- Faithy, the teensy and adorable daughter of some long time friends of ours, already suffering from cerebral palsy, is diagnosed with a brain tumor. I already bitched about that. Fuck life. I'm stabbing life right in the fucking face next time it gets near me.
- Ray, a guy who was very involved in my high school band program, died. He was one of my mom's best friends back when we lived in that town. I loved him to pieces. He didn't just keep his mouth shut on that one school trip where we broke out after curfew and went to Hard Rock Cafe; he went with us. Bonus points: I think he died from the same form of cancer my dad has.
- Wifezilla gets a call from Faithy's mom. Tommy, a long-time friend of wifezilla's, had been home alone with the kids for a few days while her husband was out of town on business. When grandma couldn't get her on the phone for a few days, she got scared and called the sheriff's office. They broke the door open to find her on her bed, having passed away in her sleep. Nobody knows why. She was younger than me.
- I get a call from Luke, who's been a friend for so long I can no longer think of him as anything other than family. He's supposed to be getting married at the beginning of September, but now it's being postponed. His fiancee has a tumor, which has to be removed. Fortunately, the tumor is benign and the procedure is very low risk. But she's not allowed to do anything stressful for six weeks after the surgery, so the wedding has to be postponed.
- I get a call from Mona, who I've known since I was 13. It's weird to think that someone you occasionally go years without speaking to could be such a close friend, but Mona knows me better than almost anyone. It's one of those relationships without any hangups, where you go ages without contact, and then pick up without missing a beat, and without worrying when the next time you'll meet is going to be. Her dad has been fighting cancer for a while. It suddenly exploded throughout his body, and he lost the fight, as we all seem to eventually do. He passed away on Saturday. I think she was tired of talking about her dad. We talked for ours and covered just about everything but that.
- I get a call from wifezilla. Her dad, who's in town for the week, noticed a lump on his neck yesterday, and scheduled an appointment with our general practitioner. He didn't like the looks of it, and sent him for an ultrasound. They found that the lump is six centimeters in diameter, and scheduled a CAT scan and a biopsy. Wifezilla is freaking the fuck out. Grampa is playing it lower key around her, but is worrying just as much. He's already shuffling money around so wifezilla can get it "in case of the worst."
Those of you who know me, save yourselves. I'm clearly an albatross hanging around your neck.
5 comments:
Well shit. Makes my problems seem small.
We need booze.
Life is a fucking bitch. She already hates me, and me stabbing her in the fucking face isn't going to improve relations much. You guys should probably distance yourselves so she doesn't take you down, too. She's clearly fucking with me through my friends.
Stop that. You are a blessing unto us all. It has to do with the laying on of hands.
Now lay your hands on me. Lower.
My father in law went to the emergency room today because the lump on his neck was bothering him. My wife called me up on the verge of tears around 4:00 today, because he'd been gone for hours, and he wasn't answering his phone, and she didn't know which hospital he'd gone to.
I guessed the right hospital on my first try. The lady who answered the phone confirmed that he was down there. So, off into my car, and I drove down to meet him.
He was talking to the doctor when I got down there. I asked if he was okay, which he confirmed, if a little half-heartedly. I started to leave the room so he and the doctor could discuss things privately, but they both dropped hints on me to stay. Guess he wanted some company around.
The doctor seemed to lean toward thinking the lump is not cancer, though they can't be sure until they've done a biopsy, of course.
The lump's gotta come out, sayeth the doctor. Grampa, naturally, will be in no shape to drive afterwards, and needs someone to drive him home and care for him.
His girlfriend is out of town for a while for health reasons of her own, so he doesn't have anyone to help him out. I told him to put that out of his mind, because we, of course, would help in any way we needed, and be wherever he needed us.
He decided to schedule the surgery up here instead of having us drive down to his place. The doctor checked his schedule, and found that he had time for it tomorrow.
Sooner the better for these kinds of things, says I. Less time to sit and dwell on it.
So the family's still a little freaked. I'll be down at the hospital all day tomorrow. Least I'll get some reading done.
What did I tell you guys? Albatross.
I talked to Luke last night.
The dillyo: his fiancee had the mass removed. It was 1 stage away from being cancerous. Non-cancerous, yay! Unfortunately, there's a slight chance that it might come back, and if it does, it will count as a pre-existing condition under his insurance, and so they won't cover it. If she goes two checkups with no sign of recurrence, it's considered gone officially, and if it ever comes back after that, it'll count as a brand spanking new thing that his insurance will cover.
So they have to hold off on getting married for six months or so, just to be on the safe side.
I was bitching about shit getting in the way of them getting married and him adopting the kids, and he told me that he looks at it thus:
She had been putting off the exam. She only went and got the exam to get the wedding license. The mass was one stage from being cancerous, and thanks to the preparations for the wedding, they got it before then. He's not going anywhere, and now they know she's gonna be around for him and the kids, so fuck it... they'll do it six months later.
All a matter of perspective, I guess. Lesson learned.
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