It’s like a waiting game — being super sick. SUCCESS comes in small steps. OUR VISITS are becoming increasingly quiet. He enjoys being read to. Get-well cards plaster his walls. On Thursday I read one from Mary Kay Heard. “She’s such a positive force,” dad remarked. “Iola has so many good leaders.”
Waiting to feel better. Or worse.
Watching my elderly dad battle back from surgery only to learn his prostate cancer is now coursing through his bones has been a lesson in hope. Not in the sense he’s going to walk out of there, but in the sense that despite a grim prognosis, dad still has the will to live. He enjoys waking up and being engaged. He’s glad he’s alive.
For a while it was iffy. The recovery from the surgery to his spine was so difficult that we all wondered if, in hindsight, it was the best course.
Almost two months out, the reality of the diagnosis is settling in. I come and go to visit; he stays. It doesn’t get any easier, leaving dad behind.
“I walked 50 feet in the wheelchair Friday,” he boasted Saturday morning. “I think my arms are getting stronger.” By walking, he means propelling the chair.
When it comes to physical prowess, pride still gets the better part of dad, even when he’s just a shadow of his former self.
He’s never really accepted aging over 88 years. It’s only recently, January in fact, that he’s begun to reassess his tennis skills.
We were watching the Australian Open from his hospital bed when he said, “My serve never came close to Novak’s,” the champion who can serve at 130 mph. The average male’s serve is 70 mph. Mind you, dad never played tennis competitively. His was more of the backyard variety.
During such conversations I keep quiet. Let him boast. Heck, he could work me into the ground any day.
Dad spent his life discerning the truth. Once again, he hit the mark. But, it takes one to know one.
Success metrics change with age or infirmities
