We took Dad for a champagne tea at a posh hotel today. It’s his 86th birthday and he looked healthy and happy. It was hard to comprehend that tomorrow he starts chemotherapy, which will leave him feeling washed out, possibly nauseous and certainly sicker than he’s felt in a while.
Still, we didn’t linger much on what’s to come. The gathering felt like a snapshot in time to be cherished. There’s a chance that Dad won’t be around to celebrate his 87th, so today was really about making the most of the here and now.
The champagne was cold and crisp, the scones heavenly and we were easily the loudest table in the rather genteel establishment. I wish the moment could have lasted longer, but time has a habit of slipping through your fingers.
I am up at 6.45am as Dad has an early appointment in the chemo dept. There’s a kind of debrief before the treatment starts. I feel nervous. Friends of mine who have had chemo say it is ghastly. Hair loss, strange tastes in the mouth, numb fingertips, exhaustion, vomiting…it is not a barrel of laughs. Dad is 86 and this time last year he was laid up with a broken neck. How will he cope with the ravages of chemo?
I guess there is no point in worrying about the what’s to come. I can’t control it so will have to go with the flow. Like all journeys, we have to take it one step at a time, but in this instance, I hope it takes longer than expected to reach the final destination.
The universe is right behind me.