"Don't even call it cancer," he said.

My dad, who is, incidentally, very famous in Europe (European Steel Guitar Hall of Fame) has always been important to me. You might say that he was the main parental influence in my life. (Parenting is not my mother's strong suit.) He's also a good friend. (He only tells me what to do when I'm really being an idiot.) Dear Old Dad is sick in the hospital today. He's been in surgery for seven hours to remove a tumour in his pancreas. The pancreas is situated in a difficult spot. I looked at one of our rubber people models in the health classroom at school today. The pancreas is an unfortunate spot for a tumour. But, at least they noticed it, somehow!

So, I'm honestly a bit of a wreck. Seven hours is such a long time. I'm not even there. I'm 2000 miles away. If I were there, I guess I couldn't do much. but it's still not the best situation. At least he's been unconscious for the seven hours- at least, I hope so! I woke up during surgery once, but then they gave me a drug to forget it, so I don't remember it. They have drugs for all sorts of things. Except for removing a tumour in your pancreas. I guess they have to do some pretty intensive surgery for that.

This is a rambling post. I apologize for that.

I just love my papa. Waiting for a phone call...

And in case you, like me, don't really know what the heck a pancreas is, Weird Al can somewhat incoherently sing about it for you:



Update: Phone call received. Dad out of surgery and they got the whole tumour! Now for the recovery part. Poor Dad. I hope they give him good drugs.