Yesterday, of course, was Father's Day. It was a really nice day, and I think Joey enjoyed being fussed over a little bit if I do say so myself.
The in-laws were tolerable. On a scale of one to ten, I'd rate it an eight. It would've been a seven, but since the visit only lasted 45 minutes I gave them a bonus point. The two major annoyances this visit:
*Calling us at 11:10 wanting to know why were weren't there yet. When the set time to meet was 11:45.
*Wishing that just once, we could make it through an event with them without my father-in-law yelling at my mother-in-law to "shut the hell up, woman!" Seriously, is that necessary? Yes, she is annoying as hell with her incessant yammering, but please - don't talk to her that way in front of Monkey Man. He doesn't need to hear that crap.
Good thing the restaurant has good yeast rolls.
So my funk that I was in for a few weeks seems to have diminished somewhat. I've been trying to work out a few days each week (don't ask about last week, though) and we've had consistently sunny days which definitely helps my mood.
Yesterday, as we were riding back from our Forced In-Law Interaction (With Yeast Rolls!) it hit me like a brick. Why I've been so down in the dumps. Or at least a big reason why.
My dad's cancer is back.
It's not something that I've ever talked about much. My dad was diagnosed with prostate cancer back in 1997 - he ended up taking radiation therapy and has had a few flare-ups over the past eleven years that required different therapies. He's lived a pretty much normal life except for, oh, almost dying two years ago. And you know, it's rare that any man actually dies FROM prostate cancer - they die WITH it but with something else as the primary cause.
This time, though, the last known therapy has stopped working. He is currently taking an experimental drug that is supposed to enhance the effects of the current therapy he's on, so all we can do is hope for the best.
It makes me angry, dammit. Angry that someone so good just can't seem to beat this thing. Angry that my dad can't seem to catch a break these last few years.
And most of all, angry that a piece of shit like my father-in-law - who drinks heavily, smokes three packs a day, and pretty much hates everyone on the planet - is as healthy as a horse. "A medical miracle" is what his doctor calls him. Bastard.
I have found myself distancing myself from my parents over the last few months. Not because of the cancer, but because it's easier than having my feelings hurt over and over by my mother's manipulations. And that sucks. I've been trying to work through that because honestly, I don't want my father to die and suddenly not be able to remember the last time I talked to him. I don't want it to be that way.
We - our whole family except my loser Salsa King brother - are headed to Texas in August for my dad's World War II reunion. It will probably be his last big trip anywhere. He will be 86 at the end of July, and his last trip was pretty difficult for him to make. I think it's sheer will and excitement about having all of us together that's keeping him excited about the trip.
And me? Well, Texas in August isn't exactly what I'd choose, but I'd go anywhere for him.
So poor Rufus was put on a diet by the vet a few weeks ago, right? Slight problem - he seems to be having an allergic reaction to the food, so bad that he has clawed his neck to bits and required a day-long vet visit. Poor guy was put under, shaved, and all kinds of indignities performed on him including a pedicure. He is not a happy camper.
And the worst part? He has GAINED three pounds since starting the diet. So we will be changing to another food and doing a little more exercise, I do believe. And we're getting his thyroid checked, which he thinks is a great idea because then he can always blame that for his fat ass. Little does he know that I spent most of my afternoon on Corgi bulletin boards discovering that Oh My God, I Have Been Overfeeding My Dog Like Crazy. Oops.