Yesterday he asked me if he had cancer.
Biopsy of the mass tomorrow and then we will have a better idea of prognosis and how to proceed. The neurosurgeon says there is a small chance that this is an infection, an abcess that could be treated. It could be pressure on the brain causing this. The (much) larger possibility is that it is a malignancy, fast and aggressive. Not a candidate for surgical removal, he would likely not survive a surgery like that. The mass is roughly golf ball sized. If it is a malignancy, he has about a month if nothing else goes wrong. The biopsy may make him worse and hasten the end. I think I'm okay with that.
My mother called today with two (not very) helpful suggestions, the first that I should look into a nursing home, the second that I see the social worker at the hospital. I can't do any of that until I know what I'm dealing with. I don't have enough information and the cart would be before the horse. I can't arrange care until I know what the diagnosis is. It could be hospice, or long term care.
I'm sure that I'm handling this as best I can, I am very tired and very sad. I will second guess myself to the rapture, or armageddon, or whichever comes first, but I'm the one on the ground, so the hard calls are all mine.
His nurse tonight is a loud, ballsy redhead, and she already thinks he's a sweetheart. He is. Thanks for your kind and supportive words, they mean the world to me.
Today's break was lunch at a Greek place on Lincoln Avenue at Lawrence. Souvlaki and Roditys soothe the soul, especially on the sidewalk. I love and miss this city like a sibling. It soothes me to be on familiar ground, to know where I am in the geography of things. Wish everything could be as familiar and comfortable.
Right now, dad understands he's quite ill, and that I love him. He loves me back and that needs to be enough.