Baby Dancing and Emergency Rooms

Oh what a weekend this has turned out to be... and not in a good way.

I had such high hopes for this weekend.  The little flower had appeared in my fertility calendar, signifying a weekend filled with long hours snuggling against my husband, dreaming about making our future family between bouts of baby dancing.

Unfortunately the world had other ideas.  My weekend started early, with a jolt, when my mother called me at work.  See, usually Friday nights belong to the in-laws.  They are conservative Jewish and we attend the Shabat dinner every Friday and out of respect I turn my phone off so that neither facebook nor text message should disturb the prayers.

"I'm with your dad at the emergency room.  You need to keep your phone with you tonight."

My husband and I rushed to my mothers side to see what was wrong with my father.  My father was diagnosed with clear cell renal carcinoma about 3 years ago.  He had a 1/3 of a kidney removed and we were told he would be fine.  A year and a half ago we learned it had metastasized to his bones and he and 1-3 years to live.  There was no chance of survival.

To date he has been in reasonably good health.  He is on a medication that costs $7000 per month to prevent further metastases.  He goes in to the hospital regularly to have his bones strengthened.  He has been doing okay until recently.  Now, the side effects of his medication are making him feel worse and worse and in recent days his health has declined quickly.  He has been vomiting for a week and has a partial bowel obstruction caused by inflammation in his colon.  His thyroid is being shut down.  His blood pressure is regularly in a dangerous zone.

It is hard to see... my father was a marathon runner, he was a world traveler, he was a writer and an archivist.  He taught me to read.  He made me laugh.  And now, today, I am going to visit him in the Acute Care for Elderly ward where he has become this frail sick man.  The hair he used to vainly comb in grocery store security mirrors is now snow white; the arms that used to carry me are painfully thin twigs that jut out from his hospital gown. 


In an especially ironic twist my father has been admitted to not only the same hospital where I hope one day to deliver my child, but the very same floor.  As we left yesterday there was a pre-birth tour just finishing and our elevator ride down all 17 floors made me feel like the only barren uterus in the world. 

We are off, back to the hospital.  Back to the expectant bellies and the ill father.  And when we get home we must baby dance... whether we feel like it or not.