The trip had been months in the making. In February my bruthah frum anuthah muthah had let me know that the fan faire was again to be held in the city of sin that is Las Vegas. He was totally geared for the jaunt as he had missed last year due to a bout of colon cancer. He had called us mere weeks before the 2009 fan faire and had let us know and had then canceled his ticket and the room charge. I had been so frightened for him that I had not shown the usual petulance of a jaunt denied as I was worried that we would loose him. He had had to have part of his colon removed and had had a stint put into his heart for the chemotherapy to be able to shoot directly into that precious of organs. They, he and my sister and my niece and nephew had been planning a trip to Hawaii and they had taken my daughter along with them. In retrospect I’m glad, as I’m sure they are, that they decided to make the trip. It was beautiful and not totally undangerous as my daughters scar on her leg can attest to that. But the sea is a fickle mistress and they returned safe, sound, and for my broskie, ready for chemo and cancer ass kicking.
The year progressed and every time I saw him he was so exhausted from the chemo that he was always sleeping or groggy. I felt so bad for him, but glad that the combination of radioactive nastiness and his innate ability to never get sick seemed to be doing the trick. He is one of those people that never seems to get sick and his physique allows for a full lifestyle and an ability to withstand. I mean hell, he’s been my brother in law for years and anyone that can handle that would think that cancer was a walk in the park. So as a family we waited, we watched, occasionally we would be invited over, for Christmas or something, and we would give him the love we had, and the encouragement that he needed and then after a few scant hours together it was back to watching and waiting. Waiting to see which of them would win out in the end. And I’m proud to say that a year later, a year of chemo and stress and worry and heartache, the cancer got the fuck out.
So now we’re here, he’s waiting for the chemo to be done so he can serious drink, and in his head he works out that the Fan Faire would be exactly six months almost to the day that the doctor gave him a thumbs up and an all clear to begin to live again. So the next time I saw my broscotomie he was ready for Vegas, six months in advance.
