Exacerbated by Distance

Last night I found out that my father has cancer. My mother, (it almost made me laugh, because it was so in character) accidentally forwarded me an email about it while I was about to sit down at a friend’s music recital. This was immediately followed by a string of texts. ‘Ignore the email.’ ‘Call me.’ ‘Call dad.’ Before I write further – my dad’s prognosis is very positive, he’ll be starting treatment soon, and our lovely socialized healthcare will cover it. (Yay Canada!) Still, it’s a bit of a shock when you’re halfway around the world and you find out your dad has cancer via an email which wasn’t intended for you. I left my friend’s concert hastily, followed by a small pack of worried friends, and managed to get my dad on the line. I stood in the middle of the rugby pitch, the stars bright overhead, with the connection dropping every few sentences. He sounded very far away. I think things like this are almost harder, when you’re so far from home.

When I was nine, still living on my boat, and very far away from home, I found out that my grandma’s pancreatic cancer had returned. I couldn’t see her, or talk to her; I couldn’t touch her, or look at the paleness of her face. All I had was imagination, and I had a vivid one. Things like this feel huge, are huge, when you’re not next to the person, proving to yourself that they’re safe.

After I spoke to my dad, my friends surrounded me. Here, the people that you go to school with are your housemates, your colleagues, your support system, your best friends. I don’t know if I would have the support at home that I have here. Here, people drop periodically by to make sure you’re ok. They make you tea. They slide sweet notes under your door so they don’t wake you up.  Despite my worry, I am so, so grateful for the people here, and for the unwavering love that we have for each other. It’s been just over two months, but I know that many of these people would stay up all night talking to me if that’s what I needed, and I would do the same for them.

This situation is hard. I’m very happy I’ll be going home in a few weeks, and I’m just excited to see my dad and talk about nerdy shit like Ewan McGregor’s motorcycle trip from London to New York. I video called him this morning – he showed me the box he built on our balcony to house our winter tires, and asked me to paint it when I came home. He picked up my cat so the cat could see me, and he talked about the catamaran he designed that’s in the testing stage. It was refreshingly normal, and it reassured me, but it’s still hard to concentrate on the thought of school right now.

Cancer is a scary word. There are so many types of cancer, and so many stages, but when we hear the word ‘cancer’ we think of a looming monster - chemotherapy and baldness. I’m trying to temper that deep-seated fear with knowledge that he is getting treatment, that the cancer is slow growing, that his prognosis is very, very positive, and he’s being treated by a team of highly qualified doctors. Today my lovely IB2, Abbey, and I took the day off and spent it watching Ru-Paul’s Drag Race and drinking copious amounts of tea.

Everything is ok, and will be ok, but right now it’s scary, and a little hard, and I’m sad that I’m not with my dad, and home with my family.