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“What goes around comes around.”

“The circle of life.”

I sat by my father’s side, surrounded by several other midlifers sitting by their parent’s side in the large infusion room. Thankfully it was late afternoon and most, but not all, of our group was there for iron infusions to treat anemia. We were among the more fortunate who visit that room at the cancer center. And yet, the tension was palpable.

My dad was being monitored for an allergic reaction to his treatment, and my anxiety was mounting as I was trying to distract him with trivial banter, running options by him of where to stop for carryout on the way home. We’ve been through so much with him in the past three years that it’s hard not to get that familiar knot in the pit of our stomachs when things are even slightly out of kilter.

Suddenly I remembered the nights when I would come in past curfew. The time I dented Mom’s car. Having to bring home a less than stellar report card. Giving birth to my daughter a month after turning twenty years old. I remembered the look of worry in my dad’s eyes then, and wondered if he was now able to see that same look in my eyes.

Whoever coined the phrase, “Karma’s a real bitch” knew what they were talking about.

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