A fine way to start the first work week of the New Year.

I spent two hours at the hospital this morning doing my best pincushion imitation. ( medical details, not very gory )

I got back from the bathroom just now to find my research assistant sitting with her coat on, waiting for me. Her father has been in a rehabilitation hospital for the last couple of months, and they've suddenly decided to release him a day early, regardless of whether or not the family is ready. So she's gone. I'm actually kind of looking forward to a quiet day of catching up on paperwork and writing, instead of training her and coming up with projects she can do, but I'm also irritated on her behalf.

Actually, I think I'm probably just generally cranky.

I'm a little freaked out about starting the third trimester. It suddenly seems scary that there's going to be this baby and she's going to be with us all the time and we will always have to take care of her, 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. Which, duh, is exactly what we want, which is why I got pregnant in the first place. I know. But it's suddenly seeming frightening and overwhelming. This is a stage, right?

Physically, the third trimester is a time of massive fetal growth, which means massive belly growth. My organs are starting to squash together, as evidenced by heartburn and shortness of breath. My belly button is starting to look weird - sort of stretched and everted around the edges. I'm still an innie, but obviously not for long. And although, so far, I've been carrying low, I'm starting to see major growth above my belly button, accompanied by fierce itching that cocoa butter doesn't really tame. I'm still not eating much more than I did before I got pregnant - the main difference is that I'm having high-protein snacks instead of sugary snacks. But I bet that, this time, I will have gained weight.

In the shower this morning, I discovered that I am now wider front-to-back than I am side-to-side. curiousangel and I showered together, and I figured out that when we switch places it's easier for me to get by if I walk straight ahead instead of sidling. Damn.

How I spent my Christmas vacation.

We spent the Christmas holidays in Memphis this year, with curiousangel's father. We were down there for a week, which is a long time to be in Memphis. But we stayed that long for good reasons.

Michael's father has non-small cell lung cancer.

He was diagnosed in September. Stage III-B, as far as we can figure: when they found the cancer, it had spread as far as a lymph node in his neck, but hadn't metastasized to other organs or to the bone. It's inoperable. He spent the fall going through a grueling and painful course of chemotherapy, which was abruptly stopped in the beginning of December when it became clear that the tumor sites weren't shrinking. Now he's started a six-week course of radiation therapy.

Lung cancer is never a good diagnosis. Stage III-B is never a good stage. Not responding to chemo is never a good sign. At best, the 5-year survival rate for Stage III lung cancer is less than 10%. Median survival time, depending on treatment, is about 8-18 months.

At this point, we're fairly confident that he will live to see his first grandchild, but we're not really making any plans beyond that.

Spending Christmas together was nice. He's recovered from the horrible effects of chemo, but the radiation side effects haven't kicked in yet. So he's got some of his energy back. He was able to enjoy our visit - he cooked steaks for us on the grill when the weather warmed up, showed a lot of interest in the baby, advised us about life insurance, told stories about Michael's infancy. At the same time, he's obviously, and understandably, terrified. And the chemo left deep emotional scars: he kept almost compulsively telling us how bad it had been, the same stories over and over.

He talked more than usual about Michael's mother, who died of cancer in 1998.

It's frustrating, being this far away. It's even more frustrating to know that there's going to be, probably, a three-month period between when the midwife says I have to stop flying and when the baby and I are well enough to make the long trip to Memphis. I want to help. I want to be able to rush there on a moment's notice if he needs us, if Michael needs to see him, if something changes, and instead I'm pinned here by my belly.

But however hard it is for me, of course it's a thousand times harder for Michael. I'm doing what I can to support him, but honestly, there's not much that can be done. It's just going to be hard and awful.

I haven't posted about this before because I kept thinking that it was Michael's news. But he hasn't been inclined to post about it, and it's also my news. We're going to need the support of our friends.