The Little C

When I was little, my biggest fear was the big C. My mom was a smoker and I was so afraid she would get cancer, or that I would get it from second hand smoke. I remember once placing a plastic bag over my head in the car to prevent said smoke exposure because I was too young and dumb to know that the bag could suffocate me. Kids. I worried less about my dad because he had quit smoking by the time I had the wits to notice that sort of thing. He also dove head first into fitness, vegetarianism, and a really healthy diet. He's a fastidiously healthy dude.

Well, my mom did get cancer last year, but fortunately it was just a minor skin cancer and they dug it out. Whew. The little C instead of the big C. Now my pops was just diagnosed with a slightly bigger C. It's not aggressive, but he will have a cat scan next week to make sure it's contained. Fortunately, it's a very treatable form, but that doesn't prevent a guy from feeling a little uneasy and skeeved out. Please say a prayer for my dad, that he will be free of fear and worry, that he'll be led to the best doctors, and that he'll have a quick recovery from whatever form of treatment he chooses (likely surgery). I have every confidence that he will be just fine (and I'm not saying that because I know you stalk my blog, Dad!) and back to his active shenanigans very soon.

I'm thinkin' it might be a good time to have that suspect mole that decided to take residence on my temple looked at...