I Can Barely Take Care Of Myself

I am selfish.  I'm worried about having to take care of Daddy, and then Mama if she gets sick.  I can barely take care of myself.  If something happened to me, if I couldn't play, if I got hurt - I'd be lost.  I'd have to find something else.  But I can't support my parents.  I can't even support myself.  - Miranda, February 2007

At 25 years old, Annette and Frances were worrying about their children.  I was worrying about my parents.  

Daddy was somewhere in the middle of his radiation treatments when I wrote this entry.  His first round of tumors responded well to chemo, but when the brain tumors showed up, he had to do a round of targeted radiation, which required him to stay for a month in Tampa.  He was staying at a 'Skilled Nursing Facility' that was just awful.  The brain tumors made it difficult for him to walk, and since the 'Facility' didn't have bathrooms in each room, he had to walk down the hall to get to the bathroom.  Well, that didn't go very well.  The staff made him wear diapers, in case he couldn't make it in time.  That happened during one of my visits.  I think that was the first time I ever changed a diaper.  And it was my dad's.

Being a caretaker is such a huge job.  Daddy had so many people helping him, but it always felt like the big tasks fell to his children.  At 25 years old, while my friends were planning weddings and tracking their ovulation, I was helping my dad use a portable urinal.  I couldn't even think about children.  It's like my brain just couldn't process the thought.  The only references I found in my journals were more along the lines of "If I never find someone and have kids, who is going to take care of me?!"

It seems like people always have opinions about a woman's reproductive status.  No one ever really knows what people go through, or what struggles they endure.  No one knows their past experiences.  No one knows their current situation.  We are all just doing the best we can - making the best choices we can at the time.  And hoping it all works out.   

I Don't Want Him To Be Scared

Trying to keep my regular life going.  Worked today, went to the gym, practiced 1 hour.

But Daddy is dying.

All that work and planning for Assisted Living facilities, budget, disability, social security.  Now the cancer is back.  And here are the options:

1 - no treatment - die soon

2 - methotrexate into spine - 3-4 months

3 - port into his brain to do smaller doses of methotrexate - 3-4 months

I just want him to talk about it.  I'm scared he won't be ready for death.  But he has never dealt with the reality of his body.  I don't want him to be scared.  I don't want him to be alone.  He's in denial or maintaining hope.  I want someone to tell me how to deal with this.  I'm angry.  I get angry at people.  And I'm angry with God.  It's not fair.

Look at me, trying to tell a dying man how to feel about death.  I just don't want him to be scared.  to be afraid until the very end.  - Miranda, July 2007 

I had just turned 26.  This was my dad's third round of cancer.  Tumors on his adrenal glands were treated with chemotherapy.  The metastasized brain tumors brought rounds of radiation.  During all those treatments, I was handling his finances - making sure bills were paid, etc.  My brother, sister, and I were looking at facilities for my dad, because he could barely walk and was becoming increasingly blind.  I learned all about different chemo drugs, ports, radiation masks - information I wish I never had to learn.  I wish that no one had to learn about that.  I was trying to live my life, just like anyone else, but I was also a caretaker.  Emotions came in waves, or all at once.  Reading (and writing) this makes me cry.  I don't really remember much from that time in my life.  Grief is a funny thing.  The things I remember are the simple ones, like a stranger holding the door for me at a store.  You never really know what someone else is going through.  Patience and kindness can sometimes do more for someone than we will ever know.