A few weeks after we learned about my grandpa’s cancer, we also learned that they weren’t going to remove it. That conversation took place over the phone, so no one was really sure whether the doctor didn’t want to remove it, or if my grandpa had just decided against it.

Both sides made sense, frankly. My grandpa is 85 years old, he’s a diabetic, he’s got heart problems, it’s not especially safe to do unnecessary surgeries. And likely, something else will get him before the cancer does (sad, but true). And on the other hand, the surgery involves removing a chunk of my grandpa’s tongue, which I know he’s not interested in and I can see why he would say “no thanks” and wash his hands of it.

It made sense.

But it didn’t sit well with any of my family. The idea of cancer just…I don’t know, being allowed to grow, unchecked just seemed wrong. Eventually a few family members convinced him to talk to his doctor about having it removed. And so tomorrow, my grandpa is having surgery.

It’s outpatient surgery, and there’s not really any big cause for concern, but I’m scared. I think we all are.

I saw my grandpa this weekend for the first time in months. He isn’t able to take any anti-inflammatories in preparation of the surgery and you could tell how much his knees were hurting. He looked so tired, he looked like he was in tremendous amounts of pain.

And for the first time, he just seemed old. I know he’s 85 and that shouldn’t come as a surprise, but he’s not the same man I remember when I was 15, he’s hardly the same man I remember at 25. And that’s really tough to realize. He’s aging much faster than I’d like, than any of us would.

He’s taking things in stride as much as he can, in the ways he usually does. He survived colon cancer over 20 years ago and rebounded faster than any of us imagined. He told us on Saturday that they may have to do a skin graft from his hip to cover the wound on his tongue. And he said that it would be kind of cool because he’d officially be the only person in Bakersfield who could lick is own ass.

In case you wondered where I get my crassness from, it’s him.

I’m not sure where I’m going with this except to say that I’m scared for my grandpa. I’m scared for this surgery, for how fast he’s aging. And I’m sad, for him, for having to always put on a brave face and dealing with things that many of us wouldn’t be able to handle, things he shouldn’t have to handle.

I try not to ask for it too often, but if you have prayers to spare, (or good thoughts if that’s your persuasion), please send some for my grandpa tomorrow. He’s pretty important to a lot of us.

*UPDATE* He’s out of surgery, no skin graft (which is good, but definitely limits the jokes he was planning to tell), and everything went according to plan. Now we focus our hope on the recovery- that it goes as smoothly as the surgery and he heals quickly and without complications.

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