My Father the Cancer Patient

What you are about to read has not been approved by my dad. So please don't talk to him about it. You can talk to me and my family, but he would rather not discuss it. If it comes up in conversation, do not mention that you read it here. Say someone else told you. In short, do not treat him any differently. He doesn't want that.

When you throw out the word "cancer," a funny thing happens. People's eyebrows go up, their heads tilt to the side, and everyone is on high alert. There's a very specific feeling that goes along with that word; a feeling of apprehension, anxiety, and fear. It's everywhere - everyone has been affected somehow by this malicious disease. As for me, it has come closer than I ever imagined it would.

Over the course of my twenty-three years, my perception of my dad's identity has been constantly developing. I have a whole list of words that fit the sentence "My father the __________." Things like...

Dad. First and foremost, he's my dad. Always has been, always will be. Sometimes he wouldn't let us do things we really wanted, but overall, I'd say he's done a pretty good job filling this role.

Professor. My dad is an instructor at Grand Rapids CC in the dental hygiene program. He's been there as long as I can remember. He uses me and my brothers as examples in his lectures and his students could probably pick us out of a lineup. Or, at least, they could have when we were younger.

Occasional Dog Lover. We never had a dog growing up because my mom and I are allergic to them. I wouldn't say that my dad is an animal person. He tolerates them and doesn't go out of his way to touch them. But when the dogs next door are outside, he'll walk to the property line and they'll run to him and he'll scratch their heads and talk to them in a baby voice. It's pretty cute.

Rescuer. About two weeks ago, I was trying to get out of the driveway at the house where I work. My little 2-wheel drive car couldn't get up the incline to the road and started sliding backward down the driveway toward their house. It was ice and slush everywhere, so my brakes were useless. I collided slo-mo with a tree, effectively destroying one of my taillights. I had no idea what to do, and whenever that happens, I call my dad. He was already on his way home, but he turned around and drove out to where I work to help me get my car out. He always keeps his cool when one of us calls him in such circumstances. And he comes to the rescue.

Fount of Common Sense. Here are some of my favorite phrases that he would shout whenever we did something dumb:
 - "Close the door! You weren't born in a barn!"
 - "Turn off the water! I have to pay for that!"
 - "Don't touch that end of the hook."
 - "Stop looking straight at the sun. Unless you want to go blind."
 - "If you don't brush your teeth, they will fall out and I will not buy you new ones."

Red Wings Fanatic. If the Red Wings are playing on TV, you can expect to find my dad on the couch downstairs in front of the big screen. The only sounds he makes are when someone scores. If it's the other team, he grits his teeth and lets out a sort of frustrated groan. If it's the Red Wings, he shouts "SCOOOOOORES!" You can literally hear it anywhere in the house. It has scared my mom and I on more than one occasion. I jump right out of my skin. Other than those two things, he doesn't make a single other sound.

Italian chef and baker. My dad loves to cook and bake. Anyone who has sampled his goods will tell you that his homemade bread, cinnamon rolls, bread sticks, and homemade pizza are the best they've ever had. He also specializes in pasta dishes, grilling, and s'mores. For catering information, call us.

Face-melting bass guitarist. When I was in high school, my dad decided that he wanted to pick up the bass. He hadn't learned to play any musical instruments when he was younger, but he was in choir and knew how to read music. One afternoon, he told my mom that he was going down to Rainbow Music to look at some guitar models, get some information, and "just see what's out there." He came home with a blue bass guitar, amp, and starter pack.  He started taking lessons from my biology teacher and playing at church, and he's been at it ever since.

Airplane enthusiast. Dad loves planes. Not flying on them, necessarily, but the planes themselves. For a while, he built and flew remote control model airplanes whose wingspans are as tall as I am. They're all hanging from the ceiling of our storeroom. He has these big books of full-page photos of planes from wars past and present. I'm pretty sure that the Smithsonian Air and Space Museum was one of his favorite stops when we went to Washington D.C. The man loves planes.

Man who thinks of fruit as a dessert. As far back as I can remember, my dad has saved his fruit for last when we eat dinner. He was always the last to finish eating, usually after my mom had started reading the devotional, savoring his fruit.

There are many other identities that my dad has. Two months ago, a new one was added.

Cancer patient.

My dad was diagnosed with a slow-growing non-aggressive form of cancer shortly before Christmas. He didn't tell me and my brothers until after the new year had started. At first I was mad about that, but then I realized that that was a smart decision, since it probably would have ruined Christmas. He told us not to tell people, that it wasn't a big deal, that he would have surgery to remove it and then we'd be done with it.

But it was a big deal. Cancer is always a big deal.

It didn't matter that they caught his cancer early, or that it was easily removable, or that he probably wouldn't  need chemo or radiation. As soon as I heard him say "I have cancer," it was all over. I remember feeling like I was in a wind tunnel, with a loud rushing sound in my ears and an inability to remain standing upright. It was just like in a movie: his mouth was moving, but I wasn't hearing his words because my own thoughts were drowning them out.

