I got up and went for the first part, an injection.  It was simple.  I did not cry or shake.  My friend Laura drove me there and I just chattered away to her.

My family members made comments in my last post about my dad and it was really helpful.  My dad battled renal cancer for twenty years. And he did it with smiles and jokes and a tough bravery that was remarkable.  At one point, my brother had called me and told me this was it, Dad wasn’t going to make it through the weekend, the only thing keeping him here were the blood transfusions he was receiving.  My dad and I didn’t always see eye to eye but I know for my part, I always, always loved him. The disagreements are all surface stuff.  I loved my dad regardless.  I hope he loved me.  But I digress… So I called my dad the minute I hung up with my brother and told him I was coming to see him.  The whole plane trip I was sick to my stomach.  I couldn’t believe this was it.

My brother picked me up and drove me straight to the hospital from the airport.  I was nervous walking into his room but I didn’t need to be.  He was standing up! And when he saw me, he smiled and did this little dance I can only describe as a jig.  I was astounded.  But that’s my dad.  He knew how to rally.

He lived for several more months and he fought that creepy cancer to the very end.  He did not “go gentle into that good night”.  And I don’t want to either.

I have to keep raging.

I have to remind myself to have courage.  I have to be strong.

The die has been cast.  I mean, nothing is changing at this point  If the cancer has spread, there is nothing to do but fight it.  If the cancer is there, the scan will find it.  It’s already done. If it’s there, it’s there. There is no turning back and burying my head in the sand isn’t going to get me anywhere.

The only way to go is forward.

My scan is in an hour and a half.

This is crazy.