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.

Entitlement

I’ve always prided myself in not getting caught up in the generation of entitlement. I’ve always expected to work for my needs and wants. There’s nothing like the feeling of accomplishment honest hard work provides. Except, I did feel entitled for years... seventeen years to be exact.  I didn’t realize it at the time, I didn’t realize it until my heart was broken and I was surrounded by a pool of my own tears.  I felt entitled to having my dad alive until he was a very old man, we’re talking ancient.  It wasn’t just a basic expectation most people have regarding their parents, I felt god owed it to me.  So there you have it, my very own generation of entitlement.  

 

The last picture I took with my mom, celebrating my 12th birthday July 11, 1995

I was twelve years old when my mom passed away.  After a long battle with mental illness she committed suicide. After such a tragedy I always assumed my dad would be around for an exceptionally long time, it was only fair.  My dad had more than his share of touches with death over the years.  This only served as further proof to me that he was invincible.  Just recalling incidents that occurred after I was born: he fell off a telephone poll, was involved in a nasty motorcycle accident, bled out on the operating table during a routine back surgery and had to be revived, and beat stomach cancer. This is why the call I received from my dad Friday November 16, 2012 was such a shock.

 

Posing with my dad Thanksgiving 2008

I was sitting in my office wrapping up a typical busy day at work.  My dad had a routine scan that day to make sure he was still cancer free.  Around 4:30 pm my office phone rang, when I looked at the caller ID, it was my dad.  My heart stopped.  My dad NEVER called me at work.  You see, I learned my awesome work ethic from him.  He would never interrupt my work day for anything less than an emergency, not even to tell me his cancer was still gone.  That kind of news could wait for after business hours.  Before I even summoned to courage to pick up the phone I knew the cancer was back, and the situation had to be bleak if he was calling while I was still at work.  I picked up the phone and timidly answered, my voice shaking, fearing what was to come next.  The words that followed still echo in my ears, “Well kid, it’s back and it’s bad.  Stage four, there’s nothing they can do. (long pause) Are you okay?”  That was all that he was worried about, if we were okay.  He was already at peace with his death sentence, concerned only about his family.  I can’t even remember what I said to him besides asking how much time he had and telling him I loved him.  I normally worked until 5 pm, but under the circumstances I had to get out of the building as quickly as possible before breaking down.  I vaguely remember an employee walking in my office as soon as I hung up the phone needing assistance with something.  I grabbed my things and quickly excused myself, not answering their question, not helping.  I just left.  I barely made it to my car before breaking down. I somehow made it home, although the drive was a blur. I opened the door to find my husband and two sons already home.  I remember crying in my husbands arms while my sweet nineteen month son gave me hugs and kisses, so worried about his mommy, not understanding the situation.

The months that followed were with filled with endless heartache and countless hospital stays. Trial drugs didn’t work and the six to eight months initially given translated to less than four.  The cancer worked aggressively as I watched my dad wither away.  As painful as this time was, I learned a lot about myself and realized some old dusted dreams. I promised my dad I wasn’t going to let his death leave me bitter and even summoned the courage to speak at his funeral. Life has changed more than I could ever imagine over the last year.  I quit my job of  over a decade to be stay home with my boys, I lost my dad, and I moved to another state.  Life is never going to make sense, life is never going to be fair, but life can be as beautiful as you make it.  

Back to Blogging

I’ve wanted to start blogging again for months. So, what’s been stopping me? Too much time has passed and too much has happened. The last year has been life changing. I can’t just start blogging about what is happening now without addressing the events of a life altering year. Up until now the idea of writing about the last year has been too painful, but I'm ready now and am hoping it will be cathartic.

The Kidlets

Do I have three good looking kids or what?!  I love them so!

Brady cracks me up!  You ask him to smile and he immediately pulls this face. I adore his innate goofiness.

Alex is absolutely gorgeous.  It's impossible for this girl to take a bad picture, so incredibly photogenic.

Impromptu Fall Photo Shoot

We did an impromptu fall photo shoot Sunday. We were missing Alex, Ryder was cranky, and I am the first to admit that Brady obviously needs a haircut. Despite the shortcomings I think the pictures came out great, I love the colors. Tony is an excellent photographer.

Ryder 5 Months

I love his cute round face more than words.

Soccer Monster

Nothing says fall quite like soccer and our resident soccer monster is having a great time!