Daughter Debra

            "The Big C."  As an ICU (Intensive Care Unit for those of you who don’t hang around hospitals much)  RN, I had taken care of numerous patients who were fighting cancer.  Some were winning, and some were losing the fight.  I knew how serious cancer could be, especially since it appears to run rampant in my family, hitting my loved ones as they approach the beginning of their "golden years."  I never thought, however, that my father, at such a young age, would be diagnosed with cancer.  He always ate healthier foods (with the exception of an occasional bag of Oreo's shared with his long-time buddy, John).  He exercised regularly, was a wonderful man, and was loved by everyone he met.  So why, I wondered, would he be stricken by a disease that has killed so many people?  The answer finally has hit me. . .he has won the fight against cancer to serve as an example to everyone else out there.  Never did I see my father lose his optimism.  Never did I see him contemplate giving up the fight.  Even when the skin on his neck was less supple than hard leather, with his earlobe bleeding from the dryness caused by his radiation treatments, did he ever lose his sense of humor.

            I can remember the call from Dad.  The man who had always been a rock in my life was telling me that he had cancer at the base of his tongue, with involvement in the lymph nodes in his neck.  The nurse in me began thinking of the dismal prognosis that would leave him.  The daughter in me wept with anger and sadness, praying that my father would beat the odds and be with all of us for many years to come.  The chemotherapy began, leaving Dad gradually more weakened with every session.  I flew, from my home in Wisconsin to see him in New Hampshire, as often as I could.  My husband, stepson, and I visited during the summer, trying to fit in as much fun time and memories as we could.  I still marvel with the thought of Dad spending an entire day fishing in the Atlantic Ocean with us.  I know it is a day he will never forget, either.  Dad looked great.  He was able to kayak on the lake with us, to enjoy going to the movies, and to paint the bedroom in his house with the help of my stepson.  To the untrained eye, he was the same as before the chemo.  But. . .the nurse in me saw the weight loss, saw his decreased strength, and knew that this was just the tip of the iceberg.

            Then came the radiation/chemotherapy.  Five days a week, Dad was subjected to radiation therapy.  The tender skin of his neck and shoulder were subjected to intense beams of radiation.  His skin became taught, tender, reddened.  He looked like he had the worst sunburn in the history of mankind.  And, he said, his mouth felt even worse that his neck looked.  Much to the surprise of everyone, he continued to eat food, although his primary caloric intake came from the tube feedings he consumed through his feeding tube.  My always fair-skinned father became even paler to my eyes, especially in contrast to the reddened skin of his neck.  But he continued to remain positive, and the radiation finally came to an end. 

            Dad's well on his way to recovery.  A surgery to remove the lymph nodes on the left side of his neck has been his only setback.  Christmas, this year, brings a new sense of joy and rejoicing.  Dad's going to be with us for a long time.  He's fought a long, hard battle against "The Big C."  He's come out of it with a few battle scars, wacky taste buds, and that eternal optimism.  I thank God every day that He has spared my father. 

            I know that there are many people in this world who will die every day from cancer and that there are people diagnosed with cancer every single day.  I hope that my father's fight against it will serve as a shining example to all.  Cancer can be fought.  Keep your heart, mind, and soul positive, and maybe the blackness of the cancer won't find a way to grow inside of you.