It's Baaaaaack

First, a disclaimer.  I've been riposting hardship with humor for as long as I can remember.  It's my healthiest coping mechanism and I've managed to defuse some gnarly situations with it.  I've even managed to find the humor in cancer and chemotherapy.  I can usually step back and look at the human condition and point and laugh at the insanity of it all.  But I don't think this post is going to be funny at all.  More Melpomene; less Thalia.

On the bank of the Delaware River (not pictured: Melpomene, Thalia)

Today (Thursday, April 6) my kids fly to Disney World.  Many months ago, my mom and her good friends Helen & Erik decided it was time for a joint family trip to Disney.  All the grandkids on both sides would go, along with parents and of course grandparents (Mom, Helen & Erik).  It was going to be a three-generation, epic journey to the Mouse House.  The trip was planned out in excruciating detail (as Disney vacations must be) and all that was left was to pay for the airfare and accommodations.

Then Stage IV Rectal Cancer shows up and ruins the party.  So while my kids are flying to the Magic Kingdom with their Mum-mum, their cousin Henry, and assorted friends and relatives, I will be getting a flexible sigmoidoscopy.  Next Monday starts Round 3 of chemotherapy and my kids will be having a character breakfast or training as Jedi or who knows what.  Melissa will be with me; driving me to the scope and working all next week to make up for lost income.

When I'm in a good place, I am overjoyed at all they're going to see and do.  I'm very lucky to have family and friends that I trust enough to take my kids a thousand miles away.  My oldest is 10 and she might be a little jaded, but the two Littles are 6 and 7 and will definitely be awestruck.  I wish I could see it.

When I'm not in a good place, I can't find the humor.  I can't focus on their joy, just the fact that I'll miss it.  I try to think of going with them in a year or two, but I have a hard time ignoring the statistics.  If you're feeling particularly morbid, here's a calculator that tells you the odds of survival for Stage 4 rectal cancer.  Don't forget to select "Radical Surgery".  The doctors keep telling me that I'm going to beat it, but math is ruthless.

I went snowboarding with my oldest daughter 3 weeks ago despite the cold sensitivity and the nasty taste and the exhaustion.  I went because I had promised and I knew that I might not be able to keep that promise if I put it off.  I went because there is a very real chance that I won't be around to ski next year, or any year after that.  I was exhausted and sick for days afterwards.  I still have a cough.  But I got to spend a great day on the slopes and I was there when she took her first double-black diamond.

Did I mention that today is my youngest's birthday?  I'm not going to see her because the group stayed at the airport Marriott last night to facilitate catching an early flight.  She's turning 6.  I've been coaching her for weeks to tell every flight attendant, pilot and concierge she sees today that it's her birthday.  I expect the little scamp to have a bag full of loot by the end of the day.

The Little Scamp

I keep coming back to it.  My kids are headed to Disney without me.  The joy and wonder on their faces.  The exhausted collapse at the end of the day.  The rapid-fire recap of everything I might've missed "Dad! Dad! Dad! Dad!  Didja see!?"  I'm going to experience my children's trip to Disney filtered through cell phone photos, distracted FaceTime calls at night and second-hand retellings of their adventures.

Since I first went to the doctor for my GI symptoms, the onslaught has been relentless.  First I needed a colonoscopy.  Then I had cancer.  The CT was bad.  The MRIs were worse.  The PET showed that it wasn't Stage 3, it was Stage 4.  My paycheck was misplaced.  My basement is flooded.  Someone cut in front of me at Lowe's.  I spilled my lemonade.  I banged my shin.

Ok, some of those things have had more of an impact than others.

Since this started, I've gotten exactly one test result that wasn't Bad News: genetic analysis of the tumor shows that I don't have a syndrome that predisposes me to cancer.  This is what counts as a victory these days.  I need a win and I just can't seem to get one.  Yesterday, I spooked a robin that had built its nest on the light fixture outside my front door.  There's an egg in the nest but mom hasn't shown back up.  I murdered a baby robin by terrorizing its mom.  Welcome to my world.  It's been like this since the end of February and the earliest it might end is late September.

I really want to wrap this up with a light-hearted, self-deferential joke that eases some of the pain I'm feeling and I've inflicted... but I can't.  I don't have any jokes today.  My children are going to Disney without me and the odds are against me ever going with them.