Happy Father's Day

Despite the fact that I'm in Hawaii and my dad is in L.A., trudging away through work and joyfully taking care of Winston, I wanted to dedicate today's post to him and to tell you a previously untold story about my time at Washington Hospital Center. 

Although it feels like it's been a million years since my surgery, now that my wounds have closed and I've closed the door on chemo, my debulking + HIPEC procedure at Washington Hospital Center was only about four months ago. Back then, I woke up in the ICU with 14 tubes coming out of my body, giving the thumbs up to my family and giving the bird to the breathing tube that prevented me from speaking. Seriously, can you imagine me of all people physically unable to speak? It was ridiculous.  

The story I want to tell you is about the days following my time in the ICU, when the hours between midnight and 8am were the toughest for me and my sleep was fitful. My back and ribs were incredibly sore from the procedure (Dr. Sugarbaker had to push and pull them to resect my entire peritoneum, which was great and utterly necessary but not without its ramifications), and I became more sore as the night wore on. My pain meds were quite helpful, but they couldn't really un-spasm the spasms that cropped up on both sides of my back. My mom was the best at kneading those out of my back, but given the fact that she never left my hospital room during my two weeks in the hospital and was awake during most of those two weeks, someone needed to relieve her and make her feel that I was in the best hands possible so she could get some shut-eye every now and then.

That person was my dad.  

He would stay up all night with me, between the hours of midnight and 7am, rubbing my shoulders, arms, and hands, playing soothing music for me (the Vitamin String Quartet's rendition of Radiohead's Kid A, the soundtrack to my favorite movie (Shadowlands), and Fleetwood Mac were some favorites), and guiding me through meditations that relaxed me, took my mind away from my physical body, and gently guided me to sleep. He told me about sandy beaches and crashing waves and about beautiful mountaintops and fresh alpine air. And when I finally fell asleep for that hour or so, he held my hand the whole time. Just feeling my dad's big, warm hand enveloping mine made me feel relaxed, safe, and, thankfully, sleepy. I don't know what I would have done without my dad during those weeks at Washington Hospital Center, because it was precisely that rest I gave my body that comprised the bedrock of my unyieldingly fast and complication-free recovery.

So on this Father's Day, I honor my dad for everything he's done for me -- from teaching me how to swim when I was a little one (which has been very handy considering my new daily exercise), to making the most delicious vegan snacks for me (his guacamole is to die for), to always giving me world-class back/hand/foot rubs no matter what time of day it is (especially during my Benadryl-induced chemo naps and after crazy workouts). 

And for heroically holding my hand when I need him to.