Yesterday was the day of his surgery, which went well and with no complications. He stayed the night at the hospital and came home early this afternoon. No fanfare, no carepage, no bulletin announcement. Since the beginning, my dad has wanted this whole thing kept on the down-low. He didn't want people bringing meals, or coming to pray over him, or any sort of "cancer attention." That decision was very hard for me to accept because I needed to form a support system and learn to cope with this new dimension of my dad. He was acting as if this was no big deal - the whole family was - but I couldn't handle that. I would find myself thinking, Am I blowing this out of proportion? If they're not worried about it, shouldn't I just calm down? WHY IS EVERYONE ACTING SO WEIRD?

I did end up telling a few people simply because I couldn't help it. My close friends could tell that something was wrong as soon as they asked about how my parents were. I'm sure my face gave it away every time. I'm not such a great actress sometimes. Once the "secret" was out, I always felt so much better. These were people that I could trust with my emotions and could share my burden. I knew I could count on their prayers and support and phone calls and love. I had a hard time accepting that my parents apparently didn't want this. I had an ever harder time reconciling the fact that telling was something that I needed to do, but that my parents forbade me to do.

My dad has since changed his mind about our vow of silence, but I know that he still doesn't want a lot of attention about this. So here's the gist: he's home recovering from surgery for about three weeks, he'll be back to work after GRCC's spring break, his lab reports come back in about 10 days, and he'll have more blood work done in a month. Based on the location and type of his cancer, his doctor is fairly sure that it was isolated and he most likely won't have to have further treatment. They caught it really early and he'll be back to 100% pretty soon. For all intents and purposes, the most serious part of this leg of the cancer journey is behind us.

There is, of course, always the chance that cancer will pop up somewhere else in the future, but as my dad always says, "We'll jump over that bridge when we come to it." I've laid awake at night thinking about what would happen if it grows somewhere else. That's the funny thing about cancer - you can never be 100% sure that the doctors got all of it. There's always that chance that it will come back, even after many many years of remission. It keeps you off-balance that way. It's not over 'til it's over.

So here we are. My dad has cancer, but he's okay. My family and I ask for your prayers and encouragement, but nothing more. We don't want people to bring meals or to treat us like he's on his deathbed because he isn't. The best way for you to help us is to pray for us and let us know that you're thinking of us. I repeat: no meals, no fruit baskets, no gifts, etc. It would make him feel very uncomfortable.

Thank you for reading this novel, and thank you in advance for your prayers.

What Valentine's Day Used to Be About

I promise, this will not be a post about how it sucks to be single on Valentine's Day.

I actually hadn't given much thought to Valentine's Day this year, probably because I live in a place that is not wallpapered with advertisements for events and celebrations of V-Day. Add to that the fact that I'm no longer surrounded by couples my age, and I almost forgot about it completely.

Do you remember what Valentine's Day used to be all about? When we were kids, it was all about candy, little paper cards with movie and cartoon characters on them, and parties at school. I brought some homemade cupcakes next door to my neighbors and the twins were sifting through all of the candy they got from their preschool V-Day party today. I had forgotten about this aspect of Valentine's. For kids, it's second to Halloween in terms of candy haul. Those twins were in sugar rush mode and loving every minute of it. Lilly asked me if I had gotten any candy at school today. I told her that I don't go to school right now and therefore didn't get any candy. She looked up at me with her big green eyes and said, "Anjerah (Andrea), that is so sad. I am sad for you because you don't have any candy. Do you want my necklace?" For these two, V-Day meant lots of candy and hugs and smooches from the people they love. They have no idea what "single" means and why it can be so crippling at times. I had forgotten about this simplicity of mind in the flurry of mushy Facebook statuses about boyfriends, girlfriends, spouses, and "true love" (whatever that is).

Speaking of Facebook statuses, I saw a lot of statuses about letting Jesus be your Valentine. I had mixed feelings about these. While I understand and appreciate the sentiment, it seems hollow to me. Yes, Jesus is the only person we should ever need to fulfill us, but at the same time, we were created to be relational beings; to know someone else so fully and deeply that they become a part of us. It is a very physical longing that we experience. I'll be the first to admit that it is very, very hard to feel that an invisible and intangible Jesus is filling a hole that a flesh-and-blood human being is supposed to fill. And I think that's okay. Even Jesus experienced painful human loneliness in spite of his divinity. Regardless of what this day was meant to be back in the time of Saint Valentine, we live in a culture now that places value on having someone special to be your valentine. Living counter to that culture can be both rewarding and lonely.

One person in particular has been on my mind today: my third-grade teacher. If you read back a few months, you will remember that her husband died very unexpectedly. For the first time in more than two decades, she is without her valentine. As hard as it can be to be single sometimes, it is, without a doubt, utterly crippling to miss a person you had at your side for so long. She is very close to my heart tonight, as is anyone whose valentine has been ripped away from them, no matter how long ago it happened.

