Grasping

I am an optimist.  Sometimes to the point of naivete.

Before I began this post, I reviewed the titles of previous posts one of which was Don’t Make The Same Mistake Twice.  I don’t remember that mistake, but I find myself repeating the advice.

 

I’m trying to remain optimistic while being honest with myself – another axiom I preach.

My dad is really sick.  I’ve known if for some time during most of which he enjoyed thoroughly.  He was not in too much pain but I knew he was frail.  And then he got frail.  And frailer.  And I’ve been scared.

I hold out hope that he will get strong enough to receive more drugs with the hopes the tumors will shrink.  The lymph nodes go down.  The blood flows back through his legs so swollen they are not moved.

A part of me believed that, and I’m not sure if a part of me still does.  Would it be easier to say it’s gonna end as we always knew it would and begin the goodbye process.  Do we talk about executors and executrixes and make the five year deposit into the grandchildren’s college funds.

 

The doctor said to me, “we’re grasping at straws” before leaving.

I know my dad.  I know how strong he is.  I know he beat this before. And came out with a great quality of life.  And perhaps will just have bursts of that, but we’ll take it.  He is stable now. They did a successful procedure today and are now stopping the blood thinners.  I made him soup for tomorrow.  He’s going to get out of the ICU and into a room on another floor. My sister and cousin will come in this week.

 

And life goes on.

Whoever has the most fun wins.

 

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