A Case of the Weirds

Just last night, I returned from Arkansas where I had traveled to spend time with my family. Here's what I learned:

Dad decided against the brain biopsy and any invasive treatment. His decision is understandable given the doctor could only promise a poor quality of life and maybe an extra six months of life if he pursued biopsy, radiation, and what not. Because of swelling in the brain, dad was given high dosages of steroids to reduce edema. However, the steroids threw his insulin production out of whack; so his blood sugar levels are high. This is the sole reason he remains in the hospital. The doctor is trying to find a dosing regimen of diabetic medicine to stabilize his blood sugar levels . . . without dad having to receive insulin shots at home. Hopefully, this will be resolved within two or three days. When he is released, he will be on hospice. His case manager has been by at least a couple of times to start the process.

While I was there, two of my dad's sisters, my grandmother, and a cousin came for a visit. And my sister was there as well. We had a nice time with them, given the circumstances!

It is true, no one can prepare you for this--the terminal illness of a parent. And in my situation, the emotions are complicated by a painful relationship with my dad. When people ask how I feel, I usually say: "fine," "okay," "hanging in there," but what I really want to say is: "Weird. I feel weird." Here's what I mean . . . A good friend of mine just gave birth to a beautiful baby boy. I was thinking about the pregnancy. You find out the due date; you know approximately when the event will take place. Then for the next several months, you prepare . . . plan . . . watch the body for signs "the day" is nearing. Each day you think about the baby's arrival. You are waiting for birth. I feel the same way, except I'm waiting for death. Planning, preparing, always thinking about it, straining for signs to see if the body is close. And that is just a weird feeling. That's what I mean by weird.

Yet even in the weirdness of uncharted waters, I know I am not alone and certainly do not feel alone. God has grown kinder, bigger, and more gracious than I ever imagined. I always knew He was good, but this good is blowing my mind. And that is a great "problem" to have.