Joy

Dad's side has been hurting. He assumed it was cancer related. When he started his treatment on Monday, he did well - except for the constant pain in his side. It continued to get worse. This morning, I took him to the oncology department where they were unable to diagnose him. They supposed it was a hernia and scheduled an appointment for him at three that afternoon with radiology. He already had an appointment to remove his pump in the afternoon, so my day was spent taking Dad back and forth from the hospital to someone's house. 

He was not pleased to discover he might have a hernia. 

"I won't be able to do books or stamps anymore," he grumbled. 

"You'll just have to find joy in something else," I said, trying to keep the conversation light. I knew how much this realization pained him. He loves his book and stamp businesses.  

"There's no joy in my life anymore," he retorted. Realizing how insensitive that must have sounded, he paused and then said, "Except for you and your boys. You bring me plenty of joy." 

I let it slide, mentally adding it to the lengthy "Grumpy Old Man Tax" I'll present Dad with when I finally have to leave. (A joke, I promise.) This whole ordeal must be awful. To have throat cancer and rapid weight loss and now a possible hernia on top of it. No wonder Dad's not feeling joy. It's a wonder Dad's able to get himself out of bed in the mornings. 

And the final blow? The moment I bring up the topic of a feeding tube. Dad vehemently opposed it several weeks ago when his doctor first suggested it; however, the option needs to be brought up again. He's simply not getting enough calories to sustain him and I'm worried if he loses any more weight they will have to hospitalize him. That, combined with all the other problems he's facing right now, would deliver the final, crushing punch to his joy.



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