On May 5th of this year, we finally convinced my dad to visit the ER.

For two months prior, my dad progressively found it harder to breathe, all but stopped eating, repeatedly fell asleep while driving with mom, and began sleepwalking, all while working 12+ hour shifts.

My dad is strong. Can handle anything. Always has. So when we saw him slowly lose himself, opening doors over and over in the middle of the night and talking about scenarios outside of reality, my mother and I made it clear we would take him to the ER.

"There's an obstruction in his throat," Dr. B said. "He needs surgery. Now."

I hoped they would just give us some medication and send us home. Before I knew it, I was working to keep my anxious mom and sister calm in the waiting room. Questions raced through my mind. About dad. About the future. About how uncertain everything was now.

The next 10 days were a blur.

Dad needed a Tracheostomy.

Along with being the cause of all his other symptoms, the obstruction kept him from breathing. They made a hole in his throat for him to live. That meant that he would be trapped in bed and on oxygen. Seeing my dad like this was…

Dad is a mechanical engineer. Always tinkering and fixing things; he loves that. He hates hospitals...but at least he's finally sleeping.

Mom stayed by his side. My sister and I would go as soon as we got off work and on our off days to give her a break, but mom wouldn't budge.

Next came the Percutaneous Endoscopic Gastrostomy, which is medical jargon for "your dad will be eating through a tube in his stomach for the foreseeable future."

"...carcinoma," said Dr. B over the phone. I was too sleep-deprived to catch everything she said. Honestly, I wasn't exactly sure what day it was.

I asked what I feared.

"Yes," she confirmed. "It's cancer."

I'm still not sure which hit harder, the doctor telling me the news or me telling my sister, my mom, and my dad.

11 days after that first night, we finally brought dad home.

"You won't believe how sore my ass is," dad said, his voice changed by the trach, a flash of his cheeky old self shining through. He was as happy to be home as we were happy to have him back home.

The next few days were filled with in-home nurses, RTs, PTs, STs and the most medication and machines I've seen outside of the hospital. But the stress of making doctor appointments, caring for dad, trying to file for disability and making sure we had food on the table (for mom and I...dad “drank” his "food" through a tube) kept me busy.

It all came down to the PET Scan.

We all looked forward to the PET Scan on Sunday, May 22nd. Getting it in Stockton would mean we can start treatment for dad. The longer we waited, the more the cancer ate at dad and his throat.

A few hours before we left that day, we got a call that the PET Scan was canceled. A power outage at the lab. We'd have to look for another appointment elsewhere.

That same night we rushed to the ER again as per the Advice Nurse's pleas. Both of Dad's legs and feet were painfully swollen.

He was in constant pain. They feared it was due to blood clots. We loaded the car with oxygen tanks and the portable suction machine and raced to the hospital.

Before I knew it, he and I were back in a hospital room, listening to the droning of medical equipment. Even though he wanted nothing but to leave the hospital, I'm glad we were there.

"When was the last time you listened to music, Pops?" I asked him. My dad was a 60's kid, and, before all this, he let everyone know it. Singing Wooden Ships by CSNY horribly off-key every chance he'd get. I couldn't remember the last time he did that.

While we waited for the blood and urine test results, he and I listened to some of the 60s best. Moody Blues. Beach Boys. Jean Deane and The Pharaos. This was the first time in months that everything seemed…normal.

"I need to talk to you man to man," my dad said with his trach-voice. I wasn’t sure how I felt about the fact that I was getting used to it.

With wires and tubes going in and out of him, nurses, doctors and passersby glancing at him like some sort of attraction, dad broke down.

"I've been thinking a lot. About mom. About the bills. About the house. About where you'd have to bury me."

I just listened.

"I’m scared. There's still a lot of machines that need fixing… you understand?"

I'm sorry for making this so long. I appreciate you reading it all. This was supposed to be a personal journal entry, but I realize now that I can't do this on my own.

That’s where we are right now. Scrambling to get a PET scan. Trying to reach EDD every day. Sending emails back and forth just so we can send more emails that do the same. It feels like it’s been an eternity but I have a sinking feeling that we’ve only just started this journey.

We’re running out of money quickly. I’ve exhausted all my savings. I can’t honestly say we’ll be able to pay for food, let alone the house next month. But none of that matters.

If you skipped your regular cup of coffee today, please consider contributing. If you can't, that's perfectly fine, but it would mean the world if you share this with people you love. Anything you do or give, anything at all, would be a gift.

Please help me keep my dad.