and they are so cute! Itchy, I’m sure, but cute anyway. Pinterest FTW!
She was so embarrassed when everyone started singing.
This quote has become one of my favorites lately. It fits. It’s simple. It just about sums up things that brew inside of me perfectly. Especially the things that gather in my head at night when I am lying awake in the dark, hoping that I can fall deep enough into a sleep to ensure that the next day won’t be a complete drag at work.
Cancer is unforgiving. I never understood that before. I have known people with it. Known people who died from it. Known people who have been in remission for years. But I have never seen someone so close to me change so dramatically from it. I watch Dad change, feel good then bad, be confused and weak. I hear him quietly moan sometimes when he is in pain and refuses to admit it. And I will be honest about one thing: I am angry. Like turn-the-music-up-loud-and-SCREAM type of angry. Not that anybody deserves something so horrible, but especially not my dad. And I am scared. This is one of those things that I already know is going to break me. But on top of it all, I am hopeful. Things won’t ever really get better for Dad (maybe more comfortable but never better), but we can make them as good as they can be for the moment.
That’s all we can do.
I’m bad at this project. Really bad, especially in the sense that I haven’t even opened up my OLW binder since Dad’s cancer diagnosis.
There just doesn’t seem to be much wishing that can be done to fix cancer. I suppose I wish I had chosen the word hope because I find myself clinging to it much more these days. Hope is the same kind of uplifting word, but it fits my situation much better right now. It gives me a bit more comfort and calm.
One Little Word is done for me right now. I can’t concentrate on it. I can’t focus. And frankly, I don’t have the time or energy to worry about it. Maybe I will go through and print all the handouts and get back to it later, but for now, the wishing is halted.
Thank you for all the good thoughts and prayers that have come in also. My family appreciates them very much.
This year, this month is full of so many firsts. So I have decided that in honor of my soon-to-be-legal new last name and starting over in a way, I would make it official with a new blog.
There won’t a bunch of huge changes from http://www.carrielkoch.com besides focus of posts, maybe, and design. Starting a new blog meant that I could be more serious about what I wanted it to look like. And I could brand myself better.
I feel more myself than I think I ever have. More confident in ways. More vulnerable in others. I am scared of some things that are inevitable in my future, and excited for others that I had resigned to not ever being mine. I can’t promise that anything will be regularly posted here for a while during the difficult weeks ahead with Dad’s cancer, but it will be nice to have a cozy place here to come when I need.