— पांच हजार तीन सौ अठारह —

My dad has been diagnosed with prostate cancer.

Everything is fine, right now, I guess. The way we discussed it last night, over the phone, was quasi-surreal, the way he was as low-key about discussing this as he ever is about anything else. It was sort of like when I once talked to him, earlier this year, about the passing of his brother, Uncle Paul. He didn't say this, or even come close to saying it, but still his tone had a vibe of, "Oh well, these things happen." He did note that he hadn't felt particularly close with Uncle Paul for several years. I mean, it's still his brother. Not that this comes anywhere close to comparing—except that Dad had the same general vibe when talking about this.

He called me just as I was leaving the condo, having been home for a few minutes to feed the cats. I was standing by the door putting my jacket on, and the phone rang. I saw it was him, answered, and he said, "Hi, do you have a minute." I was like, "Yeah I'm about to catch a bus, but I have a minute."

And then he said, "I've been diagnosed with prostate cancer."

There was a very brief pause. There was a lot loaded into that brief pause, though. I had no idea how I was supposed to react. How terrible is this news, anyway? How am I supposed to react? I wasn't putting any of this energy onto him, by the way. I was just asking myself this question. Is this a bombshell? Something that we don't necessarily have to worry that much about? What? "Cancer" as a single word can put people into a tailspin. Back in college, when Gabriel found out his mother had a tumor, he literally threw himself onto the floor. It's ironic that he always had far more of a flair for the dramatic than I did.

I will say this: I am constantly thinking about it. And regularly replaying parts of the conversation, which I continued as I got into the bus, even after I put on my mask because I was on a bus. We talked until I was standing outside the theater door at Pacific Place, at that point for a bit over twenty minutes. He still needed to hang up and call Christopher to tell him. I guess he's had the diagnosis since last week, and Sherri had said to him last night, "You better call the kids before they find out through the grapevine." I was so, so glad to have heard it directly from Dad. Something about his demeaner actually helped keep me calm. I don't think it was deliberate on his part, but since Dad and I share the same philosophy of worry being useless unless you know for certain you have something to worry about, his chill demeanor was very contagious. And I really appreciated that.

I can't imagine being in his actual position, mind you. It's clearly still very different, and in subtle ways, he indicated as much. Like, at one point he said, "It's like, mortality is staring you right in the face!" So it's not like he's spending his days not thinking about it. On his birthday this year, Dad turned 67. He's clearly not ready to go. I wouldn't be either. He's still 19 years younger than his dad was when he died, 15 years younger than his mom was when she died. As far as I'm concerned, Dad getting a minimum of ten more years is only fair. Another fifteen would be just. Another twenty would be fantastic.

Also, not to make this all about me or anything (to be fair, this is my blog and where I process my own thoughts and emotions, cut me some slack!), but I just lost my mom two years ago. I was literally thinking just the other day about how much harder I will take it when Dad goes. I think about that every so often, actually. And then suddenly he calls me with this news.

And to be clear, at this point that's all that is known. He has prostate cancer. Well, also that there was some kind of test indicating levels of some kind, maybe level of threat or severity, with four or five different ones, all but one of them rating a 1 and the outlier rating a 2, on a scale of 5 with 5 being the worst-case scenario. So there's also this: at this stage, there is plenty to be hopeful about. They caught this very, very early. But, there were several biopsies done and all of them came back cancerous.

He has a couple more tests over the next week that are apparently meant to determine whether the cancer has spread anywhere outside the prostate. I guess the way they communicated this, there is no reason necessarily to expect that to be the case, but these are required tests after such a diagnoses just to eliminate the possibility. Dad did say though, "Now, if those test come back and they do say they've spread, then I'll worry!" No shit. Won't we all. Again though: imagine actually being him.

So, let's say those tests come back and show the cancer hasn't spread, which it sounds like in all likelihood they will. What then? Dad didn't know. It kind of sounds like he's just taking this step by step. They did send him home with a bunch of paperwork to read, which he stopped reading when he got to parts like having to pee in a bag (I'm just assuming even that is only a possibility and not a guaranteed part of his future). I can understand that, as this can presumably get very overwhelming.

I asked how Sherri took the news, even though I already knew. "Not well," he said. He added, "But I get that, you know. You're the one being left behind." Probably not though! I say all the time that I live by probabilities and not absolutes. Dad and I talked about our mutual philosophy of not worrying until you know for sure you have reason to. "You're famous for saying that," he said. I loved hearing him say that, honestly.

Literally after writing the above paragraph, I went to Google. I started to write "survival rate of"—and the top two suggested searches immediately were survival rate of pancreatic cancer at the top, and just under that, survival rate of prostate cancer. Check this out, from cancer.net:

The 5-year survival rate for people with prostate cancer in the United States is 98%. The 10-year survival rate is also 98%.
Approximately 84% of prostate cancers are found when the disease is in only the prostate and nearby organs. This is referred to as the local or regional stage.

Nice! I already feel like throwing a party. That makes me feel a lot better. Even Dad said at one point, "There's been a lot of advancement in cancer treatment." And I knew that too, but it's still comforting to hear. I mean, it doesn't really matter what type it is or what the survival rate is, literally no one wants to hear that they have cancer. Furthermore, god only knows what he may have to go through to maintain that survival rate. Hopefully it won't be too bad.

And that said, that same paragraph at cancer.com does end with this, a bit ominously:

For people diagnosed with prostate cancer that has spread to other parts of the body, the 5-year survival rate is 31%.

