This ones for Dougy

There’s always something going on. There’s never not anything (I am a writer). Don’t you just wish, for once, that nothing was going on. Nothing to worry about. For the last couple of months, I certainly have.

As you likely know, I have had my share of ups and downs over the last couple of years in regards to employment. If I didn’t hate my job, I was getting laid off. So when I accepted the position at NEOVIA (formerly known as NETELLER) and found that it was even better than I had imagined, I felt relieved that I could finally just enjoy life.

One of the fringe benefits of marriage is that—hopefully—you don’t need to worry about girls anymore. Well, you need to worry about one. But there’s no plural. No more dating, no more does she, doesn’t she nonsense. Similarly, when I found a great, new job I thought FINALLY! I don’t have to think about all the work that goes into whoring yourself corporately.

So there I was—on a seasonably warm November day, sitting on the boggy crapper, enjoying a good poop and breathing through my mouth relaxing in pure contentment—when I get a phone call from Dad. Just a heads up, if you didn’t think we were already, we’re going to get intimate. It turns out that mole (or whatever) that was removed from his arm a couple months ago was cancerous. Skin cancer. I handled the news like any good Soveran—strong and silent—and asked all the need to know questions I could think of. Generally, you might regard skin cancer as the most treatable of cancers, because you see it right away, but Dad’s was serious. On a scale between one and five (five being the lowest priority) Dad was a two. Not good. Not great. Which meant that he would be going in for more surgery and more tests before Christmas. And having some idea of the status of Canadian healthcare that is really saying something.

Well, that first night I was strong. I don’t mind telling you that the second day I had a big disgusting cry. Like total breakdown. No control over anything. I just flopped on Leah’s lap and let fluids flow. Boogers, drool and tears. A big salty mess. After I got that out, I decided to only worry about what I could possibly worry about. I couldn’t worry about something I had no control over and for the most part that suceeded.

Well, almost true to their word, the doctors gave us good news on the 27th. After reviewing the CT scans, they were 95% sure that the cancer had not spread to the lymph nodes. Generally, once cancer gets into the lymph nodes… well it’s not good. So that was reassuring. Then, I believe on January 1 (always one to start the New Year with a bang?) Dad went in for surgery. They removed more flesh from his arm and also biopsied (I think is the word) a lymph node to be sure it hadn’t spread.

I am happy to spread the good news that Dad is cancer free. It did not spread. And Dad is on the mend from his surgeries, which is a good thing because I have a pile of baseboards here that aren’t going to put themselves on the wall.

I am going back to enjoying life, but—if I do say so myself—a little stronger, wiser and more grey hair. Like I needed any extra help Dad. But I am glad we’ll be keeping you around. I am not sure how long I could actually be strong for.

P.S. Word to the wise, don’t call Dad, Dougy. He hates it.
P.P.S. Thanks Dad for letting me share this, but just so we’re clear—it’s my story now.