Email to work colleagues on 26th Nov 2014:
Hideous day. Dad’s Dr says he has “days” to live. Mum keeps asking how she will manage to look after him once they’re home. Somehow I’ve got to tell her he isn’t going home. Trying desperately to get them together before he dies, but no one here has a heart. I’m on my own and its so awful pretending I’m managing the situation, that I’m ok, when I’m shaking inside. How can they be separated at this time?!
TEXT to Mum 26 Nov (2014) 17.03
Me: I’m still with Dad. They’re moving him to ward 218 which I THINK is nearer to you. I’m going with him to settle him. Will pop up and see you later xxxx
Later:
Me: I’m safely in your flat unpacking my things. Then going to sit and relax. Don’t worry, please. See you tomorrow. Love you xxxx
and also
Me: Ps – if by chance you visit Dad before I get there remember he doesn’t know – hasn’t said he knows – that’s what they suspect! xxxx
“Remember he doesn’t know” refers to their suspected diagnosis of Pancreatic Cancer and his imminent. I’d had to tell Mum. My brave Mum, who knew how terrified Dad was of cancer, how certain he’d always been that he’d die of it.
A colleague later texted:
“Gosh, I didn’t realise it was so bad! I am so so sorry that you are having to go through this on your own. Be brave for them, and then we’ll be here for you”
That last sentence moved me to tears, and I emailed the Head, mainly because I needed to put into words what was happening and how I felt. That time of my life showed me the kindness in so many people. The kindness you don’t see often, because it’s hidden under all the layers of duty, responsibility, protocol. It shocked me to realise it was there, and made me weep with gratitude.
“My whole world is caving in but College is being fantastic; I wanted to thank you for that. Being an “only child” can be very hard at times like this (even at 49) but right now I feel so much support from College that it slightly takes the edge off that loneliness. My father has been a huge influence in my life, has been there for me every single day. It helps that although there’s nothing I can really “do” for him now, you’re allowing me to have this time without worrying about work. Time to spend with him, and to support my Mum; she will be/is totally lost without him. I’ve had to tell her, today, that he is dying and of course that really scares her. She is already worried about this PEG tube she has to have fitted… We all turn to a cup of tea when we need comfort, but she can’t do that anymore. They’ve had 60 years together – I’ve always envied them that because it’s something I will never have – but that makes this particularly hard for her. So, knowing that College understands and is allowing and encouraging me to be with them now means the world to me. I’ve never turned my back on my professional responsibilities. I’m always looking out for my tutees and my students. For now, I’m going to put those things to one side and focus on my family for a little while, as you’ve all so kindly advised.
It had been an incredibly difficult day – there had been quite a few difficult days. I was already starting to worry about sorting out my Dad’s funeral. I’d never planned/ organised a funeral, and wanted to do it right. Earlier in the day his Dr told me Dad has days to live, and it was clear to me that she was right. Their suspicion was pancreatic cancer – which I had worked out for myself on Sunday evening. Even if they’d realised earlier, they couldn’t have treated it. There’s no way to determine either way – whether he has it or not – because he won’t do any more tests and I don’t blame him; they won’t benefit him. He looks terrible and it’s heartbreaking. He isn’t in pain and I’m not sure how I will cope if that changes. Being in their flat is awful, with the pictures on the walls etc, of their normal life. I took the day off work and drove up to Stoke. A terrible drive, so slow and busy, impossible to park on arrival. Finally I got to see Dad and was so glad I decided to come up today. Late afternoon I finally managed to get him moved to the same building as Mum, but on a different floor. Hopefully, she can visit him in the morning. I had to go and tell her he was dying. It wasn’t an easy conversation, as you can imagine. I couldn’t bring myself to say that he has “days” but I think I made it clear it won’t be long. She was so worried “what shall I do?”… They’re discussing her case at a head/neck MDT meeting tomorrow and an upper GI MDT on Mon but the likelihood is that she will have a PEG fitted. This is a tube fitted directly to her stomach. She will never eat/drink again. It’s unbearable. And I had to tell her that her husband of 60 years was dying. I feel as if I’ve walked into a different world, where everything’s distorted. It’s horrible. I tried to reassure her that she will be fine. With the tube and without Dad. She is so brave, so positive, but I am worried this will be too much for her to bear.
So, I’m alone in their flat trying not to think (believe it or not). But the thought of planning a funeral is overwhelming me. Dad taught me everything about planning, organising, and I’m scared I will not get it right and will let him down. So I’m here, on my own, in their flat (I never lived here) trying to get through the night so I’m ready to face tomorrow, another day… I miss my father already – I have done for months.
“When I was a child, all problems had ended with a single word from my father. A smile from him was sunshine, his scowl a bolt of thunder. He was smart, and generous, and honorable without fail. He could exile a trespasser, check my math homework, and fix the leaky bathroom sink, all before dinner. For the longest time, I thought he was invincible. Above the petty problems that plagued normal people.”