Father and Son

This is not the way I pictured fatherhood. I was determined to be a good dad -- be there for my son, teach him, learn from him, support him, take care of him, etc. That's not how it turned out. Despite my best intentions and efforts, I am not the great father I'd hope I'd be. Cancer has played a large role in this. Due to my illness and the chemotherapy treatments, I can't leave the house much. I don't move very well. I'm too weak sometimes to even lift him up.
I have tubes dangling and ports connected to all parts of my body. My nightmare holiday photo is of my son proudly smiling, holding the bloody tube he just ripped out of me while I bleed and the family looks on, horrified.

I should've known it was going to be like this from the start. On the day my wife and son were to return home from the hospital, I was scheduled for my next pet scan. Luckily, her brother filled in for me, even taking pictures of their journey home. I would've have joined them right after the procedure, however, a pet scan requires that you be injected with a radioactive material that is dangerous to both children and pregnant women. I've been injected with and subjected to so much radiation in my treatment, I'm surprised I don't glow. For six hours, I was sequestered in my parents' den, just waiting for the radiation to wear off so I could go home. When I got there, it was late. Seeing my son, wrapped up, sleeping in his crib was worth the wait; but I still missed out on the sort of small family moment that I hoped to experience as a dad. I've missed out on many of those moments. Not to mention, it's hard to watch others raise him in my place, even if I am thankful that they're lending us a hand.

I look out the window or walk down the street, and see all sorts of fathers and sons. Pushed in carriages, carried on shoulders, chasing one another down the street -- simple pleasures most take for granted, but which I haven't experienced very often. My tubes and pumps serve as a physical boundary. My illness makes me physically useless. I can't get up. I often feel like I could fall down, and some of the time I do. I keep trying to help out with the parenting here and there, but I'm not really much help. One time I was watching our son for just a few minutes -- I'm throwing up in the kitchen sink. He's screaming. I'm sticking my head out the door to check on him, then running to find the TV remote to hopefully calm him down a little, then running back to the sink to throw up some more. It's not usually that dramatic. Usually, it's just that I can't physically help. It sucks.

My son is nearly two. One of the reasons I'm fighting so hard is so I can see him grow older, so we can exchange a few words; but I fear his growing older as well in that he'll see how useless his father is. Fortunately, his mother is amazing. He and I are lucky to have her. And I'm going to keep fighting, and try to be a not-so-useless dad, so that she too can experience a few more of those family moments. After all, she's missing out on the family life she'd hoped for as well.

The one thing I can brag about is that I spend a lot of time with my son, me being sick at home so much. He's awesome. I love him a lot. Of course, this is not the way I'd like to spend our time together, and not at all how I pictured fatherhood.