Then a message from my brother popped up- they found a red spot on Dad's leg; they're operating later.
I had my emotions in check, I thought. Cautious optimism personified. Realistic, pragmatic, and feeling like a veteran of a parent's illness who knew how to surf the waves of good and bad news. But I just lost the façade of zen bullshit-
I'm so fucking mad.
I'm so very, very angry right now- it's a burst of frustration that's been building since he got sick. At the same time I'm so tired I feel paralyzed. I'm so disappointed that he won't get a break from the surgeons, and hoping fervently that this isn't new bacterial growth.
We're waiting to hear when his surgery will be, and waiting makes me feel incredible anxiety.
I'm going to collapse for a while, because it pretty much is going to happen anyway. So I'll be in a cocoon in a hazy panic and then I'll build back up and I'll ride these waves to because there isn't a choice and this is happening.
This is just happening.