Trading places

I would give anything to put myself in Harris Room 704 right now and take the pain away from my Dad. (aka Daddy, Papa, Pops)
We have begun the second leg of this journey, the treatment.  In order to accomplish this, Dad went back into the hospital yesterday to have 2 ports installed; one in his chest and one in his skull.  What we thought would be about 2 days in the hospital has now been extended to a week. This news was not received well.  Dad loves his patio time, talking on the phone, watching the birds and yes, smoking his daggum cigarettes. This extended stay has really dampened his spirits.  
Plain and simple, nothing but the truth, last night was a hard night.  Deservedly so, Dad is frustrated.  He knows the long journey ahead.  In what part of “fair” does someone get cancer twice?  He was so amazing and strong during the first battle.  My heart breaks that he is facing this ugly disease again. It’s not fair. I know I can say it a million times and it will not change anything but I can’t stop myself.  It’s not fair.   My prayers today have shifted from not just healing but for peace and comfort and strength for Pops.  It’s selfish I know, but I want him to put up the biggest fight he has to beat this thing.  
Dad’s room has a view of the parking garage elevators and I joked with him about keeping watch on us when we leave the building at night.  Careful what you say… after a little visiting with Pops, I went out to Mom’s car to get her some clothes for today. Before it got dark of course.  I am Chicken Little.  While I was headed back to the elevators, a man in the parking garage starting speaking to me and I couldn’t understand him.  This caused him to almost get to see me go ninja on his bad self.  Here is a little lesson for you, Mr. Crazy Parking Garage Man, DO NOT TALK TO ME, especially when you are not making any sense.  Thank goodness Mom carries 500 keys on her key chain because I was about to turn that thing into a lethal weapon.  I don’t know how the pink fuzzy ball hanging on the ring would have helped, other than wiping up the man’s blood when I clobbered him with a half pound of jagged steel.  Regardless, I got into fighting position with a death grip on those keys.  That was the longest elevator ride of my life and it was just one floor.  Next time I will jump back out just as the door closes.  Lesson learned.
Julie and I did our best to keep Pops focused on the positive.  I know it must be frustrating to hear other people who are not the ones with the IV line dangling out of their arms, or the prospect of having a reservoir  to deliver chemo inserted into their skull, telling you to “hang in there, stay positive, we are praying, God is big enough” and all the other one-liners. But I want Dad to know that we believe those things.  We are trusting in the Great Physician and our faith will not be shaken.  When Julie and I left, (always best to travel in pairs when leaving the building for the night. Lesson learned) we got into her car and God spoke again through song. Playing from the speakers were the following words, “A peace that passes understanding is my song, and I sing, my hope is in You, Lord.”   I immediately turned to Julie because I knew she had  posted a link to this song on her fb during Dad’s first hospital stay and I have it first on my iPod’s God’s Playlist.  We acknowledged that this was indeed another God moment and we need to hang in there, stay positive, keep praying and claim that God is big enough.  Pops, if you are reading this, I love you and I believe in you.  Look down at that bracelet on your arm and believe, God is big enough.