30 days...

One of the things that I'll always be thankful for is that my parents were in Newport for the entire month of February. Nearly every day after Madeline was born, dad could be found holding his granddaughter and just looking at her.

It is one of the most beautiful things I've ever witnessed.

When I am in Beaverton, mom and dad always include Madeline and I in their trip to the doctor. This past Monday we all went to see dad's primary care physician, Dr. Ray. This was a follow-up appointment to dad's hospital stay in California. The first shock of the day was seeing dad walk out of the bathroom with his clothes on (prior to Monday I had only seen dad on the couch under blankets). It was noticeable that he had lost more weight by the way his clothes were hanging on him. The second shock of the day was when we were at Dr. Ray's office and he removed his shirt so that she could take a look at his chest and listen to his lungs & heart. I was blown away by how frail my dad really looks. In addition, you can see a lump on his left breast where the tumor is pushing through.

Seeing dad's chest was heartbreaking. Even though I knew he was smaller and frail, I still had this picture of my dad in my head from when I was a kid. This man who may only be 5 foot 1, but who had really strong pectoral muscles and strong arms. I was saddened by the reality of what's really going on with him. For the first time, I was seeing the firsthand the results of his cancer.

Dr. Ray decided that she wanted to have some x-rays taken and she'd be contacting the hospital in Southern California that he was admitted to for his CT scans from down there. Coincidentally, Suzanne was getting off of work early because of a low patient census so she said she'd stop by Dr. Ray's office to find out the results of the x-rays. When Suzanne returned home, I could tell that she had been crying and I was immediately worried. When she walked over to me and picked up Madeline and then walked out of the room and just sobbed while holding her, I knew that the news had to be about another timeline of death. When Suzanne said, "30 days" I had that feeling all over again from last spring...confusion, despair, anger, sorrow. I didn't even know what to do with myself except just look at my mom. I couldn't even cry. The difference between this death sentence and the one we were given last year is that this time dad is much more frail therefore the 30 days is more believable.

Later in the evening, I took Madeline to my sister's house to begin her night time routine...bath, 2 stories, feeding, and then bed. When I'm done bathing her I usually play some game like peek-a-boo or we spend time "talking" to each other. That night all I could do is hold her, cry, and sway to the lullabies playing from her iPod. All I could think about was what a special baby she is...if it weren't for her then dad would not have fought his cancer the way he has. He wouldn't have done chemo or radiation. "I'm not a humanitarian" is what dad told us when his cancer doctor had talked to him about experimental treatment...well, Madeline changed all of that. Dad has wanted to see Madeline walk...he probably won't make it that long but he was able to hold his little girl...his little Sachiko. Madeline and I are staying with my sister and parents for the next 30 days and while dad doesn't do much except sleep, breath through the help of an oxygen condenser, and attempt to eat and drink, every time he sees Madeline his face lights up and he says hi and says he loves her. So, he may not see her walk and he may not give her that special tricycle that he picked out for her before she was even born, but he'll have met, held, and talked to his special grandbaby.

I've said it before and I'll say it again...I'm proud of him for fighting and I thank the Lord for EVERY day that we have with him.

Wasn't sure what to expect

Suzanne was able to get mom, dad, Steven and the RV home. Thank goodness. It's been a tense couple of weeks trying to figure out from afar how sick dad is. Madeline and I arrived to find dad asleep on the couch. Sounds like, from mom, that this is typical. Suzanne said that he pretty much stayed on the couch in the RV on the way home. He's eating little and drinking little and not doing things that he'd normally do. Not smoking and not having Suzanne change his patch. To some, the lack of cigarettes is a good thing...Suzanne even pointed out that we had wished he'd quit smoking when we first got his diagnosis (and didn't know it was terminal...that came later). Now, we just wish dad would resemble his old self.
I feel badly for my mom and my sister. They're both here and are watching dad deteriorate before their eyes. I show up with my baby, and while dad looks frail and it's clear he's different, and he perks up at the sight and sound of his Sachiko. The photo with this blog entry is a brief moment when dad was awake and happy. After this he closed his eyes and slept again.
I know over the course of the next several days, mom will open up and get emotional, but it's clear to me that she is trying to remain strong for dad. It's amazing watching her be the one that is tenderly taking care of dad...just last month, before they left in the RV, dad was the one taking care of and catering to mom. Suzanne, on the other hand, lives in a seperate house so there's more space for her to cry and be emotional. It's weird. I'm the strong one right now and consoling her. We've been blessed that dad has lived this long...a 3-6 month life expectancy after the diagnosis means that he should have died a year ago. What a gift to actually know that life is short and to know that we needed to spend every possible moment with our dad.
Tomorrow, dad's primary care physician will see him so I'm sure there will be more light to shed on what's going on. Hopefully, my sister isn't right and that dad's days are fewer than any of us is really ready for. Who will be the strong one then?

