the Bucket List

i always thought that i would do all the incredible, exciting things that i wanted to do with my life ... you know, during my life.  i'm sure everyone thinks that.  no one imagines themself at seventy or eighty or fifty-freakin'-four, sitting in some ambiguous doctor's office, straining to hear over the buzz that fills your ears as the doctor tells you you've got a 10% chance of survival. or there's nothing left they can do.  no one plans to be weak and frail, trying to run around tying up loose ends and seeing all the things they missed when life was passing them by. 

i watched "the Bucket List" a couple of months ago and i was startled at Morgan Freeman's wife's character.  she struck me as selfish and unfeeling and i simply could not grasp why she didn't see that Freeman's character's adventuring wasn't about her.  why wasn't she more compassionate about his needs?  

talking to my dad about his plans, i guess i suddenly understand her perspective a little more now.  i get why somone else's bad news can make you feel selfish and greedy - you don't want to miss a thing, and you've already missed so much.   it makes me sad that i didn't have the immediately instictive reaction to support and cheer on my dad's own bucket list.  sure, i said all the right things.  i'm self-aware enough to know what i'm supposed to say.  but what i wanted to say?  "don't go! stay here, where we can watch you and keep you safe and catch you if you fall.  i know the doctors' keep giving us worse news, keep giving you worse news, but you keep beating it.  they keep telling you the big, bad wolf is at the door and you keep laughing in his wicked, hairy face.   so stay here, fight whatever they throw at you next, and be here.  you know, in case.   in case i ever get around to getting married, i'm gonna need you to be here, to walk me down the aisle.  in case i just need my dad."   

but, it's not about me or what i want or need.  it's about him and what he wants and what he needs to do.  whether he has weeks, months, or years left, he should be living this life, not watching it pass him by.  living passionately and fully.  we should all be doing that.  so i'm gonna get around to writing down the loose mental image of a bucket list i've had floating around in my head for the past few years.  i'll try to articulate all of the things i wanted to see and do during this life and i'm going to start doing some of them.  i'm going to do some this year, and some the next, and then some the year after that..  this is my life and it's past time i took hold and starting living it.   my dad's living his.  and WELL DONE for him.  

this journey

   they say life is not a destination, but a journey... well, if that's the case, this journey just blows.  i don't mean life, per se, just the detour my dad's been on for the last two and a half years.  i thought we had rounded the last treacherous bend and were approaching the fork in the road where our path would meet back up with the rest of the world's and ... BAM! out of nowhere, GVHD. Graft vs. Host Disease.  

   basically, the donor stem cells from the transplant are attacking the cells in my dad's body, effectively killing him.  to treat it, the doctors have to suppress the new cells, and thus, his entire new immune system, once again making him so susceptible to infection that my three-year-old daughter's runny nose could literally kill him.  

   combine that with his TTP <.thrombotic thrombocytopenic purpura.>  (say that three times fast... go ahead, i'll wait) and we've got a real mess on our hands.  the long and short of TTP is that microscopic bloodclots form, destroying red blood cells faster than the body can replace them.  he has daily blood and platelet transfusions to replenish the depleted supply, but the eventual effect here is organ destruction.   

   TTP alone has a mortality rate of 59 - 100%, even with treatment.  Chronic GVHD, in situations like my dad's, has a survival rate of only 10%.   i won't pretend to understand it all enough or be good enough at math to try and figure out what kind of chances that leaves a man that has both.  with numbers that grim, it's hard for even a suzy sunshine like myself (insert wry chuckle here) to keep the faith.  

   so... hence why i say, vehemently, cancer sucks.