SO - I thought now that this is 'out there' and people who know me, my Dad and my family have seen it I thought I'd better explain why I'm doing this.
I want to be able to express, vent and process how I'm feeling in a non confrontational, neutral way. You have the choice to either read this or back away; you haven't been cornered in an awkward conversation with a daughter grieving for a man who's still alive. As you can probably imagine, it's very very hard when your hero is desperately ill, and it's very easy to get to the point where you find that ALL you're talking about and thinking about is Cancer. It's a bastard. It becomes all consuming, and before you know it you're 'that chick who's Dad has cancer' or, as I recently discovered 'that chick who just wah's on and on about her Dad...' (I'm sorry you felt that way, you know who you are, and yes, there's a reason you can no longer find me on facebook.....)
I have some very very beautiful friends (Emma, Kate, Liz, Liane, Raylene, Dee.. oh god I hope I haven't missed anyone.....) who've LET me bleat on, and I love you for it.
And everyone else who's offered words of love and support, I love you for it too.
It's therapeutic for me to write this down, it saves the tears or well practiced calmness in front of the kids or anything else that I present face to face, it's raw and real, and it's what I'm living in the now.
So because of this some of what I write IS going to be selfish, or blunt, or ridiculously full of self pity, or it might be upsetting, or it might dredge up some miserable things for those reading it, and I'm truly sorry if it does. Please remember that this is a place I'm using to vent raw emotion, and if you're offended, I really am sorry.
I also want to do this because I want to remember the journey of Dad's illness. I've found myself reaching out to people who've been in this very situation, and I've found they seem to only concentrate on the end. I'm not sure why this is, and I'm frightened of what I'll be like when it happens to me, but I hope I can look back on this blog one day and have my Dad's whole journey right here in black and white. Every crying fit, every triumph, every little detail. So that later on, maybe it'll take years, I can look back on this and perhaps get some sort of comfort. Or maybe it's just a good place to store all those little things you take for granted everyday, but become precious memories in the future.
So if you're reading this, thank you for giving me an outlet, for those who've offered your support, I love you for it, and to anyone else out there in the big wide world who may have stumbled across this while you're on your own journey, I hope can provide some sort of comfort that you're not the only person feeling like you are.
Mum, Jen, Cam, Lucy and Mike - I love you all, It's a bastard of a journey we're on but I couldn't wish for better people to go through this with.
And of course: I love you Dad
xoxo
Saturday, February 26, 2011
Wednesday, February 16, 2011
Your new 'Normal'
16 February 2011
Dear Dad,
Well today was the day! After having half a litre of potentially life threatening/life saving chemical's pumped into you yesterday they've decided you coped well enough to be discharged today.
I was going to come in today and see you anyway, Jenny Haaima has given me a stack of last weeks magazines from the shop to keep you occupied when you're not feeling well enough to get out and about. It was awful telling her you're now terminal Dad - she cried. She's had too much heartbreak in the last couple of months and I think it was overwhelming to hear that you're so sick too. I feel like I'm talking about someone else when I tell people about you Dad. I suppose I look suitably sad, but it still doesn't feel all that real. It feels like I'm passing on gossip about someone elses sick Dad, not mine.
You sounded happy and keen to get home when you rang this morning, and you were pleased to report that the chemo had had very little effect on you. We initially planned for me to pick you up after tech but I managed to get Mum on the cellphone and she decided the hell with the A and P show, she'd go and collect you herself.
I had a two hour break between afternoon classes, so I filled my time by wandering down to the hospital in the sun to spend some time with you before you were discharged. I ran into Mum while I was getting a coffee and we sat in your room and chatted while you were finishing up with the Doctor. She looks very tired, but she looked much happier than when I last saw her on Saturday, She'll be pleased to get you home.
You actually looked much better today, it might be that you're out of bed and back into your own clothes, it might have been that you were escaping the hospital but you definitely looked perkier than when I saw you on Monday.
You've lost a fair bit of weight in the last 3 weeks though, and the bruises on your arms where they've been putting in IV's is fairly disturbing, but it's a small price to pay for having your life expectancy lengthened isn't it?
So you've been sent home with a 21 day cycle of chemo. IV drugs, then 2 weeks of pills, then a one week break from treatment. This will go on for about 5 months apparently. Pills and IV's and anti nausea drugs and pain relief and pills so potent you're not to let anyone touch them because while they can (and hopefully will) shrink your tumours they can CAUSE cancer should a cherubic but un assuming grandson grab one and gulp it down. This is going to be you from now on.
This is your new Normal.
This is going to be your life.
It's a bastard but we'll take it for a few more precious months right?
I love you Dad
Dear Dad,
Well today was the day! After having half a litre of potentially life threatening/life saving chemical's pumped into you yesterday they've decided you coped well enough to be discharged today.
I was going to come in today and see you anyway, Jenny Haaima has given me a stack of last weeks magazines from the shop to keep you occupied when you're not feeling well enough to get out and about. It was awful telling her you're now terminal Dad - she cried. She's had too much heartbreak in the last couple of months and I think it was overwhelming to hear that you're so sick too. I feel like I'm talking about someone else when I tell people about you Dad. I suppose I look suitably sad, but it still doesn't feel all that real. It feels like I'm passing on gossip about someone elses sick Dad, not mine.
