Daughters without borders.....

Dad has the oncologist today to discuss Radiotherapy. Problem is I think it is for Palliative care, and he is of the understanding that it could extend his life. He's said he is no gonna take it, unless it gives him till Christmas.... 

<headesk>

I've not said anything to Mum OR to Dad because I think this is one for the Oncologist to deliver. I'm usually the walking medical/legal/counselling/advisory one stop shop for my family. I think every family has one. I just happen to be the one in mine! I remember once when Dad dropped burning hot oil over his arm Mum phoned me for advice, which went along the lines of 'wash the burn cream off, wrap in cling film, take to hospital.'  The worst time was when she wasn't sure if he was having a heart attack, and called me to say:-

'Katie, I think your Dad is having a heart attack!'

'WHAT!!! What the hell MUM!!!'

'What should I do.......'

'Get off the phone and call an AMBULANCE!!!'

'Oh ok. I didn't want to bother them if its not a heart attack though. But maybe I should.'

'YAH THINK!!!'

You may think I am joking. But I kid not. Shockingly this actually took place. I guess she just panicked and because I always seem so sure of things, (mainly with the researching and the logical thought process's) she tends to run things by me first. Although I thought the suspected heart-attack was that one step beyond me. *looks though wallet* Nope. Not a Paramedic, annnnnnd *more scrabbling* Nope not a doctor. 

So consequently when talking to Dad last night, he was bombarding me with all sorts of questions........

• Will my hair fall out? - Usually only on the spot that is exposed to radiation. This can grow back a different colour. But You've snow on the roof anyway Dad so probably not.
• Will it sting? - I don't know, but the area exposed to the radiation may become, sore, dry, and red.
• How do they do it, is there some sort of laser beam? - Not a laser beam no. This isn't James Bond. However you may have a mesh mask over your face to keep your head still.
• Why? - Well you want them to hit the Cancer Dad, not yer eyeball.

And so on and so on add infinitum. The problem is I repeat the same phrase again and again. Remember to ask the specialist these questions Dad, Am I on Speaker phone? (yes) MUM REMEMBER TO ASK THE SPECIALIST THESE QUESTIONS. (confirmed with a distant tinny <ok>)  I even try to get them to write the questions down and take them with them. But every time its an epic fail. And every time I tend to get. 'I wish you were there, you could interpret for us!'

Luckily there is someone that does explain it all. Lin the Lung. Now. Lin the Lung (my Dad's nickname for her) is a nurse at the Phillip Arnold Cancer Unit in Dorset. She is lovely, and puts up with NO end of crap and old man flirting from my Dad. (honestly he hit 70 and, well scratch that he has always been a perv, in the NICEST possible way) I've never met her, never had the opportunity. And sadly, when I do, it will be when he shuffles off somewhere else. However that said she does provide the most amazing translation service and also, doesn't allow Dad to get too Maudlin. Which is good. 

I find this all incredibly funny sometimes. (The walking medical dictionary not the terminal illness, as black as my humour is, that MIGHT be a tad too far) I'm only needed in this capacity when I am not physically near them. The minute I am in the same room the reverse is true. Its like I suddenly become incapable of doing anything. If, in example, I need a plaster, I can handle putting it on myself. Or getting paracetamol for myself. Ohhhhhh no no no no. Its done for me. <headpalm> Which I tolerate, because I understand why. They have a chance to parent me. Which is something I didn't really need once I hit 16. I was a very very much self sufficient child, because I was bought up to be. I was fiercely independent from an early age. And very sure of my own opinions. Even if people disagreed with them. And although I had cripplingly low self esteem (Eating Disorders will do that to you) I still just got my head down, and shoulder through a lot of it all. I've always been a bit of a survivor. Most times I emerge from the scrapes of life a bit bruised, scratched, and with foliage in my hair, but I always emerge. (I inherited this from my Mother, who in her formative years was a tour de force in life. She often jokes that I tend to grab life round the throat and throttle it)

In all honesty, I am expecting the call today, for consoling. I am expecting my Dad to get on the phone and have a proper dump. Because it is all a bit Sh8t. And all right he smoked since he was 14, but its still all a bit Sh8t and nobody deserves to die from this horrible disease. (Cancer is like one of the largest killers in the world and smoking is still legal? Go figure!)

So onwards today. Lead me to the Google medical dictionary of daughterdom, I believe I may be on call today...........