T-minus roughly 12 hours until the gun goes off and Team Oberle starts the race of all races. It's been about 34 hours since the oncologist told us that Dad has cancer. Of course, that was 4 days after the preliminary biopsy of the spots on his liver came back with the "M" word: Malignant.
October 6, 2008. Dad's 70th Birthday. The day Dad's cancer crashed the party, kicked him in the nuts and announced, "I am here. I am called adenocarcinoma. Cower before me."
Oh yeah? Well guess what, adenocarcinoma. You can go piss up a rope. You hear me?
Salient details - the cast of characters:
Dad: Art Oberle - age 70. Thyriod cancer survivor. Adenocarcinoma fighter. Dentist. Recreational pilot. All around good guy.
Mom: Lee Oberle - age sixty-somethingish but looks fabulous, and no, she hasn't had work. Much to her chagrin.
Younger brother: Chris - age 33. Tall, good-looking, intense. Newly married, but robbed of that blissful first year of marriage by a cratering economy and Dad's cancer. Chris is Team Oberle's designated Cancer-manager. I'm his wingman. I'm...
Middle child: Connie - age 36. Pregnant. Prone to emotional outbursts, melodrama (I am a middle child, after all) and periods of thinking deep thoughts on normal days. I'm a nightmare when I've got a bun in the oven. Hubby Dan calls me "Angry Pregnant Woman," and that was before Dad got cancer. I can't imagine what he'll be calling me by the end of the first round of chemo - probably "My Ex-wife...."
Older brother: Kurt - age 38. The Cool Dude. Lives in Charleston. Tall, good-looking, not intense. Permanently tan from a lifetime of sailing boats and generally being outside. Kurt has always been a calming influence for me. I'm going to need him to get through this.
The Cat: Zinny - age almost 18 (yes, you read that right). I think she's on her 29th life. I gave her to Mom (the world's most unwanted Mother's Day Present) when I was a freshman in college. I can honestly say I never thought I'd be 36 and pregnant with my second child and that damned cat would still be around. Just goes to show you - you never know. Anyway, right when Dad's biopsy came back, Zinny got an abscessed tooth. The side of her face blew up like she'd eaten a tennis ball. So in the middle of our cancer crisis, Dad had to take Zinny to the vet for oral surgery. Honest - he did. I couldn't make stuff like this up. I'm not that creative.
So I started this blog as a place to keep a log of Dad's treatments as well as updates on his health and on how we're all doing. Chris will get mad because it's not "discrete," but I'll have to live with that. It's a lot easier than having to have the same phone conversation fifty times with fifty people who want to know what's going on. That just gets exhausting.
So let's all fasten our seat belts and get ready to launch the Team Oberle Express!
Adenocarcinoma - you're in grave trouble. I suggest you start running NOW.