This week has been a bit... rocky, to say the least. Things all started off just wonderfully. I spent a quiet Friday evening in, cuddling with my cute husband and Saturday we decorated our Christmas tree to the tune of John Denver and the Muppets A Christmas Together, a holiday tradition that goes back as far as I can remember. Just as we were finishing up our decorating and moving on to cleaning the kitchen, the house phone rang. Since I never answer the house phone (in my defense, it's ALWAYS telemarketers or wrong numbers), Colby made a mad dash to pick up the receiver.
It was my parents. Just calling to catch up.
And to let us know that my dad had been to the doctor that day and they had discovered that the small growth on his lung was cancer.
Of course, I melted down. My dad is superhuman. Immortal. Everlasting. Silly things like cancer don't have any effect on people like my dad.
So, once I recovered from my crying spell, I tearfully asked Colby if we could go to Coldstone. And of course he said yes. Because on top of being cute, he is also incredibly kind.
We returned from Coldstone with three containers of ice cream, and I downed as much of it as I could before settling onto the couch with a bottle of red wine.
The week progressed fairly normally from there. Sunday I wrote a paper, Monday I went to work, today I went to work, and on the way home, I called my parents to see how my dad's follow up appointment went.
And as it turns out, they were just kind of kidding about that whole cancer thing, sorry guys, Merry Christmas! Rather than a small spot of lung cancer, what my father actually has is a carcinoid, a fairly rare, but non-malignant tumor that pops up on various organs from time to time. He'll still have to have it removed, but at the moment it appears that this means no chemo and no radiation, which honestly, from what we experienced with my mother is the most nightmarish portion of a cancer diagnosis.
I can't help but be a little upset that my family and some of our friends had to spend three days thinking that my dad had lung cancer, but in the long run, this really is a phenomenal Christmas present. Though it's kind of along the lines of someone telling you they're going to shoot you in the knee then instead kicking you in the stomach. Yes, certainly miles better than a gunshot wound, but you're still getting a foot in the gut. Maybe this is a new medical approach, diagnose everyone with a fatal disease, then bask in their gratefulness when you let them know you got it a bit wrong.
Now we wait, I suppose. My dad still has to go through some tests and be poked and prodded a bit more, but for now, it seems as though we're in the clear.
Colby is in Alaska right now, doing some sort of Air Force business, but he should be back on Friday, just in time to commence the one week countdown to the celebration of my birth. I'd gotten quite used to having him around this past month, so the quietness and lack of a cuddle partner has been hard to adjust to once more. But thanks to those of you who have been sending me all kinds of prayers and positive thoughts over the internet and phone lines. Clearly, you've worked some kind of Christmas miracle, and for that, you're all stars in my book.
