Dad called this morning, excited. He'd finally had a bowel movement after a week. It was no surprise it had taken this long - he hadn't been eating well for a while now simply because it has been too difficult for him to do so. He was so pleased by this turn of events that he said, "I love you" twice during our goodbyes. Dad just doesn't do that.
He had his hernia appointment today. The doctors tried to fix it using external methods, but they couldn't because the tear was too small to shift everything around. He'll have to wait until after his chemo treatments until they can do surgery. It's unfortunate, and I'm sure Dad's disappointed, but it makes my planning a little easier. I'll be able to go home within a couple of weeks, with the intent to return before his surgery sometime in June.
Dad's always said "life is cyclical." We are born, helpless, dependent on our parents. Then we grow up and have children of our own. At some point, we become old enough that even the simplest tasks become impossible. Our bodies give out. Our children need to help us as we degrade back to an infant, complete with naps and mashed food and diaper changes.
I didn't have the full cognizance to understand this then, when I was young, a teenager. I certainly do now, now that I am a grown woman, a parent. I've wiped my kids' butts. I mashed up food for them. I helped them when they fell down. And now I'll be doing this for my parents. Perhaps I'll be lucky enough to that my kids will someday do the same for me.
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