My Squatter

Regardless of how large your world, hearing it's "pancreatic cancer" everything is suddenly very, very small.

It never, ever, dawned on me Cancer would be in the same sentence as "me".

"It's surreal to hear you say that," our daughter Chelsea says reacting to something I'd shared.

It gives me pause.

Ever so matter of fact, Dr. Carpenter tells me what's inside my body; the source of my problems.

"You have pancreatic cancer," he says like a talk show host.

The first thing I do is look pass him with a three-mile-stare into the face of my wife Sarah, who's not in the room because the Coronavirus prevents her from entering the Hospital with me.

"It's not fair to her," are the words I hear in my head because Sarah and I have endured so much and she doesn't deserve more.

My mind shoots to Che, our three year old daughter and, I can't imagine life without her ... hers in mine or mine in hers. We're two pearls in the same oyster enjoying every bit of life coming our way!

But, as a matter of fact, I have this tumor.

Pancreatic cancer's bad enough during the best of times but we're doing it during a pandemic.

Sarah's always saying how she loves a challenge.

Perhaps we've gone overboard with this time.

I spend a lot of time listening to my body now instead of others, getting to know the squatter sucking life and energy rather than paying rent. At first it was easy to notice because the cancer made me jaundice, evaporated 50 pounds from my body and left me perpetually exhausted.

Thanks to a biopsy on a Friday, followed by a stent implanted the following Monday, two weeks later those symptoms are gone. My skin's pink, I've gained 4 pounds and I make it through some days without sleeping away the afternoon.

I have a reprieve of two weeks before the major surgery forever transforms my body into plumbing God never intended though, we're promised, the cancer disappears with other body parts.

"You have less than a 1% chance of dying on the operating table," the matter of fact Doctor explains, "unless something else goes wrong."

You gotta love Doctors. They're like professional gamblers in Vegas always hedging the bets.

Each moment is focused on Sarah and Che, trying to squeeze each drop of juice from the Lemon I'm managing.

Meaningful distractions take place daily ... I spend more time Face Timing Ethan and Lily, our grandchildren ... Laurel our 16 year old strolls in wearing a "My Dad's Stronger than Cancer" tee shirt leaving me in tears ... a carnival of friends bring food and gifts almost daily breaking the monotony of quarantined living ... Che lays her head on my chest at night to softly ask, "Daddy, why are you so sick?" ... Sarah dutifully prepares for the new normal after surgery.

There's no time to think about it, save perhaps on sleepless nights.

Every day is filled with a quarantined 3 year old bouncing off the walls ... a wife working from home surrounded by three other teenagers, a sick husband, the insanity of the American Health Care system to navigate ... and the almost daily loving expressions of friends giving love in various and sundry ways.

Otherwise I've let go of most everything that used to occupy me.

I've resigned from Bar Church, released the constant communication from people wanting something, don't initiate much as I try to conserve all of my energy for Sarah, Che, the kids, the family without bloodlines and my squatter.

I don't like my intruder very much and look forward to his eviction.

It costs a great deal to get anyone evicted these days.

It's certainly costing Sarah and me.

Meanwhile, I bide my time, eating like a horse, tanning with Sarah and Che, feeling deep things and thinking thoughts that don't have words.

I get frustrated with myself when I grow short, trying to turn negativity back into joy ... caressing Sarah, hugging Che, laughing at Laurel's supply train of medicinal medications, a white moon in a deep blue sky and unexpected expressions of love from people I'd never have thought.

I'll take this reprieve because God knows I can use it but, more importantly, it gives me time for the fight of my lifetime anyway, with this son-of-a-bitch squatter inside of me.

"You're like a lot I know," I tell the bastard late at night. "Forever taking and never giving. I've known a lot like you. You're up against love this time! You should know now ... you don't stand a chance."