There is a mental state
I strive to achieve a homeostatic state a humming a lull like those alpha wave tapes they sold in the 60's
I need to hear that in my head all day. Instead of the clanging of my thoughts and the clashing of my
wants versus what I should do need to do and the sad, bright violins from "Sunshine" so melancholy
so consistent that remind me how it is not to have anyone understand
If nothing else, I've totally learned that in life, you MUST be prepared to take these both... as they come. Roll with the punches... and the presents. I've had the dark cloud of my daddy's impending chemotherapy starting next month looming over my head. It's been tough, because I saw him battle it once (with radiation) and it didn't seem so bad... but he's older and frailer (is that a word?) so the chemo might be much more brutal than what it would be on a stronger younger specimen. I'm watching my uncle go through it now... but it's a much different case. Unfortunately, they caught his cancer very late. The preferred method of treatment for him that would have cheated death by a little longer would have been for him to remove that part of his colon, install a coloscopy bag and voila... longer life. He said... hayle no. But I guess... felt like he should try to do SOMETHING. So he's getting chemo... and it's made him sick... so sick that he's had to stop working. But I can't say that I feel bad for him... because when he IS strong enough to come visit my mom... he does so and laments over his situation while he has a Marlboro or two... or three. But he's younger and stronger... so what would it do to my Dad? I sit here and counsel other folks all the time... Fear and Faith can't cohabitate in the same body. You have to let go of your doubts and let God handle this. MUCH harder when you're looking at your father and the potential of him not making it. And I've been reluctant to hand this over to God... as if I could do more about it than he could. But finally the other day... I closed my eyes and said, God... you know what... Your will be done. I just have to know you've made me strong enough to get through what ever is coming our way.
Tonight while I sat here just ... sitting... my dad passed by the door. "Good night. How was your day?" he asked. I gave my usual answer. "So... they PSA count went from 114 to 24... and they're not going to do the chemo for me anymore." My heart leapt. REALLY? I tried not to show my excitment overtly. My whole family doesn't react well to blatant displays of emotion of any kind. He said this is a good time for him to go get other opinions, but for now, according to this doctor... he's out of the woods.
