As I mentioned here earlier last week, my father’s been diagnosed with cancer. And while the prognosis is pretty good it’s still a scary prospect, at least for those of us that have never dealt with it in any way before. I was pretty freaked out for a few days there while the news settled in. A lot of you left some very kind, supportive comments and sent some very thoughtful e-mails — I just wanted to take a moment here and thank you for all of your thoughts and words.

My sister left a pretty great comment herself, saying

… We just gotta keep in mind our Dad is a BAD ASS!!! He told us he had cancer in one breath and in the next told us “I’m gonna beat this shit”. The cancer is aggressive but so is our family.

My Dad sounds pretty upbeat about it, himself. When I called him to ask how he was doing, nervously, tentatively, tiptoeing around a potentially sensitive topic, he just said

Well, I threw my back out a few days ago, I’m going blind, and I’ve got cancer. Otherwise, I’m feeling pretty good.

He sounds good, actually. He’s just going into treatment confident and upbeat, getting his P.M.A. together and gearing up. I’ve got minor guilt here, as the kid who moved off to the big faraway city while his family suffers, but that’s kinda more my load to tote. I’m going to head down for an extended visit once they figure out a treatment schedule — but for right now, this day, this moment, things don’t sound too bad.

As my girlfriend, who is herself a cancer survivor says

We’re all going to go out sometime. Cancer patients just have more detailed information.

Thanks again for all your thoughts …

My dad’s got cancer. I just found out tonight. It’s not as bad as it could be, fairly common in men his age. The doctor figures a 76 percent survival rate 5 years after treatment. That’s decent odds, I suppose, but 34 percent of a whole, whole lot of people is still a whole lot of people. And I would really rather my father not be one of them.

And there’s gonna be some treatment, too. Invasive stuff. There will be surgery and radiation and the planting of radioactive seeds deep in his body. If movies and television have taught me anything, it is that these radioactive seeds may cure this cancer, but they may also turn my father into the Swamp Thing.

We just lost my grandpa last month. My grandmother’s 94, and while she is doing well for her age, nobody in their mid-nineties is doing awesome. My Dad’s mom is out in a home in Indiana, depressed and making the nurses hate her and life will not stop getting realer and realer every week for any of us, ever.

So if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to get into my bed and watch Indiana Jones search for the Holy Grail with his dad — and wish like hell I could give my Dad a sip from that cup.