Teeth gnash. Blood boils. Tears spill. Mute cries, deaf eyes, weary souls.
I’ve never been through chemotherapy myself or had any kind of radiation administered upon myself, but my dad has. It was painful to watch him go through that. The man I loved and still love with all of my heart was diagnosed with prostate cancer last summer.
Independent confidant, benignly cancerous, losing victorious
Now that the ordeal is over with, it’s still a scary reality. He’s been in remission for a year because he had surgery to have the cancerous organ removed and then radiation therapy to make sure the sickly cells didn’t come back for weeks after. My mom or he himself drove to Portsmouth to see that he got the help needed. It makes me sick and sad to think that I could not do anything to help, but his trials and scary period in life for all of us has made me interested in becoming a radiology tech, involved with reading x-rays and things of that nature.
Radioactive is made to sound like such a good thing in songs by Imagine Dragons, Marina and the Diamonds, and the Firm, but medically it notes cells that have turned against the body that need to be removed as soon as possible, but also as carefully. I’m really proud of you daddy. Love you.