You sounded happy and keen to get home when you rang this morning, and you were pleased to report that the chemo had had very little effect on you. We initially planned for me to pick you up after tech but I managed to get Mum on the cellphone and she decided the hell with the A and P show, she'd go and collect you herself.
I had a two hour break between afternoon classes, so I filled my time by wandering down to the hospital in the sun to spend some time with you before you were discharged. I ran into Mum while I was getting a coffee and we sat in your room and chatted while you were finishing up with the Doctor. She looks very tired, but she looked much happier than when I last saw her on Saturday, She'll be pleased to get you home.
You actually looked much better today, it might be that you're out of bed and back into your own clothes, it might have been that you were escaping the hospital but you definitely looked perkier than when I saw you on Monday.
You've lost a fair bit of weight in the last 3 weeks though, and the bruises on your arms where they've been putting in IV's is fairly disturbing, but it's a small price to pay for having your life expectancy lengthened isn't it?
So you've been sent home with a 21 day cycle of chemo. IV drugs, then 2 weeks of pills, then a one week break from treatment. This will go on for about 5 months apparently. Pills and IV's and anti nausea drugs and pain relief and pills so potent you're not to let anyone touch them because while they can (and hopefully will) shrink your tumours they can CAUSE cancer should a cherubic but un assuming grandson grab one and gulp it down. This is going to be you from now on.
This is your new Normal.
This is going to be your life.
It's a bastard but we'll take it for a few more precious months right?
I love you Dad
Monday, February 14, 2011
Re-admission
14 February 2011
Hi Dad,
Well you're back in hospital. Looks like you're gonna be spending a lot of time in there huh.
Sounds like you had a productive 24 hours at home. You were typical you - fixing things. I was so sorry you had to go home and shoot your old heading dog Gus. I should have done it for you, but I didn't have time to get out home to sort it out before you did. At least there's no more pain for him now.
I caught up with you today between classes. It was my first day of Tech today, and I'm surprised at the low work load they put on while I'm actually there, but are keen to put 35+ hours worth of work for me while I'm at home.... I guess I'll find a way to get my 'home' work done between classes. But for today it was a nice chance to walk up to the hospital in the sun and sit with you for an hour.
You looked 'puffy' today. I'm not sure what in particular was swollen, you just definitely looked puffy around the midsection. It must be where you liver's blown up. You still look good considering though, a wee bit tired but still happy to chat and joke with me.
I really liked the plan your making to be around for Lucy's first day of school. A five year plan for a man who's been given two. Your courage and determination in fighting this is mind blowing Dad, I really am very very proud of you.
Who knows, Lucy's first day of school is still 5 years away, and god only knows what amazing medical advances could be made by then.
You sounded really positive today Dad, you have no idea how comforting it is when I'm still struggling to come to grips with the fact that you're terminally ill. Your call at tea time to say they'd finally finished the relentless testing and were going to kick off the chemo tomorrow was good to hear too. The sooner they start hitting the bastard the better, the faster they start chemo the faster they can start shrinking those tumours, it can only be a good thing if it's going to buy us all some more time together.
Time has never been so precious
Love you heaps Dad, we'll talk soon xoxo
Hi Dad,
Well you're back in hospital. Looks like you're gonna be spending a lot of time in there huh.
Sounds like you had a productive 24 hours at home. You were typical you - fixing things. I was so sorry you had to go home and shoot your old heading dog Gus. I should have done it for you, but I didn't have time to get out home to sort it out before you did. At least there's no more pain for him now.
I caught up with you today between classes. It was my first day of Tech today, and I'm surprised at the low work load they put on while I'm actually there, but are keen to put 35+ hours worth of work for me while I'm at home.... I guess I'll find a way to get my 'home' work done between classes. But for today it was a nice chance to walk up to the hospital in the sun and sit with you for an hour.
You looked 'puffy' today. I'm not sure what in particular was swollen, you just definitely looked puffy around the midsection. It must be where you liver's blown up. You still look good considering though, a wee bit tired but still happy to chat and joke with me.
I really liked the plan your making to be around for Lucy's first day of school. A five year plan for a man who's been given two. Your courage and determination in fighting this is mind blowing Dad, I really am very very proud of you.
Who knows, Lucy's first day of school is still 5 years away, and god only knows what amazing medical advances could be made by then.
You sounded really positive today Dad, you have no idea how comforting it is when I'm still struggling to come to grips with the fact that you're terminally ill. Your call at tea time to say they'd finally finished the relentless testing and were going to kick off the chemo tomorrow was good to hear too. The sooner they start hitting the bastard the better, the faster they start chemo the faster they can start shrinking those tumours, it can only be a good thing if it's going to buy us all some more time together.
Time has never been so precious
Love you heaps Dad, we'll talk soon xoxo
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Two Years
12 February 2011
Dear Dad,
Well we had the meeting today.
