This I Know...

I hate flying. Let me take that back; I hate airports. You know how somethings never change? Like how one of your aunts or some relative you haven't seen in a long time still treats you like you're six sometimes even if you stand taller than they do? That's how I still think of airports. I predominately think of flying how it used to be. Everyone can go back to the gate and you don't have to take your shoes off or undergo a minor strip search to board a plane. You can carry on 2 bags no matter what and even better you get to keep that bottle of water with you too. I know this is foolish. Now I try to get to the airport at least 1.5 hours early and I try to wear shoes that can slip on and off (Thank you Richard Reid) and now if you want to quench any type of thirst on the plane or while you wait, you have to pay the ransom at some crappy news stand run by an Ethiopian all because some fool hated American culture so much they tried carrying combustible fluids in water bottles. Also, quite charmingly you can get any liquid-like or jelly confiscated because of this too. In any case due to the complexities of a post-9/11 world I always gird my loins for what has become the ordeal of travel and just on principle also check my bags. 

I had originally made this trip because I hadn't been home since Spring Break and American Airlines was running a special. By this morning, this trip had become a mad dash home to see what exactly was going on with my dad and the mysterious growth that has appeared on his upper arm. The mix of trepidation and anxiety as well as excitement on just going home and being someone's child again is an interesting combination. Talk about being a perpetual child again, you always are to your parents when you go home. What they don't realize is that the older that both of you get, something changes and first it starts with reading glasses and gray hairs and moves into "If I can just get home and see what's going on, then everything will be all right." Not that my parents are that old or even that infirm, but I guess the invincibility of youth kinda kicks in and you think that you being there can stave off or soften even the worst news. 

Being the oldest this is automatically the first thought. I needed to know what was going on, what made the doctors say that the tumor was most likely malignant, how strong would I need to be and would that mean that I would start going to doctor appointments and having to constantly monitor my dad's state of well-being. 

Like most diarists, I wonder if anyone reads this. I imagine that if they do there is a certain amount of eye-rolling and inevitably the reader must be asking themselves "Who the hell does this guy think he is?". I mean really. But in case you do read this ( Thanks!) but I know that after yesterday's post you might be wondering what's new/ or how this saga is unfolding. I love how preliminary diagnoses are so full of doubt, like breaking news, half speculation, half fact and really a good deal prediction. 

This I know...

  The mass is located on the underside of my dad's left arm, too low for it to be a lymphatic tumor. It has grown enough to put pressure on various nerve centers and leaves my dad's left arm tingling and sore. He swears Aleave is a "wonder drug".

It is a good size: 4 inches long, by 2 inches wide and 2 inches deep. If you didn't know any better it could be a fat pocket or a very distressed muscle (ironically both maladies were tested). 

According to the MRI it looks like two chicken breasts laid side by side, one slightly bigger than the other. It is the exotic growth of the tumor/ mass that has lead the doctors and radiologist believe that it's malignant rather than benign. 

My parents are going to San Antonio to a orthopedic oncologist to have the lump removed and then tested. Dad will then have surgery on his torn rotater cuff which was masking part of the pain caused by the lump. We wait another week for the result of the biopsy.

Those are the facts, still shrouded in doubt. I'm not scared tho. Now I'm just frustrated at my own impotency, and I'm chafing under the wait. I find if hard to pray for things. That seems so selfish and undeserving. Why should He listen to me? So instead I just try to be thankful for my blessings and mindful of the obstacles and the lessons that they might hold. That sounds totally more enlightened than I probably am.  My parents tho do pray, and find comfort in it. In fact I was really shocked to hear how many times they believe that prayer has helped or been completely responsible for the returned good health of many of our friends facing similar life-threatening circumstances. So if you are reading this, if you've gotten this far and if you can pray for things like good health and biblical-like cures, then you please do so, for them. I, in turn will pray thanking God for those.