in a word...well, thanks to the bone infection, they're pretty much positive they need to amputate my Dad's foot, it's just a matter of scheduling around other leg angiograms which will need to come first.  The blood in the urine? That's apparently the "good" news, while they won't know for sure until a biopsy, it's about 90% likely it's the big C word on his bladder wall... but such a slow growing variety, they have nearly zero worries that it'll spread, and they'll be able to go in and take it out and it'll be just fine.

I know, I know, it could be so much worse.  It's hard on Mom and me, however, as I'm re-discovering that the only way to deal with my Dad at times like these is strictly gallows humor.  He refuses to let anyone have sympathy or empathy, he confuses it with pity, and it pisses him off.  So, the humor has to come out over the phone.  He said he'd need to look for a proverbial ass-kicking contest so he can be the busy one-legged man.  I told him he's been practicing at that for years, he'd damn well better be good at it by now.

Then I hung up the phone and cried.  For him, for Mom, for me.  I cried because I felt guilty over being upset, does that make any sense at all?  I felt guilty knowing how much worse it could be, knowing that while very difficult to deal with, the amputation is going to save him pain in the long run.  I cried because I'm helpless to do anything for him, while he's done so much for me in such a little time.  He's "only" my stepdad, I didn't meet him until I was a surly 13 year-old, but if the man can deal with that, he can deal with anything, just when he was getting his own 3 kids out of the teen years, he dates a woman with another.  He taught me to drive, that's sainthood right there, lemme tell ya. 

Life just ain't fair sometimes.