We met Dr Perez, who of course is lovely, but he'd have to have a lovely personality to do the job he does. You generally don't get arseholes in the oncology ward I'm discovering. I guess people who have to dish out the worst possible news and work with people at their absolute sickest have to be special people don't they.
So he told us that while it has yet to be confirmed, they're sure it's bowel cancer. Bowel cancer that's spread up into your liver. And you have lymphoma cooking away in the back ground. They're going to do one last test on Monday (some kids of scope - I can't remember the word he said) to confirm the type of bowel cancer.
The spots on your liver are large, and appear to have been there for some time.
And you're not going to beat this.
This is what's going to kill you.
And it's going to kill you relatively quickly. Within 2 years.
Two years.
It's not long enough is it??
Not when you're still so young and the grand kids are still so little.
Two years to make enough memories for a lifetime for these little kids, to make sure they remember their grandad.
It's not all bad news though - they CAN and ARE going to attempt Chemo, and while there's no way to cure this awful disease they're confident they can shrink the tumors to the point where you'll have a good quality of life for the time you have left.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm eternally grateful we have the chance to prepare, no MAKE memories, it's the chance so many people don't get, but that doesn't mean it doesn't feel like my hearts been ripped out and stomped on.
Two Years. The Countdown's started.
So tonight you're at home, with Mum for a short break before they bring you back into hospital tomorrow night. Monday is more testing, then god knows what happens after then.
Two Years. It's not enough.
Dear Dad,
Well we had the meeting today.
We met Dr Perez, who of course is lovely, but he'd have to have a lovely personality to do the job he does. You generally don't get arseholes in the oncology ward I'm discovering. I guess people who have to dish out the worst possible news and work with people at their absolute sickest have to be special people don't they.
So he told us that while it has yet to be confirmed, they're sure it's bowel cancer. Bowel cancer that's spread up into your liver. And you have lymphoma cooking away in the back ground. They're going to do one last test on Monday (some kids of scope - I can't remember the word he said) to confirm the type of bowel cancer.
The spots on your liver are large, and appear to have been there for some time.
And you're not going to beat this.
This is what's going to kill you.
And it's going to kill you relatively quickly. Within 2 years.
Two years.
It's not long enough is it??
Not when you're still so young and the grand kids are still so little.
Two years to make enough memories for a lifetime for these little kids, to make sure they remember their grandad.
It's not all bad news though - they CAN and ARE going to attempt Chemo, and while there's no way to cure this awful disease they're confident they can shrink the tumors to the point where you'll have a good quality of life for the time you have left.
Now don't get me wrong, I'm eternally grateful we have the chance to prepare, no MAKE memories, it's the chance so many people don't get, but that doesn't mean it doesn't feel like my hearts been ripped out and stomped on.
Two Years. The Countdown's started.
So tonight you're at home, with Mum for a short break before they bring you back into hospital tomorrow night. Monday is more testing, then god knows what happens after then.
Two Years. It's not enough.
Friday, February 11, 2011
Devastation
11 February 2011
Dear Dad,
Well we really got the rug pulled out from under us today didn't we.
Jen called me at about 3pm, just as I was heading out the door to my meeting, with the worst possible news. Your liver biopsy was back - It IS Liver Cancer.
and the arse fell out of my world.
Turns out you had Liver cancer all along. But here's the kicker - the lymph node biopsy came back as lymphoma because you have lymphoma too. And as Liver cancer is almost always a secondary cancer the prime suspect it Bowel Cancer. Triple threat. 3 Cancers at once.
She was in tears. I was in shock. How the hell can this be happening?! you STILL don't look sick! not THAT sick! Not three cancers at once sick!
What really upsets me is that you were by yourself when you were given the news, after being given the option for the hospital to contact us to come in you chose not to because you didn't want to be any hassle. And then after being told you weren't going to survive this awful disease you tried to call us for an hour an a half before you managed to get Jenny on the phone. I'm so sorry Dad. I'm sorry you were alone when you heard, and I'm sorry none of us had a phone handy when you were trying to contact us. I wish to god I was there Dad, it's not fair you were on your own.
SO I came straight in to see you, you were just you. Not upset, not distressed. You apologised for the stress. APOLOGISED! Dad you don't have to apologise for anything. You've never been anything but a fantastic father, and we've been blessed to have you in our lives, blessed to have been lucky enough to have YOU for our Dad. Apparently between the phone call and me arriving though your oncologist had been in and talked about Chemo therapy, so they haven't written you off with a short term death sentence yet. But Fuck Dad, I can't see you beating this. Not now it's everywhere.
So tomorrow we're gathering as a family for that meeting with your oncologist. You're calmly optimistic. I'm terrified Dad. Terrified.
I want to crawl under a rock and cry.
I love you Dad.
Dear Dad,
Well we really got the rug pulled out from under us today didn't we.
Jen called me at about 3pm, just as I was heading out the door to my meeting, with the worst possible news. Your liver biopsy was back - It IS Liver Cancer.
and the arse fell out of my world.
