I am a wound-up ball of emotion this weekend; you've been warned. Not necessarily in a negative way, though not necessarily always positive either.

My cup is overflowing with the positive: we had beautiful weather this weekend. We spent some time outside browsing the Reston town center and watching Andrew's frisbee game yesterday morning. We tried a new Indian food restaurant near the apartment on Friday night and absolutely loved it. There has been ice cream x 2, epic Harry Potter movie 3D imax (what what!) x 1, and hugs x.... a lot. Right now I have eggs and milk coming to room temperature on the counter so I can make Sunday pancakes when Andrew wakes up.

Did you know that tip about pancakes? There is lots of technique to pancakes. I digress.

On the other end of the emotional spectrum, I'm not very big on mass public disclosure. But, because I don't publicly link to this blog on the ol' F-book anymore, I feel comfortable getting serious for a hot minute with the handful of you that keep the link to this blog.

My dad has had a lucky streak of dodging some bullets in the oncological world in the past few years. I didn't have a very good feeling about it when he called last week with reports of not feeling well lately and something questionable on a CT scan, but there seemed to be reasonable evidence that it might just be nothing. He got his biopsy results quicker than expected, and he said it is a recurrence of a previous testicular cancer. I asked him what the plan was, and he cheerfully responded "chemo!"

Dad will always deliver his worst news in his most positive fashion. Honestly I knew he must have had bad news when he called because of the way he was joking and chatting with Andrew before I could get to the phone. I suppose it's something about being a parent that I might understand some day.

Chemo? Something that, as a nurse who's given it, I know too much about. On one hand the extra knowledge is comforting as the concept of "chemotherapy" isn't as terrifyingly foreign as it would have been a few years ago. I know not all chemo drugs are even close to being the same. I know which ones are more harsh than others. I know what questions I want to ask. I know what I could warn him about. I know what precautions he needs to take after he starts. I know warning signs he needs to look out for.

But this is my dad, and I don't want any of those things for him.


And that's really the bottom line isn't it? I'm his daughter, not his nurse. There is a lot optimism in the fact that this cancer usually responds very well to treatment. I could spit out some numbers and statistics for you.

But talking about "odds" at all is not something that settles in my stomach very well. I don't care what they are. And I guess that's where I'm at this weekend. There really aren't more details at this point other than what I've shared, which I suppose I'm fine with considering the details at hand just don't fit.

"Well, because this happens to other people, not our people." I think Mom did a good job summing it up.