And its awful. It is spreading. It is aggressive. We are told there is nothing they can do. Immunotherapy is his last hope and they haven't even called. He has an ulcerated tumour on his neck and more are forming.
And you're wondering why I posted this in antiwork? Because how are humans supposed to fucking process this shit?? Luckily my work is very understanding. I've tried to sort of compartmentalize it, and the past few weeks since we found out he's terminal I've been numb. Trying to be a good worker. Trying to be prepared for when I really can't work. Trying to hang in until it's time. I haven't processed what's happening. I don't feel right in the head. I feel like I am floating.
It's finally starting to hit me. I cried all morning but forced myself to go in. But all the small talk. All the work tasks I currently don't care about. You know when you feel like your world is caving in and someone asks you about work. I felt like I was about to snap on someone. I asked to go home. I feel awful now. So guilty. Like I am a bad worker and like they hate me and will fire me. I worry people gossip or will think I'm lazy.
And this is what I mean. This is so fucked up. So many of you in this sub are going through similiar things and feel the same ways and it's crazy how we've been conditioned to feel guilty for not being productive. Even when I left, as nice as they are, there has to be a tangible reason. Did something happen this morning? Did you get a call?? No, my father's face is being eaten away by cancer and it's finally fucking sinking in. That's all.