Grrrr...come home now!

So, typically I'm supportive of what my dad decides to do. Cancer is killing him and I'd really like him to know and feel like he's in control of his life, not the cancer. Well, when he and mom and dad left in their motor home for So Cal to take care of some family business down there, I did not have a good feeling about them going down there. My dad is considerably thinner and while I haven't seen it, mom and Suzanne have talked about the growing lump on his chest. It took dad a couple days longer than normal to get down to CA (I'm glad he took his time) and it seems that mom has been saying that dad has been struggling to breathe since he's been down there. We attributed some of his breathing difficulty to the dust and "stuff" around grandma's house (which they are trying to clean up...Grandma died the first part of March). Today, mom took dad to the hospital...dad has pneumonia and some other "minor" complications. He's staying the night in the hospital for observation (the hospital ran tests and there was one indicator that affected something cardiac. I'm not a medical person so a lot of the specifics go over the top of my head. Suzanne will have to clear up the specifics later on). I, personally, think it's fluid related to the cancer. I'm frustrated right now because if anything goes wrong, dad is even further away than the distance it takes me to drive from Newport to Beaverton. In a way, out of reach. I know that he feels like he's got things to take care of down in CA, but he's got a granddaughter up here. I want him coming home NOW. How do I convince him to let go of the stuff in CA and come home to be with his Sachiko? I'm frustrated and scared.

More than a year later...

Hard to believe that nearly a year to the date that we found out that dad has cancer, our little Madeline was born (February 3, 2010). As part of our family tradition of Grandpa Takano giving us Japanese names, dad gave Madeline the name of Sachiko...happiness child. The name suits her, she is happy, but it is also what she has done for our family. We are all happy because of her. Dad, who was supposed to only live 3-6 months, has clearly beaten that timeline. Once dad beat the six month mark, I began to have little life time benchmarks for him...just make it to Thanksgiving, just make it to Christmas, just make it to New Years, just make it to your birthday, just make it to your granddaughter's birth. Well, he did all that and then some (it's now May). In my mind, I still plan for the time that he may take a turn for the worse and/or die, but I no longer live in daily fear that this is dad's last day...making sure that I have paid time set aside for when I may need to be there to help with care or even just to spend time with him. I love it when I hear from my mom that he says that he'll see Madeline walk. Or, that dad has a special bike picked out for her. He clearly is planning on living and as much as I believe in the power of prayer, I also believe that there is something to be said for thinking positively. My dad has no idea how proud I am of him for putting up such a fight.

Prior to spring break (as a teacher, my calendar is based on the school year, not January to December. LOL!), Madeline and I went to visit dad. This visit coincided with a visit to Dad's cancer doctor. Once I orientated myself to the scan (it's not like an x-ray and the pictures are taken in sections which were actually "backwards"), it was overwhelming seeing dad's cancer on the screen. There it was. It suddenly occurred to me how much my dad had hidden from me in previous months. Probably a parental protection since I was pregnant and he didn't want me stressing while pregnant. But still, there it was...in a lot of places.

Following that visit, I went to see my school district superintendent and our district HR director...I already knew that I wanted to take the remainder of the school year off to be home with Madeline longer...but, I also shared with both of them that I had actually seen dad's cancer on the scan. I never doubted it was there, but it just seemed more real. In a nutshell, they both supported the fact that I needed more mommy-time and the flexibility to be with my dad as much as possible. As difficult as it was to admit to myself, I don't have the dedication to the job right now that I need in order to be a great principal. My dedication is to my daughter and my family. Fortunately, for me, the superintendent and HR director get "it" and granted me a leave of absence from being an administrator and assigned me to a 6th grade teaching position. (Note: teaching isn't easier and there's no doubt that teachers put in a tremendous amount of time and energy into what they do. But, for me, the schools in my district deserve leaders that are willing to give 110%...I'm no longer there. My family has to come first).

So, as I think back to last spring at this time, I was in Beaverton nearly every weekend with my dad...each weekend was going to be the last time I saw him. Around this time, last year, Madeline was conceived. And, I learned the most important lesson of all...I cannot let so much time go by when it comes to spending time with my family. If anything, dad's cancer has brought us closer together and it's not a gift I'm willing to waste.