The Back Roads of Life

Tonight I drove to my apartment, the snow flurries covering the road, cars cruised the highway at their lowest speed. The snow storm was here. My ears filled with Christmas music, my heart filled with grief, my eyes gushing with tears like the waves before a storm. Often unable to see the road ahead. Each song, crumbling my heart, tightening my throat, allowing every emotion, every feeling be released from my tired body. Cancer a subject of the past. The side affects sitting in my luggage, waiting for me to return to Memphis. Not really sure if tomorrow, Sunday is the right day. But what good am I Monday. For Monday is my day to face my chemo side effects one last time.

I’ve traveled to and from the hospital with Teresa since Wednesday. Some days with my infusion pump connected, pumping my chemo drugs through my system. Forbidding cancer to prevent me from seeing my dad. Taking my chances in a hospital. Teresa not thinking twice, taking this time off work to help. Each hour spent at the hospital, talking to nurses, talking to doctors, watching my father go from SICU to a “regular room” to SICU once again. Each night she and Sonia researching his condition, trying to understand what the doctors are saying or why something went wrong. Keeping the Martinez clan abreast with text message updates, thank God for them. My chemo brain in effect, my memory no good. The doctors and the nurses officially firefighters, running with extinguishers, no longer with a map…the road so far away.

Today, my father was back in SICU. (Where we thought he should not have left.) Unable to tell us who he is, who we are, where he is. Progressively getting worse since Thursday. The surgery milestones no longer milestones of concern, rather greater concerns for everything else going wrong. His blood pressure high, his heart rate low. Needing assistance to breathe. Maria receiving yet another call, “we punctured his lung, his lung has collapsed.” A result of putting in another access line to administer medication in hopes of helping his liver. Which has now endured all!

Sonia and I visited him late tonight. Emad and the kids waiting outside in the van. The snow getting deeper. The weather getting colder. I wanted to see him before I flew back to Memphis. I hoped for a sign, a sign that he will be alright. But there he was. Hands tied to the bed, a new breathing mask forcing air to his lungs. The stress of this breathing machine shown through the slit in his eyelids. Pulling and tugging, obviously unable to relax. We stood near his bedside, trying to relax him. Talking about our kids and Christmas. I was so proud to tell him, I finished my chemo. I know he worried for me, but tonight, “Dad I am ok, I will beat cancer and you will win your fight, we can celebrate together!” My voice like a cell phone, losing its signal. The words probably a distant away. He wasn’t responding. I stopped and prayed. And I cried. I just need him to fight. I just need him to win. My girls need their Abuelo.

Cancer still a subject of the past. But the strength God gave me to walk out that door and prepare me for my flight, I will never forget. I know God was with me, he sent in an Angel, I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t know what to do. I just wanted to help him and forget my own healing. I also knew my girls would be waiting and I wanted to see them too. Maybe it would be them to help mend my heart. So Sonia and I left….no words of “Goodbye.”