Under the wire

I can't say that I'll miss 2008. It's been a devastating year with little joy to show for it save that of the treasured last moments with Craig and Mom, getting to know Craig's friends and Emily, and reunions with extended family in between. But, before we could kick 2008 to the curb and put into press our "I hate 2008" t-shirts, ol Dad sneaked in a medical mystery of his own just under the wire.

Last Saturday, I received a call from a distressed and noticeably fatigued dad. He had spent the night under enormous pain and stomach distension--the perfect combination for midnight vomiting. He rode it out (as any dad SHOULDN'T do) despite symptoms that made him feel as if he was having a heart attack or an equally troubling ailment--poor ergonomic posture. Yes, one day carpel tunnel syndrome; the next, death. Says so in all the literature. ;0) (I couldn't help but interrupt his story and give him props for believing bad ergonomics/posture could make him feel so poor. I've clearly put the fear of human factors/ergonomics in my family. My work is done.)

In all reality, I kindly reminded him that his daughters are just a speed dial button away and he should call if ever he felt, I don't know, like he was having a heart attack! FORTUNATELY, it was only his pancreas giving him grief.

In an ironic twist of 2008, our Dad met with the very same doctor who diagnosed our Mom with her brain tumor more than one year ago. Random coincidence? Product of a smallish town? A mocking 2008? Whatever the case, the history and significance was not lost. Based on elevated enzymes, she diagnosed Dad with pancreatitis and, just as she did with Mom, ordered a battery of ultrasound/MRI tests to find the culprit.

Jill, Diane and I researched his symptoms to learn what we could to help symptom management. Regardless of condition, cause, or outcome, the process was all too familiar, all too soon. Questions of "have you talked to Mom or Craig?" were replaced with "have you talked with dad?" We called each other, relayed new information and helpful tidbits. We discussed "what this all means" in the general, specific, and indefinable terms as we had so many times before with Craig and Mom. The splitting difference was the realization that Dad is not terminally ill, and we need to do whatever we can to ensure he is healthy-to take a proactive measure rather than the familiar reactive "process". He's the only parent we have. This was his and our wake up call.

Jill drove in Sunday to help with dietary changes and other adjustments. I flew in Monday and Diane came in shortly after, after battling horrific weather leaving Denver. It was interesting to see how quickly we mobilized, ever protective of Dad just as we were Mom and Craig. Christmas Eve, Jill, Dad and I were sitting across from one another in one of the patient waiting "nooks" in the Stillwater Medical Center's MRI/Ultra Sound suite--the same one Mom visited time and time again for her periodic MRI's. The timing and detail was uncanny. Jill recounted the time when she took Mom for her MRI and the technician slammed her head--not just any part of her head, but the very sensitive surgery scar--into the machine. Jill could hear her yelp in pain, but could do little to help. Fast forward to last Tuesday to find the same technician escorting Dad back to his MRI. How the world works is sometimes funny. It's as if there aren't enough plot lines or enough cast members that we end up recycling the same characters. We'll use this technician and this family. Aaaaaand, go! Why not, it was "interesting" the first time.

Jill and I quietly cried as we remembered the details of last year. Last winter, Mom was valiantly taking in chemo, still battling her cancer. Craig was unaware he'd be next up to bat. Hard to believe what can happen in a year.

Dad walked through the doors with almost a cocky grin on his face as he declared that he had a "quarry" in his gall bladder. Gall stones. We'll take 'em! Though having gall stones is no walk in the park and we sympathize with Dad's condition and how it will impact his life, at least it's not cancer.

Dad snuck in a marble bag of gall stones under the wire to add a little last minute excitement to the year. Though he'll have his gall bladder removed at some point, suck it 2008, that's the last you'll take of the Lawlers!

~E