Cards

 I just gave my father-in-law two more percocets, two stool softeners, one dilaudid and a substantial serving of New England clam chowder, being careful not to inhale the steam billowing from the bowl. He insists on walking from bed to bathroom even though his mind is clouded and his legs are stiffened. The results of his bone scans were dismal. There are lesions in his skull, hips, arms and legs. He sees an oncologist on Wednesday. Until then, or until some sort of treatment is started, we just keep track of when he needs more narcotics. The pain comes on quickly and is intense but if meds are administered systematically, can be kept at bay. This sounds so clinical. I feel clinical. Can that be a feeling? I just made it one. Emotions rise like a tsunami and level those around me and I remain stoic. It is seen as lacking compassion perhaps, but that is not true. I am not numb. Far from it. My mind's voice screams, my body buzzes with nervous electricity causing me to pace and think and pace well beyond the eyes of others. This is how I cope. I find solace speaking with my mom. I don't burden her with everything although I know she'd not judge because I understand a mother's love. She knows struggle. Underneath the good-natured sweetness lies a strong woman. She has been through this, and more. She says, "you just gotta deal with what life throws at you. You just handle it." These are not very specific instructions, but I can figure it out. For now, I deal.