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I am a below knee amputee. More importantly, I am also Mommy to two boys, a very active 10 year old (Robby) and an mischievous toddler (Timmy). I have learned that being a parent with a disability can create some unusual and sometimes humorous situations. This blogger is available for hire! Let's talk and learn how a blog can expand your business.

Monday, March 09, 2015


While I wish that this trip was more vacation oriented, I am eternally grateful to be here with my Dad. I spent the weekend with him in his hospital room trying to do whatever I could to make him happy and comfortable.  Today we will be leaving the hospital with the plan to receive hospice care in place. Through discussions with doctors, nurses and social workers, I have heard the terms "palliative care" and "curative care" more times than I can count. I understand that my Dad is not going to be cured and the goal is to provide as much comfort as possible during this transition.

I have learned volumes through this process.  I have researched pancreatic cancer so thoroughly that I knew the answers to questions asked to the doctors. I understand the road that we are traveling and know what we can expect during the final stages.  After his diagnosis I felt compelled to learn about the stages and, as morbid as it may seem, the anticipated path to death.  I felt oddly empowered by the knowledge of what lies ahead.

More than the academics of the disease, I have learned about hope. I have come to realize that hope is a fluid state, constantly changing depending upon the situation.  Embracing the ever changing definition of such a small yet powerful word has helped me accept the inevitable.

Upon hearing his diagnosis, I was hopeful for treatment and a cure. I was hopeful that he would return to his driven self and that cancer would be defeated. I was hopeful for the miracle ending. 

As I gained knowledge through research and while his condition quickly progressed, I realized that my hopeful expectations also adjusted. I began to hope not for a cure but for time. Time has become such a precious commodity, and I was hopeful for more moments and memories.

Upon learning that his time is limited, I was surprised that I haven't abandoned hope, but have again redefined my expectations. Now I am hoping for peace and a smooth transition.  I'm hopeful for the absence of fear and pain. I'm hopeful that our love will help ease the anguish of a life cut too short. I am hopeful that he knows that he is loved. I am hopeful that he passes while dreaming of heaven and wakes up to realize that he is among angels. 

I am planning to stay with my Dad as long I am needed. His body may be failing, but his mind is still sharp. I am hopeful that he will remain alert and at peace despite the ravages of this horrific disease.

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