My Dad's Story

by Cathy Weeks

The Interim Before Treatment

November of 1995: Dad didn't start treatment until after the Thanksgiving Holiday (November 23rd-26th, 1995) So the two weeks between final diagnosis and beginning treatment were spent "putting our affairs in order" for lack of a better phrase. Dad didn't approach this time as if he were dying; we just had a lot to get done during that time.

Dad is a dentist. My parents are certainly comfortable, but they have few liquid assets. What were they supposed to do about the two dental assistants? How were we going to make the mortgage payments? Who was going to take care of all the orthodontics patients that needed to be seen every month? It was all such a mess. And to make matters worse, Dad would have no income for at least 1/3 of that quarter.

Fortunately, Dad qualified for disability, which helped some, and my parents decided they'd come up with "living money," somehow. They also decided to go ahead and pay the dental assistants their normal salaries; we didn't want them to get other jobs, and then have to find and train two new people when Dad got back on his feet.

Only one assistant needed to be there at a time (to answer the phone), because he did NOT want to give the impression that we were closing down. We hoped to have a practice left when Dad recovered. The two assistants alternated weeks that they came in to the office. Both women were wonderful about the whole thing, and really made an effort to make things easier on us.

We didn't tell my little brothers how serious the situation was. At the time, they were 12 and 9 years of age, and we didn't want to burden them with our adult fears. We told them Dad had cancer of course, and that things were going to be rough. We also told them that we thought Dad was going to be OK. We also answered any questions they had, as openly as we could without alarming them. There were a few nightmares, of course, but I don't think that could be avoided.

It's really amazing how a community can come together at a time like this. The owner of the bank where Dad has his office and also where my parents got all of their loans, gave us a forbearance on the mortgage. He said to stop paying on the loan until Dad was back at work. Interest would continue to accrue, but no pentalty would be assessed. He actually said that we could come see him if anything was needed. Dad told me that the bank president actually cried when we told him the news. (Now for all those cynics out there...we don't owe him *that* much money).

The outpouring of sympathy from the town was wonderful. I can't tell you how many prayer circles sent Dad cards to tell him they were including him. People offered to help us care for my brothers, so that Mom would be able to spend more time with Dad. People brought us meals. I think my family will always remain both grateful to and thankful for the town. Everyone was so unbelieveably nice. It's one of the benefits of living in a small town.

Friends just kept showing up to help. An orthodontist friend of my father from St. Louis, over two hours away from my parent's home, volunteered to come out twice a month and take care of Dad's orthodontic patients. At no charge to us. He just asked that we pay his assistants whom he brought along (this was their day off, afterall). So we had some income, due to this wonderful giving man, and hope that Dad would still have a practice to come back to when all this was over.

Mom and I scrambled to get everything ready for Dr. K's visits, getting all the patient charts handy, having Dad write out what needed to be done in each case, trying to anticipate his needs and questions.

In the meantime, I started coming home more often. My parents also asked me to bring Chris, my fiance home more often, so that they could get to know him. I think that my father secretly wanted to make sure that Chris was a good man. Even though my parents made an effort to raise me to be independant, and not "need" to always have a man around, Dad wanted to make sure that I'd have someone to take care of me.

Mom told me that she and Dad had been staying up late talking, just talking about hopes and dreams and plans for the first time since they were dating, back in 1967. It was sort of a "renewal."

Religion came up in rather strange ways during that time. For as long as I can remember, my family has been fairly un-religious. I personally was an agnostic for most of my life until a Holocaust class in college shifted me from agnosticism to athiesm.

However my father has always been religious, though in a very quiet way. He asked me to pray for him. "Just say, God, please let my Dad beat this disease," is all you need to say, he told me. I agreed, though I later teasingly said that I had changed the wording a bit. "God, if there is one, please let my Dad beat this disease....." I asked Dad if it bothered him that I considered myself an athiest. "Yes, it does, a little," he said honestly. I knew, though, that it didn't change how he felt about me.

Thanksgiving was a fine time for the family. We ate Thanksgiving dinner with some close family friends at their house. G and R have been friends of the family for years, and are wonderful, kind, giving people. G sat vigil with my mother when Dad was in surgery, and R frequently visited Dad in the hospital (all together 7 weeks). They really helped us through it. I spent the holiday at my parent's house, just talking and enjoying my family's company.

Sunday, November 26th, 1995, was the last day Dad spent at home before his treatment began. Dad had decided that he didn't want to see his hair fall out, so he decided to shave his head. It was a beautiful late afternoon, unseasonably warm, in the mid-60s outside, and we took a stool outside for Dad to sit on, and my brothers and I and Mom took turns using the clippers on Dad's hair.

It was such a bittersweet time for all of us: seeing my parents in such good spirits, and knowing that Dad might die, yet we were all enjoying each other's company so much.

Entry 4: The Treatment: Chemotherapy and Radiation.

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