Phone Call

I got a surprise phone call this afternoon.  Not the good kind of surprise.

The kind of surprise where your dad says "How are you today?" with a strange sort of inflection that makes you wonder, "Does my dad think today is a bad day for me for some reason?"  So you say that you are doing ok, and wonder why, exactly, your dad thinks it might be a bad day for you.  Does he know you are coming down with a cold?  Is this some sort of "Joel-versary" that you have forgotten about?

Then your dad goes on to say the words "I'm calling you from the hospital.  I just had blood work done...."

And that is when your heart slowly sinks as you realize that it is going to be THAT phone call.  That phone call that you have been expecting and ignoring the expectation of, for awhile.  But now, again, the day has come.  Again, the day has come, and there is no more time for you.

And you listen quietly as your dad tells you that his leukemia is back, for the third time.

It would be so easy to fall into self-pity.  It would be so easy to say "Why can't I get a BREAK??   Why can't I get more than a few months in between all the bad news?"  And more significantly "What is God DOING to me?"

Or to feel, more subtly, that no one has it as bad as you do.  You win the bad year award, hands down.  What, exactly, that gets you, I don't know.  Maybe at least a plaque?

The truth is, though, that this last year was clearly a gift from God.  It was a miracle that my dad recovered last year, from his almost death due to a combination of leukemia and chemotherapy complications.  It was amazing that he recovered, that he recovered so well, and that he remained around for Joel's decline and death and funeral.  That was what I asked God for last year, when my dad was so sick.  I said "Please don't make me bury my son with out my dad there to support me."

Of course, maybe I should have asked for a bit more!  I got an (almost) extra year with my dad in good health, perhaps I should have asked for at least two.  I say that tongue in cheek.  I really feel a lot of gratitude for the unexpected gift I got in having another year.

Hearing that my dad's leukemia had return, in fact, knocked the legs out from me a bit.  I know I am having a hard time grasping how serious this is.  I just don't want to believe for a second that by this time next year I will be planting flowers at two graves, side by side.  Or maybe even that in just a few months I will be attending another funeral, right beside where my son's body lies.  It doesn't seem real.  How can I believe something so heart rending?

There are three choices my dad can make.  He can refuse treatment.  This means his life will be measured in weeks.  This leukemia moves that fast. 

He can go for high dose chemo.  The last time he did high dose chemo he came away with heart damage and almost died, it took so long for his body to recover enough to make platelets and neutrophils.  His doctor said he has about a 35% chance of surviving the chemo.  If he doesn't survive it, it could mean he goes into hospital tomorrow, and never comes back out...  And then, who knows if or how long it will work, as this is the second time, after treatment, it has returned.

And he can go for low dose chemo.  This chemo would not make him as sick.  He could be an out patient and be at home most of the time.  There is a very small chance he could get a remission from this low dose chemo treatment.  It's a pretty small chance, as even with two high dose treatments, the leukemia still keeps coming back... I don't think anyone feels to hopeful about that.  But the low dose chemo would keep give him more time, and more importantly, it would give him more of the better time, before eventually, the leukemia really takes hold of him.

Frankly, none of the options look that great, though I think he's going to opt for the low dose chemo.  I don't want my dad to die, and if he has to, then I'm not that crazy about the leukemia part.  There really are not that many "nice" ways to die...  At home, in your sleep, at the ripe old age of 95, is generally preferred.  But lots of people don't get that.

I really wish my dad could have had that.  My memories of how sick he really was last time have dimmed very little.  My memories of watching my son slowly die over a few days have not dimmed at all, but they are hard to think of.  And thinking of my father slowly dying this way is not pleasant.  So please pray for us...

I want my son.  I can not have him right now.  I want my dad.  It seems that I can not have him much longer either.  I want my God.  I am glad, that Him I can have, and no one can take that away from me.