Turns out you had Liver cancer all along. But here's the kicker - the lymph node biopsy came back as lymphoma because you have lymphoma too. And as Liver cancer is almost always a secondary cancer the prime suspect it Bowel Cancer. Triple threat. 3 Cancers at once.
She was in tears. I was in shock. How the hell can this be happening?! you STILL don't look sick! not THAT sick! Not three cancers at once sick!
What really upsets me is that you were by yourself when you were given the news, after being given the option for the hospital to contact us to come in you chose not to because you didn't want to be any hassle. And then after being told you weren't going to survive this awful disease you tried to call us for an hour an a half before you managed to get Jenny on the phone. I'm so sorry Dad. I'm sorry you were alone when you heard, and I'm sorry none of us had a phone handy when you were trying to contact us. I wish to god I was there Dad, it's not fair you were on your own.
SO I came straight in to see you, you were just you. Not upset, not distressed. You apologised for the stress. APOLOGISED! Dad you don't have to apologise for anything. You've never been anything but a fantastic father, and we've been blessed to have you in our lives, blessed to have been lucky enough to have YOU for our Dad. Apparently between the phone call and me arriving though your oncologist had been in and talked about Chemo therapy, so they haven't written you off with a short term death sentence yet. But Fuck Dad, I can't see you beating this. Not now it's everywhere.
So tomorrow we're gathering as a family for that meeting with your oncologist. You're calmly optimistic. I'm terrified Dad. Terrified.
I want to crawl under a rock and cry.
I love you Dad.
Thursday, February 10, 2011
Testing Testing
10 February 2011
Dear Dad,
Well you're still stuck in hospital. I didn't get in to see you today, I knew you had a lot of things going on and would probably need a rest thanks to all the drugs they've no doubt hooked you up with.
It was good to hear from you this morning, who knew you'd get so proficient with a cell phone so quickly after YEARS of cursing them! I was disappointed for you to hear that after 12 hours Nil By Mouth your surgery to get your lymph nodes taken out was bumped. You need to get pushier though, it's one thing to have your surgery bumped, it's another thing entirely to be left thirsty when no one tells you the surgery isn't happening. I'm glad you eventually spoke up and they got you a saline drip, I bet you felt much better after that.
So today they took the biopsy out of your liver, and you're booked in yet again to get the lymph nodes out, hopefully tomorrow.
I wonder if they know what exactly is going on yet? What type of lymphoma it is? I suppose it doesn't really matter does it, as long as you're getting the right treatment.
Speaking of treatment, sounds like Monday's going to be the day! Wow! I can't believe it's only been 2 weeks since you were diagnosed and they've already got the chemo ready. So it doesn't look like you're going to get out of hospital any time in the near future does it? You're in the best place though Dad, there's no point in being at home feeling like shit when you can be in hospital being looked after properly.
I rang Mum this morning after you rang me, she sounds stressed out and frazzled. She also sounded relieved that you seem to be in such good spirits. She's doing her usual Mum thing and throwing herself into anything and everything to let off some steam. Don't worry, I've got Jen looking after her. And like I told you, I'm only 40 minutes away of you need supplies or need to be picked up should you manage a short hospital escape or even if you just get lonely, that way there's not the pressure on her for the 4 hour round trip, and when she comes to see you it'll be more relaxed, less like she's running around doing errands.
I'm in town tomorrow, so I'll be in to visit and drop off some reading material. Shit you must be getting bored. I'm in town all next week anyway, we can do lunch!
Rest up Dad, it's another big day tomorrow. Hopefully you'll have some results from all this testing soon
Love you heaps
Cath xox
Dear Dad,
Well you're still stuck in hospital. I didn't get in to see you today, I knew you had a lot of things going on and would probably need a rest thanks to all the drugs they've no doubt hooked you up with.
It was good to hear from you this morning, who knew you'd get so proficient with a cell phone so quickly after YEARS of cursing them! I was disappointed for you to hear that after 12 hours Nil By Mouth your surgery to get your lymph nodes taken out was bumped. You need to get pushier though, it's one thing to have your surgery bumped, it's another thing entirely to be left thirsty when no one tells you the surgery isn't happening. I'm glad you eventually spoke up and they got you a saline drip, I bet you felt much better after that.
So today they took the biopsy out of your liver, and you're booked in yet again to get the lymph nodes out, hopefully tomorrow.
I wonder if they know what exactly is going on yet? What type of lymphoma it is? I suppose it doesn't really matter does it, as long as you're getting the right treatment.
Speaking of treatment, sounds like Monday's going to be the day! Wow! I can't believe it's only been 2 weeks since you were diagnosed and they've already got the chemo ready. So it doesn't look like you're going to get out of hospital any time in the near future does it? You're in the best place though Dad, there's no point in being at home feeling like shit when you can be in hospital being looked after properly.
I rang Mum this morning after you rang me, she sounds stressed out and frazzled. She also sounded relieved that you seem to be in such good spirits. She's doing her usual Mum thing and throwing herself into anything and everything to let off some steam. Don't worry, I've got Jen looking after her. And like I told you, I'm only 40 minutes away of you need supplies or need to be picked up should you manage a short hospital escape or even if you just get lonely, that way there's not the pressure on her for the 4 hour round trip, and when she comes to see you it'll be more relaxed, less like she's running around doing errands.
