Emergence from Monosyllabic Stupor

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I'm not quite sure when I'll get back to big words. Or complex sentences with internal punctuation. I'm tired. Quite tired. On too many levels.

The good news is that I am not learning the ins and outs of life at Starbucks, which means I successfully completed a major project at work. The project was exhausting, but energizing. I got to play a significant part in seeing something prominent emerge from a blank piece of paper. In a VERY short time. It's not so much, "look what I did" as "wow, it worked."

It has been a rough few weeks. There's work, but then there's that real life thing too. I've been spending a lot of energy being the protector, caretaker, advocate, etc. Don't get me wrong, it's part of what makes me tick. When Y went to the hospital, it was automatic to me that I should be there to make sure she had what she needed. And before I left each night, I wanted to be damn sure the nurses had her pain meds figured out.

But I'm tired and staying up late three weeks running because my mind is going too quickly to sleep. (In fact, I'm writing now in hopes of draining my brain of the circling thoughts likely to prevent snoozing.)

I spent much of yesterday in a panic. I'd been calling my dad for a few days and he wasn't returning my calls. Not a terribly big deal, except that I usually know when he's not going to be home and I knew he got biopsy results on Friday. I don't panic easily. After leaving a message that said, "call me within two hours or I'm driving up there to find you," he called.

He had been at the hospital getting a bone scan. Why? Well, they can't define a course of treatment until they're sure it (the now-diagnosed cancer) isn't also elsewhere. He gets results from the scan in a couple of weeks. WEEKS.

It's a brick to the side of the head -- my dad has cancer, but they don't know how much. I don't think he's scared as much as pissed. Being an engineer, he was fascinated by the full-body bone scan because he'll be able to see any past injuries, arthritis, or other damage -- hopefully none of it due to rogue cells being assholes.

Yes, prostate cancer is pretty treatable and generally slow-moving. But my brain isn't ready for that comfortable logic yet. It's just telling me my dad has cancer. And I'm both scared and pissed. And it's not often you'll see me admit either one.

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