Christmas Gifts

Our Christmas tree is up, the lights outside are hung and our neighborhood is decked out like I’ve never seen it before. It’s evident to me that my community is in the holiday spirit. On the other hand, I haven’t felt much like celebrating. My dad is suffering from throat cancer. He was diagnosed in early autumn and even though it was rapidly progressing, his prognosis was pretty good. If he could soldier through the daily, intense radiation treatments and several weeks of chemo therapy, there’s a damn good chance he could beat this thing. But treatment is not easy and it takes a toll.

Dad lives at Wheatridge Manor and I couldn’t be more grateful for the people there. He’s not just another resident, but he’s family to them. They don’t say it, but I know it.  I see it and feel it in the way they go above and beyond to care for him. They are competent medical professionals, yes, but more significantly they are some of the warmest, most self-less human beings.
His nurse, Jessica, treats him like her own dad. She brings him things and asks him what he wants or needs to make him more comfortable. She says he’s her ‘special guy’. She talks to me privately when she’s concerned about him for whatever reason. She even let me cry on her shoulder when it got too much for me.
His pain is managed pretty well by his medical staff and he didn’t have a lot of problems swallowing for the first few weeks.  But the flavor of his food was affected and everything tasted like metal. Dad would take a bite and say, “There goes two quarters and a dime.”  Then he’d take another bite, “Four pennies and a nickel.”  So I told his nurses that we should yank on his arm like a slot machine and maybe he’d pay off.” Then we’d all laugh, at him and with him. The kitchen staff have always made him his own pancakes from scratch on Friday, so he could have them all weekend.
Dad couldn’t eat the ribs that were served for dinner one night. Liz, the cook at Wheatridge, made him something else. He couldn’t eat that either, so she tried again. She made him some chopped beef roast and gravy and served it to him with rice. Yes! He could eat that. She was so pleased that he ate it, she was thanking him! The following day I was visiting Dad and we were talking to Liz’s husband while he waited for her to get off work. He offered to make a special batch of chili for my dad.
Time went on and Dad didn’t want to eat. The weight dropped off him. At about a 40 lb. loss, he’s in great danger. Today he had a feeding tube placed directly into his stomach. Maybe if the pressure of eating is taken off of him, he can just rest and focus on getting better. These are the things that were discussed with me by Betsy, his Nurse Practitioner. Betsy is another heavenly soul placed here on this earth to ease the suffering of the sick. What I love about Betsy is that she doesn’t sugar-coat a thing. She calls me and is straight-up with me about him. She doesn’t give me a line of bullshit or feed me false hope. She called today to talk about her concerns and then to ask how I’m feeling about everything. I try to be strong, but I cried like a baby and she cried a little with me.
His nursing home is small and it isn’t fancy, but I can’t imagine any place I’d rather have him.  From Denise at the front desk, who always gives him a healthy rash of shit when he needs it, to Michelle the driver, and her husband Eric, the maintenance man who spend their own hard-earned money to get him little things for his comfort.
The gifts I have this Christmas aren’t under my tree, they are from the unsuspecting angels at Wheatridge Manor. By loving my Dad, who heaven knows isn’t easy to handle, they have given me everything.
Maybe I am in the Christmas spirit after all. How could I be so blessed and not be?