What can possibly top this evening’s conversation with my parents – wherein I find out my grandmother is slowly slipping into a coma and probably won’t live much longer – except for fifteen minutes later when my dad says, “Oh. I guess I’m supposed to tell you. The doctor called. I have cancer again.”
It’s so amazing how denial works. I was still on the first part of the sentence fragment, thinking somehow “The doctor called…” has something to do with our hospital bill and why are they calling my parents? It’s great how your brain tries to find a shortcut past the reality it just got dealt. You’d think I would be used to it. It will be his third time in less than five years. Yay chemo, here we come again.
I really can’t stand the thought of my children growing up without knowing him. That is the thought that hits me over and over when I think of this disease lurking in his cells, coming up again and again. Irrational? Selfish? Well, fuck off. I just found out. A third time.
Welcome to Bummertown: Population, Me.