surreality

Piper’s dad, my brother-in-law, has oral cancer. It’s on his tongue. It’s rare. It’s serious. It’s aggressive. It may be at stage IV already. The mortality rate is high. He’s only in his 40s. He’s never smoked. He doesn’t drink. He doesn’t chew tobacco. He doesn’t engage in the “typical” risk factors here. It’s all just surreal.

The last two weeks our lives have completely turned upside down. He is scheduled for surgery next Thursday, July 15 at 8 a.m. We’re not sure of the stage yet. If there’s lymph involvement — which is looking likely — it’s stage III or IV; he’ll need radiation.

If that happens, it will be 7 weeks of hell and that’s just the start. They will make this mask that custom fits his face and bolt him down to the table for those treatments because he is not allowed to move whatsoever. The slightest centimeter of movement means they irradiate something they don’t want to irradiate. It’s delicate and small and they just cannot let him move. He is not allowed to lose weight because it will affect the fit of the mask. He will lose teeth. Hair. Part or most of his tongue. His ability to taste, temporarily or permanently. He will have speech issues. Swallowing issues. He is a psychologist. He makes his living talking and he may not be able to talk well after this. At minimum, he will not be able to work for a few months. Because of the economy, my sister and her husband — both psychologists — have already lost a lot of clients. Things were hard before this. Elder Nephew is supposed to be heading to college in the fall. Who knows now?

I’m sorry to be such a horrible bummer, but the news over the last week has been so much worse than we all hoped for. The kids! Those kids. The boys understand a lot more than Piper, of course. She’s only 9 and they gave her a 9-year-old’s version of things. The word cancer hasn’t been on her radar as a 9 year old. They just gave her the bare minimum.

“Daddy has a growth on his tongue, Pipey, and he needs to have it taken out,” they said.

She was very serious and big-eyed.

“He might have some problems talking while he’s getting better.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. Remember when you had your tonsils taken out?”

“Yeah.”

“And you couldn’t talk too well after?”

“Yeah.”

“Well, that will happen with Daddy too.”

“Oh.”

There was a pause as she looked at her parents. Then she spoke again, her worried blue eyes on her dad’s face.

“Well, Daddy ….. do you want to borrow my little white board so you can talk to us while you get better?”

That girl. Always looking for the loving thing, the kind thing. Sweetest girl in the world. I can’t bear it.

Will you please pray, pippa? We are scared out of our minds.