I'll leave you all with a moment of levity: as I was baking those cupcakes this morning, I was listening to the radio. 105.3 HOT-FM was my station of choice, and normally I think they do a pretty good job. However, this morning they were playing a pre-recorded happy message every so often. I think their intentions were good, but hearing "From all of us at 105.3 to you, have a happy VD" made me wonder who was in charge of that little campaign.

Happy Valentine's Day, everyone.

Identity

When I first transferred to Calvin, I had to do a three-day Transfer Student Orientation the weekend before second semester classes started. From what I can tell, it was similar to the orientation that first-year students do: bonding time with your orientation group, tours, meals with faculty from your program, a service day in the community, sessions on integrating into Calvin's community, etc. Thankfully, we didn't have to do sessions on "adjusting to college life" because all of us had been college students already. 

During one of the sessions, the facilitator had us write down on slips of paper the goals we had for our time at Calvin. I don't remember what I wrote down. Probably something to do with getting a good teaching job since that was my main reason for getting my degree from Calvin. Once everyone had finished writing, the facilitator told us to trade slips with the people around us until he told us to stop. I ended up with the slip of paper  that you can see below. 

I thought it was an interesting slip for me to end up with, given that I was pretty secure in my plans for Calvin and graduation and career. I'm not sure what made me tack it to my bulletin board and keep it. Orientation was exactly three years ago, after all. However, now that I am on this side of graduation, this slip of paper perfectly sums up my life.

I know in my head what I want to do: go to Western, get a Master's Degree in School Counseling, and get a job in a school as a counselor. In my head, that is my plan. Even before starting at Western, though, I have to be accepted to their program. As far as I know, and with what others have told me, this program is not one of those highly competitive programs where hundreds apply and twenty get in. Someone who graduated from this program told me that so long as I have good grades and solid recommendations, there should be no reason to reject my application. My head knows this and believes this, but each day that passes without a letter from Western causes my heart to twist a little bit tighter.

If/when I am accepted, I won't even start classes until May. In the meantime, I don't have any major career plans. Substitute teaching, even long-term subbing, scares me. I absolutely do not like the idea of being in a different school with hundreds of different students every day. A good friend of mine is in a similar situation to mine and is subbing until her long-term sub position starts in March. She has exactly the personality that works for subbing - exuberant, friendly, extroverted, and go-with-the-flow. I have learned that I am much more comfortable with one-on-one or small groups situations. I can do one-on-thirty if I have to, like in a regular classroom, but I am so much better with individuals.

Keeping that in mind, I picked up a job as an aide for a 20-year-old young man with autism. I come to his house where he lives with his family and I spend the day helping him live his life. He is non-verbal and cognitively about 4 or 5 years old. He's capable of entertaining himself and seems to enjoy being alone from time to time, which means I don't have to hover over him. Because of his autism, though, he needs help with daily tasks like using the bathroom, making coffee, and operating his videos. It is unlike any job I have ever had. I've only worked one day with him so far, and even though it was a bit overwhelming, I felt like I did good that day. It's only a part-time job, since he goes to school during the week, which still leaves me with the dilemma of what to do during the day.

Between my job as an aide and all of my tutoring students, I average about 25 hours per week of working. I don't have much to do during the day. It's a weird situation because I will be working full-time (or more) once summer starts and that will continue once the new school year starts up. Finding a very temporary job for the next three months is proving difficult. I would like to be working more, if only to have something to do. Having graduated from a widely-known and respected institution like Calvin carries the tacit expectation that you are on your way to great things with your career and your life. Compared with lots of my fellow graduates, I am not fulfilling that tacit expectation (yet).

This feeling of un-fulfillment  began to eat away at me this past week as I spent my mornings and early afternoons at home watching TV and obsessively checking the mailbox. It's hard to find your value in a career when you haven't started one yet. Calvin places so much emphasis on "redeeming the world" - that is, changing it for the better with what you do. Is it possible to redeem the world by watching four episodes of Grey's Anatomy in a row? I feel better about myself when I'm tutoring or working with the young man with autism, but those jobs fill only a small percentage of my days right now.

I went out with my Substitute Teacher Extraordinaire friend on Friday night to catch up and swap post-graduation stories. Even though she is working almost every day, my friend admitted that she felt the same uneasiness that I feel. Even though we teacher graduates regard subbing as a professional's work, the State of Michigan doesn't. In some states, you need only 90 credit hours of college in order to sub. Annie was telling me that she knew how I felt; that working a day-to-day low-paying job was not what she expected to be doing after graduating. She brought me to a great conclusion though. I should not expect to find all of my self-worth in my work. At times like this, it would only make me feel bad. It was so refreshing to sit with her and have her remind me that I am not my work. Work is a part of me, but it does not define me. There are more important identities to hold to: child of God, daughter, sister, friend, mentor, confidante...as Annie put it, those are the identities to cling to.

So along with "different path," I add "child of God" to my list of mantras. Thank you, Annie, for reminding me of this. You da best. To the rest of you, thank you for reading.