I think that's enough statistics for now.

— पांच हजार तीन सौ अठारह —

— पांच हजार तीन सौ अठारह —

By the way, the movie I went to see was Strange World, the new Disney Animation Studios feature film, which is very much about father-son relationships. Jesus Christ!

I mean, I still enjoyed the film. Not perfect, somewhat clumsily written, fantastic visuals, kind of incredibly features an out, gay Black teenager. I was honestly indifferent to this film until I heard about that character, combined with the news that the movie was a gigantic flop. Then I was like: I have to go see this movie.

I certainly had no idea it would be so much about struggling to have a healthy relationship with your father: both Ethan, the gay teen, with his dad Searcher; and Searcher with his own dad, Jaeger. That said, these characters all also really love each other, and I suppose that's the only context with which it hit me. I don't struggle to have a healthy relationship with my dad at all. In contrast to Mom, and my relationship with her being wildly complicated for the last 25 years of her life, for my entire adult life, I could not have asked for a better dad. Well, he could certainly have voted for more people who actually care about people like me, but whatever. That was never a deal breaker for me, honestly because he has been so much better about accepting me for who I was than millions of other gay kids' parents.

I was thinking about this yesterday, even aside from my being gay. For instance, both of the dads in Strange World are obsessed with their sons being more like them, to carry on an individualized picture of "legacy" that they have in their own minds. A similar scenario with my dad would be, say, if he pressured me to take over the restaurant after he and Sherri retired. That shit never even crossed their minds, although to be fair I'm sure that's mostly because all of us kids made it very clear we had no interest in it. The key point here though, is that both Dad and Sherri always understood and respected that, and never even seemed to hope that any of us did anything with the business. I don't think they ever necessarily even regarded the restaurant as a so-called "family business"—notwithstanding both Angel and Gina and nearly all of their kids having had jobs there at one time or another.

In fact, I'll give all of them—Dad, Sherri, Mom—credit for this: whatever career path I chose, they all supported. I was left to make all my own adult life decisions, and they would offer advice only if I asked for it, which was rare. There was even once a shocking moment while I worked for the Seattle Gay Standard when Dad told me I worked too hard. But there was never any ulterior motive of trying to convince me to do anything else.

I did also ask if Dad intended to host a family gathering on New Year's Day again, and he said he hadn't made any official decision or announcement yet, but he was leaning toward it—and if he was going to, we're at a point when he should make it official sooner than later. Incredibly, New Year's Day is only a month from Friday, after all.

And then he said, "After this news it's probably more important to get together, huh?" Sure, I suppose so. Although spending time together with family is important regardless, I would argue. (I didn't say that on the phone.) If the swiftness of Mom's loss indicated anything, it's that anyone could go unexpectedly at any time for any reason.

But also, Gina and Beth's house has become the de facto gathering point for big family gatherings the last couple of years, leaving no major holidays being hosted at Dad and Sherri's house anymore. Dad likes the idea of having at least one annual gathering still hosted there. And at least New Year's Day has lower stakes in terms of obligations than Christmas or Thanksgiving or Easter.

Speaking of Thanksgiving, apparently that was when Angel, Gina and Beth, and Brandi all learned about Dad's diagnosis. Dad told me on the phone last night that he really didn't want to have to share news like this on a big family holiday, which I totally get. But, everyone knew he'd had the test and wanted to know what the results were, so he kind of had to. "And how did that go over?" I asked. "It was okay," he said. It doesn't sound like it brought the mood down too much. Odd to think that this was what was being discussed over dinner at Gina and Beth's while Shobhit and I were just spending the evening at home with Danielle over.

And if I hadn’t already established the backup plan with Danielle, Shobhit and I might have been down there at Gina and Beth's house for Thanksgiving as well. I texted Gina a few weeks ago asking what they were doing for Thanksgiving, and she replied that Beth's brother and sister-in-law would be visiting and they were having Thanksgiving with them. I was like, oh okay, and went forward with plans for Thanksgiving at home this year. Later, I did get a voice mail from Beth, which I listened to while Shobhit and I were at the Ballard Farmers Market in Ballard after leaving the Julefest event at the National Nordic Museum two Sundays ago. She was then inviting me to come for Thanksgiving after all, indicating that there had been several family members expressing a desire to get together. I was somewhat taken aback by their about-face, mostly because as far as I was concerned, if they preferred a smaller intimate Thanksgiving this year they were well within their rights to have one. And I just texted her back that we had made alternate plans, "but thanks for the invite!"

I'll be in Olympia for Christmas anyway. Shobhit never wants to go down to stay the night Christmas Eve, and he certainly won't if by chance his college-aged niece is visiting us, which she may do. So I am leaning toward taking the bus down on Christmas Eve, which I have done many times, and having Shobhit just drive down Christmas morning, possibly with his niece in tow. Dad asked me if he would have a hard time understanding her, and I was like, "Not at all." Shivangi and I actually spoke via FaceTime for the first time last week, and it was very comfortable and I was struck by how American she sounded. All this time I thought it was just small children who pick up a local accent really well after moving from one part of the world to another, but I guess it happens even with college-aged young adults. Shivangi spoke with an accent nearly indistinguishable from any other American.

Anyway, the likely positive prognosis notwithstanding, I am even more strongly set on going down on Christmas Eve now than I was before. I'll be thinking about my dad a lot, and taking all opportunities to spend time with him, for the foreseeable future.

— पांच हजार तीन सौ अठारह —

[posted 1:37 pm]