You are my sunshine

My dad and I have always had a special relationship. I have been daddy's girl since I was born. He was my hero, my protector, my everything. When he would go to work, I would sit on the curb and play with his pajamas until he came home. And when he arrived, it was like Christmas and my birthday everyday. In second grade, I even shaved my face the day before school pictures so that I could be handsome like my daddy. I wish I had the photo, but needless to say, I had cuts all over my face in that school picture.

There is one memory that stands out above the others. My dad is a very hardworking man. He immigrated to the United States with nothing, and now has built his own business. That doesn't happen by accident. He worked hard, long hours, then and now. So he wasn't able to be around as much as other dads were when I was growing up. But one evening, we were sitting in our backyard, and he asked me if I knew the song, "You are my Sunshine."

I replied no, and he began to teach me that song, line by line, until we were singing together, over and over again. Just me and my dad, having some father-daughter time. It is one of my most favorite memories, and one of my favorite songs.

Fast forward a few years, and here I am -- all grown up, and yet sometimes I feel as helpless as that little girl who idolized her father. I began my third cycle of chemo on Wednesday. It was horrendous, and it still is. Chemotherapy is typified by nausea, but it seemed like the Zofran and Compazine were really keeping it under control until now. I guess it was only a matter of time before it all caught up with me.

The neuropathy (needle-like pricks of pain) was bad. It was more intense than before. Even holding a glass of water was too much; the pain was so intense it felt like it was shattering in my hand instead of placidly holding liquid. All the while, the nausea roiled and built in my belly until I ran to the bathroom to heave like I've never heaved before. Twice. Joe suggested I try walking, which actually helped the neuropathy in my legs. But my hands continued to sting incessantly with pain.

Fortunately, the neuropathy had resolved itself by the next morning, and I felt a bit better. I was exhausted, but at least I could use my hands. I had an appointment to see my oncologist, and it was then that I found out that if I wasn't going to take the transplant option, I needed to complete all 6 cycles of the chemo. Perfect timing.

It's Monday now, and the side effects just keep coming. Mucositis (inflammation and ulceration of the mucous membranes lining the digestive tract) has sunk in for the last few of days, and I'm unable to eat anything. I cannot even drink water without pain. I cannot taste anything, and the texture of food is like sawdust. Weird, right? I actually spit out chocolate cake. Who spits out chocolate cake?

This is one of the first times my parents have seen me in real pain. I try to hide it most of the time, but it was so consuming this time I couldn't downplay it. I saw my dad make almost an imperceptible grimace when he saw me. It hurt him so much to see me in pain. He has been quiet source of support in all of this. He seems to understand that peppering me with questions just worsens my stress. But I could tell it hurt him to see me.

Yesterday we went over to my parent's house, and I immediately lay down on the couch, too tired to even pretend I felt alright. I lay there, curled up, but when I reached out to grab his hand he immediately came over to sit next to me. I closed my eyes, pretending to rest. But all I could hear in my head was the song, "You are my sunshine, my only sunshine..." and silent tears slipped through my closed lids. I was afraid to look at him, afraid he'd see my tears. But I felt his pain.

He gave me a letter today. It detailed all his hopes for what he wants me to do during this time. He is so observant and he notices everything that has been going on. He is worried I am not accepting that I am sick, and that I am doing too much.

"I hope you think about your life, not only for today or tomorrow, but in future. Try to draw a bigger picture for your future. When you take care of yourself for a few months [then] there is nothing to worry about all of us. You want to concentrate to fight over lymphoma for a few months and be healthier than before. All we want for you is to recover and be healthier as soon as possible. You don't need to drag yourself to take care of us while you are suffering from sickness and weakness due to the chemotherapy and medication. Please don't pretend you are not sick or not in weakness. We all know you do that sometimes. Most of times.

I really hope you understand and read our mind. All we want from you is that you take good care of yourself very well and see you healthier than ever so all of us can enjoy our life with you. That's all."

He does know me so well. I know I do try to go on like I am not sick. But to give in to the sickness would make me so sad. I have to fight it, and keep fighting it. I refuse to be that sick person if I can help it. I know that I am fighting a difficult disease, and that I'm not the woman I used to be. But I will become stronger.

"You are my sunshine, my only sunshine.

You make me happy, when skies are gray.

You never know, dear, how much I love you.

Please don't take my sunshine away."