Seahawks, Don’t Fail Me Now

Hold on to your seats, everyone, because I’m about to hit you with some knowledge. My Dad has cancer but it’s treatable and responds well to chemo and there’s no doubt in my mind that he’s going to beat the heck out of it. He has stage 3 follicular lymphoma. This basically means that there are cancerous cells in the lymph nodes throughout his body. The cancer has not spread to other organs, though, which means that it’s highly likely that after treatment his cancer will go into full remission. After doing some research, I discovered that there is an interconnected series of lymph nodes throughout the body and that stage 3 indicates that the lymph nodes in the top half as well as the lower half of the body are affected.

My Dad starts chemo today and will hopefully get to go home on Sunday. I’m still not sure what his treatment schedule looks like so I don’t know when I’ll be visiting. Wes isn’t thrilled at the idea of me being away from home for so long without him but has assured me that he’ll manage. I’ve already spoken with his mother and sister and both have assured me that they will feed him from time to time. You see, Wes has an abiding love for Velveeta Shells & Cheese and Red Baron pizzas and I know in my bones that if I’m not cooking our fridge will be filled with utter crap.

I guess what I’m truly worried about is that dinner every night will look like this:

I shudder to think what Wes would look like after a week of eating like that. Anyway, moving on before I give myself a husband-induced anxiety attack, I’d like to discuss the upcoming weekend, and the playoffs, and what that means for humanity.

I have reason to believe that the Seahawks will win this weekend because I was able to pay for a latté today with exact change. The barista who took my money said that that was a sign that the Seahawks will win and that’s good enough for me. On the other hand, I’m not a huge fan of watching football so the prospect of spending hours, hours I say!, of my precious weekend time watching it makes me cry a little. That is the essence of the delicate give and take of marriage, isn’t it? Is it selfish to want some time to myself on the weekend rather than spend hours watching something that bores me to tears or is it understandable? Am I a better wife for giving myself a free afternoon or for joining my husband in watching something he loves? I haven’t reached a verdict yet, suggestions are welcome.

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