Since my last entry, I have met with my father, Suzanne, and sister in Philadelphia at U Penn for an appointment with a top surgeon who specializes in pancreatic surgery. As a '2nd opinion' and what we might have thought was a 'last ditch effort', he felt that my father and his pancreatic tumor were worthy candidates to perform a 'Whipple' procedure. We scheduled it for the next week!
The whipple is a massive surgery to extract the part of the pancreas that houses the tumor. Only 20% of patients are even candidates. Unfortunately, while the surgeon gave it a banner try...gameday proved to be not so possible to perform the whipple. A major pancreatic-double-by-pass was the next best thing, as palliative. The re-plumbing is set to assist with feeling more comfortable, obtaining nourishment with more ease, in short to buy the patient more time and actually have a better quality of life for that time.
My dad stayed in the hospital for just over a week with minor complications and a damn impressive positive outlook - as my mother told him, 'You look chipper!'. And he really did look brighter, face a bit filled out and also with color. He was jocular, chatty and helpful to the medical staff. While there was disappointment - this damn tumor still resides!?! - he did not dwell, and we had just a small yet touching conversation about that disappointment.
Getting to go home was huge - he sounds wonderful and thankful. Hopefully as recovery from surgery progresses, he physically gains weight & strength. And continues with a day to day emotional strength, taking in nourishment from sun, fresh air, home surroundings, family & friendly voices, and love.
August 17, 2010
July 29, 2010
Little House
OK this might wrap up the TV stuff. As I think of being a little kid and the heart wrenching show, Little House on the Prairie as one of my favorites. It was pretty much a whole family viewing time. But as every show would be a tearjerker, I indeed have that vision that my father had such a soft spot for stuff like that.
He did indeed have a love of nature and of animals. He was sensitive and observant. We had cats as pets, sometimes just one, sometimes two at a time. Most lived very long lives. Boy would my dad be right there with us all, just as upset, when one would die. Usually he'd set to making a 'cat casket' for proper burial in the backyard.
The saddest of the pet cat deaths - this month, the same week he was diagnosed, his 16 year old Captain Lucky Manx cat died. He had him cremated and set up a little alter. That absolutely tore me up for the timing, but it sure makes me hopeful for a peaceful cat-like passing for my dad.
As for my love of Little House and the actor Michael Landon, I remember vividly when he died...from pancreatic cancer.
He did indeed have a love of nature and of animals. He was sensitive and observant. We had cats as pets, sometimes just one, sometimes two at a time. Most lived very long lives. Boy would my dad be right there with us all, just as upset, when one would die. Usually he'd set to making a 'cat casket' for proper burial in the backyard.
The saddest of the pet cat deaths - this month, the same week he was diagnosed, his 16 year old Captain Lucky Manx cat died. He had him cremated and set up a little alter. That absolutely tore me up for the timing, but it sure makes me hopeful for a peaceful cat-like passing for my dad.
As for my love of Little House and the actor Michael Landon, I remember vividly when he died...from pancreatic cancer.
Oh Chevy
As a 70s TV generation gal, I watched plenty. and into the 80s of course. Chevy Chase was on Saturday Night Live, and made me laugh and laugh. The physical nuttiness - and the funny faces! And then he was in movie after movie, and I'm sure I saw them all. And whether it was the combination of him being tall, or his quirky humor, or some real specific funny face things he did - he reminded me of my father SO much. Just makes me chuckle.
HotLips Houlihan
Boy did my father love watching M*A*S*H on television when we were growing up. He loved to laugh, and he definitely loved to joke. Most of the M*A*S*H humor was playing jokes on people - right up his alley.
He and his brother, my Uncle Billy, were absolutely riotous together! Laughing so hard - to the point of tears or trying not to pee your pants if you were in on the conversation. And a lot of that was laughing at people or joking on their mother - it really all seemed in fun - but maybe in that iffy M*A*S*H or 'Seinfeld' way.
If there was any heaviness, I was oblivious. I just picked up on the hilarity - and it sure was a party of fun at my Uncle's.
I don't believe they have talked in years. It might be sad in the near future for unfinished family business or harsh things said in the past.
He and his brother, my Uncle Billy, were absolutely riotous together! Laughing so hard - to the point of tears or trying not to pee your pants if you were in on the conversation. And a lot of that was laughing at people or joking on their mother - it really all seemed in fun - but maybe in that iffy M*A*S*H or 'Seinfeld' way.
If there was any heaviness, I was oblivious. I just picked up on the hilarity - and it sure was a party of fun at my Uncle's.
I don't believe they have talked in years. It might be sad in the near future for unfinished family business or harsh things said in the past.
In a Sense, A Yogi
As a yoga teacher and yoga practitioner, I found out early on that I attribute some of my ease with yoga-asana to having much of my father's physicality. Maybe not the height, my sister has that. But the arms that are longer than the torso, the less bulk on a lankier frame, the ample hands, and great feet. Not to mention the overall flexibility with the right amount of strength.
My father was a competing gymnast in high school - the tallest at 6'. I also was a fit, springy kid and immediately had interest in all things active, including at the top of the list, gymnastics. Not in the competing way, but in the YMCA way, and the front yard way. Round off back handsprings were my thing. I'd say he taught me a back handspring, but I'd admittedly say I wasn't so trusting that he wouldn't pull his hand away from spotting me. But it got me through. I used to look through the few pages of his photos and clippings. We would, as many families did in the 70s, watch the Olympics or Wide World of Sports for the gymnastics segments.
When I opened the NJ Yoga Studio, I had wished my father lived much closer - a romantic notion that I could teach him yoga. I knew he'd be excellent at asana.
The funnier part of my father being anything remotely yogic, is the deep reddish suntan he got naturally. Again, my sister has this natural tendency toward dark. But my father almost always had a beard, had longer dark hair, slim frame, and when the summertime came, he could be mistaken for being Indian (or maybe middle eastern or Mediterranean), especially as he aged. Just funny.
For now, I often practice yoga and give thanks for 'his arms' and such, but on a deeper level, there is thanks for his calm and patience, that only a yogi can know.
My father was a competing gymnast in high school - the tallest at 6'. I also was a fit, springy kid and immediately had interest in all things active, including at the top of the list, gymnastics. Not in the competing way, but in the YMCA way, and the front yard way. Round off back handsprings were my thing. I'd say he taught me a back handspring, but I'd admittedly say I wasn't so trusting that he wouldn't pull his hand away from spotting me. But it got me through. I used to look through the few pages of his photos and clippings. We would, as many families did in the 70s, watch the Olympics or Wide World of Sports for the gymnastics segments.
When I opened the NJ Yoga Studio, I had wished my father lived much closer - a romantic notion that I could teach him yoga. I knew he'd be excellent at asana.
The funnier part of my father being anything remotely yogic, is the deep reddish suntan he got naturally. Again, my sister has this natural tendency toward dark. But my father almost always had a beard, had longer dark hair, slim frame, and when the summertime came, he could be mistaken for being Indian (or maybe middle eastern or Mediterranean), especially as he aged. Just funny.
For now, I often practice yoga and give thanks for 'his arms' and such, but on a deeper level, there is thanks for his calm and patience, that only a yogi can know.
July 28, 2010
Blog to my Father
I decided to begin writing this blog for my father, Ronald Harrison Miller, in light of his recent diagnosis of pancreatic cancer. Suddenly his words and images over the many years of my life flood into my mind. I wish to write about them.
One such statement I have heard him say many many times, "You only go around this mudball once". So I am going with that as I reflect on his 71 years so far around this mudball.
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