Some of you may remember that my dad has cancer. He almost sailed through the six weeks of chemo and radiation until a blood clot popped up in his jugular vein the day after all that fun ended. We thought that meant a postponement of surgery. Turns out, nope.
Last week, after a couple of months of Dad turning down my offers to join him on the 4-hour jaunt to the Mayo Clinic in Minnesota, he finally said, "Yes." So Wednesday we enjoyed a beautiful drive north only to learn, "Dude. Surgery is so on." This threw both Dad and I for a loop. "Are you kidding? What about this blood clot? The one that hasn't moved, or shrunk all that much." Despite taking a blood thinner daily for the last month, during our meeting in the Thrombophilia (I just love that word) Clinic, we learned that his blood hadn't thinned much at all. Given that surgery was a 'go,' Dad was given 4 pre-filled syringes of blood thinner, shown how to give it to himself and told, "See you next week!"
So now it's next week. He went up tonight for tomorrow's day-long pre-op stuff while I head up tomorrow afternoon. And then he goes under on Tuesday when the docs will remove about 6 inches of esophagus and pull up the stomach in its place. And I'm there for the duration, which could be 3 days or as many as 7 or more. I've never left Marty or the kids without knowing when I'd return. And I'm nervous but thankful that I can be a tiny bit supportive, but it's freaky, no denying it.
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Wanna rub my belly!