Saturday, February 2nd, 2008

Saturday morning was the day of nonstop, little, painful actions, where we made "the call" to what seemed like 100 people. I couldn't bear to see my dad in tears. I did every little thing I could to make sure everything was running smoothly. I did the dishes, ran to the grocery store and bought $70 worth of food for the family, made them lunch, and cleaned up little messes everywhere. I helped Betty cut her food, and made sure she was putting it in her mouth. I helped her walk. I helped her get dressed. I helped her go into the bathroom, and ten minutes later, I helped her get out. I set up her favorite TV shows, gave her her favorite magazines, and talked to her.

While I had left to go grocery shopping, my dad did a little research on brain cancer. Betty had joined him in watching some animations they found online. Apparently, the information lifted their spirits, and they played some games together (those stupid built-in photobooth games on Mac). My dad pulled me aside to mention that he was going to focus on being more optimistic and more hopeful. I knew this was a good idea, because I could tell that our tension and nervousness directly affected Betty's ability to cope.

Here is what I find most interesting. I've made it clear that Betty is physically hindered - she has no center of balance, and tends to fall over - and she does odd things like drink from empty cups, scrub spots for hours, and constantly tap her feet, rub her legs, or bunch up her pants. But this is not to say that she's not with us. She doesn't need to be babied. She understands everything my Dad and I say. She just doesn't respond. She only nods, shakes her head, or quietly says "yes" or "no." When my dad mentioned the idea of having a more positive attitude, I really took this into account when dealing with Betty. I made sure we stopped bringing up hypothetical, pessimistic conversations in front of her, and instead I asked her a bunch of basic questions, and talked to her normally. Because I continued to do this, I feel like we developed a type of inexplainable trust. She appreciated that I wasn't bullshitting her, and she took comfort in the fact that I could act like everything was normal.

I went out with my friends that night for a relatively unsuccessful night on the town. I was pretty exhausted and disoriented. But they offered some good advice, and reminded me that no one ever "knows what to do" in these types of situations. Life is just ... life. There is no rhyme or reason to it. You just have to keep on swimming every single day.