I'm in town tomorrow, so I'll be in to visit and drop off some reading material. Shit you must be getting bored. I'm in town all next week anyway, we can do lunch!
Rest up Dad, it's another big day tomorrow. Hopefully you'll have some results from all this testing soon
Love you heaps
Cath xox
Hospital
9 February 2011
Dear Dad,
Well we missed each other this morning, you had to be in at 8, so there was no time for a coffee in Palmerston today.
I gotta say, I admire your dedication and diligence for getting to appointments and tests, it's shows me and the people looking after you that you're serious about getting better.
We caught up after I'd been and done the groceries, and Mike had taken Cam to the fire station so I didn't have to worry about him galloping around the hospital while I was trying to talk to you.
I was initially shocked with how exhausted you looked, but it all made sense once you told me you'd been sedated for the bone marrow biopsy. Actually is amazing how SICK someone can look when they're in an oncology ward with a lure in the back of their hand and a hospital bracelet on. Then again, you should have seen some of the other in patients.... by comparison you're still looking decidedly chipper!
You are looking quite swollen around the face though... it must be your lymph nodes, and seeing you in bed with Pajama's on made how swollen you liver is obvious too. You're obviously in the right place, because while you look a long way off dying there's something not right.
So by the time I saw you you'd had the bone marrow biopsy, and were due to have the CT scan at 4pm. I was lucky enough to be there when as the doctor did her rounds. They're still obviously concerned about the way your liver's so enlarged, so they're going to biopsy that too. Wow you're really being put through a barrage of tests, but I'm glad they're being so thorough, it's reassuring. Hopefully after all these tests they'll know everything they need to do for the absolute best treatment possible.
You're in good spirits, and that's fantastic. It must be very daunting and boring being stuck in there by yourself with no TV and no one to talk to. I've given you that wee cellphone, and I'll call you every night, just to keep in touch (Sorry the only phone I had spare is baby pink...... but my other's one's bright pink.... I'll find you a case LOL). God knows I've done enough short trips to hospital with Cameron to know how dire it is when you're in a room by yourself, but I'm in all week next week for course so I'll be in to visit.
I admire your courage and the fight you're putting into this Dad, and you made me so proud when you said you're going to give this everything you've got because you want to see the grand kids grow up (even if I did nearly cry when you said it.... yeah I've been doing that a lot lately....)
I spoke to Jen on the phone once I got home and gave her your new cell phone number and filled her in on what's happening with you. I'm SO glad Mike and I made the big move down south, it's been so good to have such a great relationship with Jenny, and have her to support me, and hopefully I'm doing the same for her. And of course be here for you and Mum. Everything happens for a reason right? it was definitely the right move coming down here.
I'll be in on Friday (I have a Plunket society meeting.. yeah when exactly did I turn into Mum?? LOL) so I'll be in to visit then. I'll give you a call before I come, I might be able to bring you a takeaway treat for tea :)
Love you Dad xoxo
Dear Dad,
Well we missed each other this morning, you had to be in at 8, so there was no time for a coffee in Palmerston today.
I gotta say, I admire your dedication and diligence for getting to appointments and tests, it's shows me and the people looking after you that you're serious about getting better.
We caught up after I'd been and done the groceries, and Mike had taken Cam to the fire station so I didn't have to worry about him galloping around the hospital while I was trying to talk to you.
I was initially shocked with how exhausted you looked, but it all made sense once you told me you'd been sedated for the bone marrow biopsy. Actually is amazing how SICK someone can look when they're in an oncology ward with a lure in the back of their hand and a hospital bracelet on. Then again, you should have seen some of the other in patients.... by comparison you're still looking decidedly chipper!
You are looking quite swollen around the face though... it must be your lymph nodes, and seeing you in bed with Pajama's on made how swollen you liver is obvious too. You're obviously in the right place, because while you look a long way off dying there's something not right.
So by the time I saw you you'd had the bone marrow biopsy, and were due to have the CT scan at 4pm. I was lucky enough to be there when as the doctor did her rounds. They're still obviously concerned about the way your liver's so enlarged, so they're going to biopsy that too. Wow you're really being put through a barrage of tests, but I'm glad they're being so thorough, it's reassuring. Hopefully after all these tests they'll know everything they need to do for the absolute best treatment possible.
You're in good spirits, and that's fantastic. It must be very daunting and boring being stuck in there by yourself with no TV and no one to talk to. I've given you that wee cellphone, and I'll call you every night, just to keep in touch (Sorry the only phone I had spare is baby pink...... but my other's one's bright pink.... I'll find you a case LOL). God knows I've done enough short trips to hospital with Cameron to know how dire it is when you're in a room by yourself, but I'm in all week next week for course so I'll be in to visit.
I admire your courage and the fight you're putting into this Dad, and you made me so proud when you said you're going to give this everything you've got because you want to see the grand kids grow up (even if I did nearly cry when you said it.... yeah I've been doing that a lot lately....)
