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.
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