Shattered Hope

The Monday following the devastating news, my dad received a call from his oncologist indicating his cancer might respond to a trial drug but they would have perform a biopsy to confirm. I didn’t want to get my hopes up, but this definitely made me more optimistic. We were in desperate need of a miracle. He went in on Tuesday November 27, 2012 for the biopsy. I still had some paid time off to use before the end of the year so I met him and Sandra at the hospital as moral support. The biopsy was painful, at this point one of the tumors was starting to adhere to his bowels. The poor guy walked out of the procedure looking like he had been sucker punched in the gut. What we didn’t know is how quickly things would go downhill from here, he was never the same after the biopsy.

Up to the biopsy my dad was feeling decent all things considering. He told me that in no way did he feel as if he was dying and was optimistic that he would live more than the typical six to eight months. He was living with the side effects of having his stomach removed after his initial cancer diagnosis at the end of 2011, and needed his esophagus stretched regularly. All of this definitely took a toll on him. He wasn’t living a normal healthy life but he couldn’t feel cancer ravaging his body. He was honest that things had felt off and he was prepared for news that the cancer had returned, he just didn’t expect it to already be in the advanced stages. After the biopsy he was in constant excruciating pain paired with intense nausea. Less than a week later he was admitted to the hospital, this would be the first of many hospital stays.

We were originally told that we would have the results of the biopsy in a couple of weeks. Two weeks turned into three, then four. We were wondering if we would ever get the results back, all this time my dad was getting sicker and sicker. In four short weeks he looked like death was at the doorstep and we were losing hope. Then, on December 28, 2012 we received some hopeful news. The results were finally in and there was reason to believe that his cancer may respond to the trial drug. This news refueled our spirits but from here we had to deal with the fact that this was a trial drug and not FDA approved for this type of cancer. Since the drug wasn’t FDA approved his insurance refused to pay for it. The drug company wouldn’t include him in their trial study (otherwise it would’ve been provided free of charge) because his cancer was so advanced they were worried he would hurt their numbers. Luckily the money was provided by means of extreme generosity and the drug company gave a small discount. He started the first round of chemo January 8, 2013.

 

Our last family picture taken before my dad passed away, January 6, 2013.

 

The plan was for him to receive a round of chemo every week for six weeks. After six weeks they would know if he was responding to treatment. While chemo makes you sick, the oncologist stated that if the chemo was working the pain would start to alleviate as the tumors shrunk. He ultimately received four rounds of chemo. During that next month his condition only worsened and he was frequently in the hospital. He could no longer eat due to a bowel obstruction and was receiving nutrition through his veins to keep him alive.  

You may be wondering why surgery wasn’t performed to remove the obstruction and tumors. On top of tumors he had what is referred to as seeding. The best way to explain it is to think of dipping your finger tips in cancer and then splattering it everywhere like you were finger painting. Cancer was everywhere in his peritoneal cavity. Opening him up would have been extremely risky. There was no way to surgically remove all the cancer and there was a good chance he wouldn’t heal from surgery only expediting death. The trial drug was the only hope.

February 12, 2013 my dad reported to the hospital for his fifth round of chemo. When the oncologist examined my dad he told him the chemo wasn’t working and it was time for hospice to make him comfortable and to prepare for the end. This is another phone call I vividly remember. By this time I had already quit my job and was sitting at home in the living room with my littlest guy. While we all saw the writing on the wall and could see the chemo wasn’t working, it was a hard pill to swallow. Luckily they were able to give him a spinal block for the pain, this was a huge blessing and gave my dad some much needed relief.

The next day I drove up to my dad’s and was there when hospice arrived to set up things. My dad decided to stop receiving the TPN (the nutrition he received through his veins). The hospice nurse explained that due to his weakened state, once the nutrition was stopped, he would likely die in 7-10 days. Time was short but my dad was ready. Of course the rest of us could never fully prepare for his death. The generosity and kindness of others I witnessed in those last days was nothing short of astonishing. I’m beyond thankful my husband took care of things on the home front the last days of my dad’s life so I could spend every minute possible with him.

The last week of my dad’s life was the most emotionally difficult thing I’ve ever experienced. Watching someone you love so much die so slowly is cruelty at its worse. My dad passed away in the early morning hours of February 25, 2013. I never expected to lose both of my parents before I turned thirty. Watching my dad die was harder on me then watching my mom die.  Don’t take that to mean I loved my dad more than my mom. My mom left this world on her own terms. My dad’s death was drawn out and brutal. After seeing all of his pain and suffering, I ultimately set my own selfishness feelings aside and willingly let him go. Learning to let go of someone you love is life's hardest lesson.