I spoke to Jen on the phone once I got home and gave her your new cell phone number and filled her in on what's happening with you. I'm SO glad Mike and I made the big move down south, it's been so good to have such a great relationship with Jenny, and have her to support me, and hopefully I'm doing the same for her. And of course be here for you and Mum. Everything happens for a reason right? it was definitely the right move coming down here.
I'll be in on Friday (I have a Plunket society meeting.. yeah when exactly did I turn into Mum?? LOL) so I'll be in to visit then. I'll give you a call before I come, I might be able to bring you a takeaway treat for tea :)
Love you Dad xoxo
Wednesday, February 9, 2011
Appointment
8 February 2011
Dear Dad,
It was good to see you this morning, Thank you for the car... it's perfect, as I knew it would be, you'd cleaned it, vacuumed it and made if perfect for me. It still scares the shit out of me that you've given me your trusty and much loved Toyota but I'll look past that and just thank you for the gift.
Thank you
So you had your oncologist appointment this morning. I wanted to go with you, but you know how stubborn you are. Fair enough I guess, it's up to you, and at least you weren't by yourself, Mum was there too. Make sure you ask her if you think you may have missed anything, OK? She's pretty onto it, and she will have a fairly good idea of what was said and what was meant. Or don't be afraid to ask me too OK? even if I don't know Liz won't mind translating Doctor speak for me, she's a good person, and a great friend :)
I gotta tell you, it was a bloody long day waiting to hear from you about your results. I'd tried to text Mum, but she was being frustrating and cryptic, and her being at work meant I couldn't even call her. I think Jenny had herself worked into a state too (you know what we're like... we feed off each other...). I guess I'm really lucky living in town (if that's what you can call Palmerston....) and have friends close enough to walk to and grab a cuppa with, but I think Jen spends a lot of time at her place by herself stressing. Make sure you keep us both in he loop OK?
I so so relieved to hear your voice when you called just after tea. It's a shock that they want you in so fast (tomorrow!) but I'm relieved they're getting onto it so fast, and your oncologist sounds very personable and thorough, just the sort of person I want looking after my Dad. So tomorrow you're in early for a CAT scan, lymph node - ectomy (this was your word...) and a bone marrow biopsy. And you were told to bring things and expect to stay. I can't tell you how relieved I am that you're so positive and pro active about heading into the unknown. I know you must be shitting bricks about it, but the only way you're gonna win this war is by fighting it and getting the best help possible, and you're attitude will go a long way into winning this, keep it up!
I still had a big sooky last night after talking to you though. It's fucking terrifying, and being home alone so much doesn't help. It's exhausting trying to keep it all stuffed down and bottled up so I don't freak out the kids with constant sniffling or add any undue pressure to Mike when his exam's on Friday. Thank god for Emma, Liane and Kate for letting me bleat on via facebook. Especially Emma, she kindly lets me wah on almost every night. Mike should bloody send her flowers for taking the pressure off him.
I'm in town tomorrow anyway for some last minute things before I start course, so I'll pop into the hospital and see how you are. I would drop you off a cell phone but you know... the less said about your technology ability the better LOL
Keep strong Dad, and I'll see you tomorrow once the medical juggernaut has started
Love Cath xo
Dear Dad,
It was good to see you this morning, Thank you for the car... it's perfect, as I knew it would be, you'd cleaned it, vacuumed it and made if perfect for me. It still scares the shit out of me that you've given me your trusty and much loved Toyota but I'll look past that and just thank you for the gift.
Thank you
So you had your oncologist appointment this morning. I wanted to go with you, but you know how stubborn you are. Fair enough I guess, it's up to you, and at least you weren't by yourself, Mum was there too. Make sure you ask her if you think you may have missed anything, OK? She's pretty onto it, and she will have a fairly good idea of what was said and what was meant. Or don't be afraid to ask me too OK? even if I don't know Liz won't mind translating Doctor speak for me, she's a good person, and a great friend :)
I gotta tell you, it was a bloody long day waiting to hear from you about your results. I'd tried to text Mum, but she was being frustrating and cryptic, and her being at work meant I couldn't even call her. I think Jenny had herself worked into a state too (you know what we're like... we feed off each other...). I guess I'm really lucky living in town (if that's what you can call Palmerston....) and have friends close enough to walk to and grab a cuppa with, but I think Jen spends a lot of time at her place by herself stressing. Make sure you keep us both in he loop OK?
I so so relieved to hear your voice when you called just after tea. It's a shock that they want you in so fast (tomorrow!) but I'm relieved they're getting onto it so fast, and your oncologist sounds very personable and thorough, just the sort of person I want looking after my Dad. So tomorrow you're in early for a CAT scan, lymph node - ectomy (this was your word...) and a bone marrow biopsy. And you were told to bring things and expect to stay. I can't tell you how relieved I am that you're so positive and pro active about heading into the unknown. I know you must be shitting bricks about it, but the only way you're gonna win this war is by fighting it and getting the best help possible, and you're attitude will go a long way into winning this, keep it up!
