Friday
Then: Tears
Most of us now have families widely distributed around the country and globe. That’s why friends are so vital to any journey with despair. But I think you must find one close family member to be, by proxy, the collective care giver for everyone else in the family.
For me, it was my father. And the first words I uttered to him on the phone call in late 2001 were hard to get out: “Dad, now it’s not as bad as it sounds, but I have prostate cancer.” I could hear – and feel – the energy and air going out of Keith Garretson, the strongest man I’ve ever known. His only words were “oh, no” before I jumped in to reassure him with the facts that I should be OK. After about a minute of this, he simply said, the tears felt through the phone, “I have to call you back.”
Throughout my journey I was constantly comforted by the fact that my Dad had emerged unscathed from a health trauma when I was a teenager. But this was a stinging memory of my Dad suffering through kidney stones. Etched indelibly is the sight of him in the shower for the little relief of warm water while he bawled like a baby at the pain prior to his procedure. And the other memory is of his description of the rigid stainless steel tube and grabber that went up there and broke up his stuck kidney stone.
I took the most strength from my Dad and this story during a pre-surgery visit to Mayo clinic where – despite assurances to the contrary – I was going to face a cystoscopy, a fancy name for invading the inside of my bladder with a scope for a little look around. I remember stoop-shouldered shuddering at this impending procedure while trying to chuckle about the absurdity of someone tip toeing through my bladder. ¶ 1:44 PM
For me, it was my father. And the first words I uttered to him on the phone call in late 2001 were hard to get out: “Dad, now it’s not as bad as it sounds, but I have prostate cancer.” I could hear – and feel – the energy and air going out of Keith Garretson, the strongest man I’ve ever known. His only words were “oh, no” before I jumped in to reassure him with the facts that I should be OK. After about a minute of this, he simply said, the tears felt through the phone, “I have to call you back.”
Throughout my journey I was constantly comforted by the fact that my Dad had emerged unscathed from a health trauma when I was a teenager. But this was a stinging memory of my Dad suffering through kidney stones. Etched indelibly is the sight of him in the shower for the little relief of warm water while he bawled like a baby at the pain prior to his procedure. And the other memory is of his description of the rigid stainless steel tube and grabber that went up there and broke up his stuck kidney stone.
I took the most strength from my Dad and this story during a pre-surgery visit to Mayo clinic where – despite assurances to the contrary – I was going to face a cystoscopy, a fancy name for invading the inside of my bladder with a scope for a little look around. I remember stoop-shouldered shuddering at this impending procedure while trying to chuckle about the absurdity of someone tip toeing through my bladder. ¶ 1:44 PM