I still had a big sooky last night after talking to you though. It's fucking terrifying, and being home alone so much doesn't help. It's exhausting trying to keep it all stuffed down and bottled up so I don't freak out the kids with constant sniffling or add any undue pressure to Mike when his exam's on Friday. Thank god for Emma, Liane and Kate for letting me bleat on via facebook. Especially Emma, she kindly lets me wah on almost every night. Mike should bloody send her flowers for taking the pressure off him.
I'm in town tomorrow anyway for some last minute things before I start course, so I'll pop into the hospital and see how you are. I would drop you off a cell phone but you know... the less said about your technology ability the better LOL
Keep strong Dad, and I'll see you tomorrow once the medical juggernaut has started
Love Cath xo
Monday, February 7, 2011
Face to Face
7 February 2011
Dear Dad,
It's taken me a while to write this, I've had a lot to process since we spent the weekend together.
I was hesitant to see you to be honest. I was scared you'd be thin, you'd look sick. You'd look like you were Dying, and I haven't been ready to face that.
When we arrived on Thursday night you just looked like you always to. Happy to see us, happy to see the kids. Chatty. Friendly. You and Mum showed me around the new Prado. You're pretty impressed with your new wheels. We spoke about me buying your faithful and well loved Toyota off you. But when it was time for everyone to sit down to a family BBQ you disappeared upstairs onto the phone. Now to be honest, you can talk the leg off an iron pot, but still, 2 1/2 hours on the phone? to a person you haven't been in contact with much over the years? really? Jen thinks you were avoiding us - having the whole family in one group was a bit too overwhelming when you're the reluctant centre of attention for all the wrong reasons. I'd almost be inclined to agree, but when Mum was showing me some sewing she's been doing she told me you've been having a lot of trouble eating, and the other night you'd vomited all down the hallway. Were you avoiding us as a group or scared you'd be sick and embarrass yourself? It's OK, for what ever reason, we're not offended. I just hope you don't feel you have to keep up appearances for our sakes.
Otherwise you seem pretty much the same. You looked a bit tired. and you were pretty crabby... but stress does that too, doesn't it?
So your oncologists appointment is tomorrow, and you're adamant you don't want me there. Fair enough. Just know I'm here when you DO want me though, won't you.
I'll always be here for you Dad, OK? The other day, when you took Cam for the ride in the car to get the paper? He told me about it Dad. I know he doesn't talk much, but he doesn't talk rubbish either. And he's very easy to understand when you REALLY listen to him. I cried and cried when we got home to Palmerston on Saturday and he told me
'Cam, Grandad ride in Grandad's Car. Grandad Cried.'
It broke my heart.
You HAVE to fight this, OK? Those Grandkids need you too much.
I'll see you tomorrow Dad, when you drop off the Toyota. I'm really grateful you thought of me rather than just taking bottom dollar for it at the dealers, and I'm trying not to think that you're settling up affairs, OK? I'm taking this car only on the basis that it's a generous offer from a Daddy to his daughter, nothing more, nothing less, and I'll take care of that car like no car I've ever owned before.
Love you Dad xo
Dear Dad,
It's taken me a while to write this, I've had a lot to process since we spent the weekend together.
I was hesitant to see you to be honest. I was scared you'd be thin, you'd look sick. You'd look like you were Dying, and I haven't been ready to face that.
When we arrived on Thursday night you just looked like you always to. Happy to see us, happy to see the kids. Chatty. Friendly. You and Mum showed me around the new Prado. You're pretty impressed with your new wheels. We spoke about me buying your faithful and well loved Toyota off you. But when it was time for everyone to sit down to a family BBQ you disappeared upstairs onto the phone. Now to be honest, you can talk the leg off an iron pot, but still, 2 1/2 hours on the phone? to a person you haven't been in contact with much over the years? really? Jen thinks you were avoiding us - having the whole family in one group was a bit too overwhelming when you're the reluctant centre of attention for all the wrong reasons. I'd almost be inclined to agree, but when Mum was showing me some sewing she's been doing she told me you've been having a lot of trouble eating, and the other night you'd vomited all down the hallway. Were you avoiding us as a group or scared you'd be sick and embarrass yourself? It's OK, for what ever reason, we're not offended. I just hope you don't feel you have to keep up appearances for our sakes.
Otherwise you seem pretty much the same. You looked a bit tired. and you were pretty crabby... but stress does that too, doesn't it?
So your oncologists appointment is tomorrow, and you're adamant you don't want me there. Fair enough. Just know I'm here when you DO want me though, won't you.
I'll always be here for you Dad, OK? The other day, when you took Cam for the ride in the car to get the paper? He told me about it Dad. I know he doesn't talk much, but he doesn't talk rubbish either. And he's very easy to understand when you REALLY listen to him. I cried and cried when we got home to Palmerston on Saturday and he told me
'Cam, Grandad ride in Grandad's Car. Grandad Cried.'
It broke my heart.
You HAVE to fight this, OK? Those Grandkids need you too much.
I'll see you tomorrow Dad, when you drop off the Toyota. I'm really grateful you thought of me rather than just taking bottom dollar for it at the dealers, and I'm trying not to think that you're settling up affairs, OK? I'm taking this car only on the basis that it's a generous offer from a Daddy to his daughter, nothing more, nothing less, and I'll take care of that car like no car I've ever owned before.
Love you Dad xo
Wednesday, February 2, 2011
Still Waiting
2 February 2011
Dear Dad,
Well, still no news. I even rung tonight to see how you're doing, because I'm SURE Mum's sick of me texting a million times a day. She'll be stressed enough without me harping on and on at her. I'm sorry I'm winding her up, but I'm having trouble just sitting back and waiting for something to happen. I want action now!
You sound fine. You chat about the dogs, drenching lambs, organising the muster, unblocking the septic tank (ewwwww! you better not die! Cos I don't want one of my last conversations with you to involve poo on the lawn! Dad! seriously! LOL) and you still sound well and happy.
I was glad you're so happy and open to talk about it though, and I'm glad you sound SO positive about treatment (if we EVER find out what exactly that entails), I was worried you were either
A - Shutting it out
B - Not comprehending the seriousness of the situation
or C - you'd already planned to not take the treatment and just take what comes when it comes.
I know you must be terrified about Chemo, it's the unknown isn't it? You saw Grandma go through it, and then Grandad died before Chemo could even be organised, and it must be horrifying when your only first hand experiences with Cancer have been fatal. I'm not sure what to tell you to reassure you. It's gonna be bloody hard Dad. It's going to be painful and long and you're going to feel like shit 99% of the time. And yep, you'll probably LOOK sick, and you even might lose all your dunny brush hair, but that's OK. You'll still be YOU and you'll be doing SOMETHING to fight this. And we'll be here to support you, 100% and 24/7, and all those other buzz word catch phrases you like to use LOL
I worry about Mum. I'm worried that she's shutting down. I KNOW she's terrified. You can tell. She went out today and bought a fortunes worth of Land Cruiser Prado, and we know mum ONLY spends money when she's terrified. We've seen it first hand - remember when Richard was in hospital and she bought that laptop? (Although I can't really comment... me and Jen spent every day down at the shops when Richard was in ICU.... and if I'm REALLY honest, I bought new shoes on Thursday after you were diagnosed... I was SO upset when I got home, and had a big melt down about 'happily' shopping while my Dad was so sick, but I honestly think I had gone onto auto pilot and carried out my last conscious decision as a coping mechanism....)
I'm gonna see you tomorrow anyway, when we all come out to stay before Liane and James' Wedding . I hope you're looking as well as you claim to be. I'm a wee but scared about seeing you in person, please don't be freaked out if I cry!
Love you heaps xo
Dear Dad,
Well, still no news. I even rung tonight to see how you're doing, because I'm SURE Mum's sick of me texting a million times a day. She'll be stressed enough without me harping on and on at her. I'm sorry I'm winding her up, but I'm having trouble just sitting back and waiting for something to happen. I want action now!
You sound fine. You chat about the dogs, drenching lambs, organising the muster, unblocking the septic tank (ewwwww! you better not die! Cos I don't want one of my last conversations with you to involve poo on the lawn! Dad! seriously! LOL) and you still sound well and happy.
I was glad you're so happy and open to talk about it though, and I'm glad you sound SO positive about treatment (if we EVER find out what exactly that entails), I was worried you were either
A - Shutting it out
B - Not comprehending the seriousness of the situation
or C - you'd already planned to not take the treatment and just take what comes when it comes.
I know you must be terrified about Chemo, it's the unknown isn't it? You saw Grandma go through it, and then Grandad died before Chemo could even be organised, and it must be horrifying when your only first hand experiences with Cancer have been fatal. I'm not sure what to tell you to reassure you. It's gonna be bloody hard Dad. It's going to be painful and long and you're going to feel like shit 99% of the time. And yep, you'll probably LOOK sick, and you even might lose all your dunny brush hair, but that's OK. You'll still be YOU and you'll be doing SOMETHING to fight this. And we'll be here to support you, 100% and 24/7, and all those other buzz word catch phrases you like to use LOL
I worry about Mum. I'm worried that she's shutting down. I KNOW she's terrified. You can tell. She went out today and bought a fortunes worth of Land Cruiser Prado, and we know mum ONLY spends money when she's terrified. We've seen it first hand - remember when Richard was in hospital and she bought that laptop? (Although I can't really comment... me and Jen spent every day down at the shops when Richard was in ICU.... and if I'm REALLY honest, I bought new shoes on Thursday after you were diagnosed... I was SO upset when I got home, and had a big melt down about 'happily' shopping while my Dad was so sick, but I honestly think I had gone onto auto pilot and carried out my last conscious decision as a coping mechanism....)
I'm gonna see you tomorrow anyway, when we all come out to stay before Liane and James' Wedding . I hope you're looking as well as you claim to be. I'm a wee but scared about seeing you in person, please don't be freaked out if I cry!
Love you heaps xo
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