The Go

Hi everyone.

Dad's had a turn for the worse. As I said in the last post, Dad went in on Wednesday to start chemo. They settled him the Wednesday afternoon/night, and then Thursday morning he was taken down to Radiology to have a PICC line inserted into his upper arm. This was so the chemo can be pumped into him 24hrs a day without having to fiddle around with a cannula's (needles in the hand). On the Saturday, they decided as he was taking the chemo so well, that he could come home (with the chemo pump attached). He was due for discharge at 10 am Saturday the 4^th of December.

They had to order a cleaning solution for his PICC line (as one of the lines had blocked up) and for some reason it didn't arrive before 10, so he obviously had to stay in longer until they could flush the line. At 3pm he called us and told us to come in, as he was ready to come home and we needed to know how to work the chemo pump before he could go. In the half hour it took Mum and I to get to the hospital, Dad started haemorrhaging, with blood streaming out of his nose and mouth in very large amounts. By the time Mum and I got to the hospital, the nurses and doctor had cleaned him up and the bleeding had stopped. We were there for half an hour and then Dad needed to cough, as he'd swallowed a lot of blood during the first bleed and a little of it had gone into the back of his throat and his lungs. Dad leant forward to cough, and the bleeding started again with Mum and I standing not even a metre away from him.

Without going into gory details, I have never seen so much blood come out of a person. The only way I can describe it is like a tap turning on, from nothing at all to a full-flow instantly. There was no warning. The MedEm (Medical Emergency) doctors and nurses were called in as the ward staff couldn't figure out where all this blood was coming from. They tried to do what they could, but they also couldn't figure out where the bleed was coming from, as they obviously weren't familiar with Dad's case and there was just no time to go through pages and pages of notes from his oncologist, speech pathologist and ENT specialist. They worked on him for about half an hour and still hadn't made any headway, besides pumping six bags of blood into him to replace what he was losing. Mum and I were getting very frustrated, as we could hear everything that was going on, and informed them that as the tumour was on the Carotid artery, there was a chance it was the carotid that had ruptured. Having told them this, they prepped him for surgery and whisked him away to theatre.

We waited for hours for news... about 4 or 5 hours, I honestly can't remember. All I know is that Mum and I were both convinved Dad wouldn't pull through- we (Mum, Dad and I) were told explicitly at the beginning of our fight that if the carotid burst, there was nothing they would be able to do.

At about 11pm we were told that they'd managed to put a stent into the part of the carotid that had ruptured, which had stopped him haemorrhaging. He was alive. Being told that was the single most greatest moment of my life, bar none. The surgeons were worried he might have some brain damage as his brain could have been deprived of oxygen for a while (as the carotid artery takes oxygenated blood to the brain). Thankfully, though, he is alright. He is fully aware of what's going on. He knows what happened.

After the surgeons got him out of theatre, he was taken straight to the High Dependancy Unit, which is where he's been since. He is very, very weak, but at the moment he is ok. Mum and I are spending as much time as we can with him.

When the surgeons spoke to us after they'd put the stent in, I asked how long they would have estimated he would have left. They said before the operation, they would have given him approximately 3 months. Now, after this has happened, they have obviously drastically shortened this expectation. Yes, Dad is aware of it and he doesn't want to talk about it right now. Please respect his wishes and do not bring it up on the off-chance you get to speak with him (no phones allowed in HDU, and he's not able to speak at the moment anyway).

Mum's sisters (my Aunty Robyn and Aunty Donna) came up to the hospital to be with us on the Saturday night, as did my Mum's best friend Karen (who, as far as we are concerned, is family). They were so amazing and stayed with us right through to midnight. They waited so patiently in the corridor for us while Mum and I spent almost 30 minutes with Dad straight after his surgery in HDU. Mum and I were quite upset (as I assume you would be when you watch your father/husband start to bleed out), so my grandparents picked up our car, and Aunty Robyn, Aunty Donna and Aunty Karen drove us home (and Aunty Robyn stayed with us that night to keep us company, as no one slept much).  My grandparents and Aunties have been driving us to and from the hospital every day, which has been a massive help- neither Mum and I have been in any state to get behind the wheel. So thank you to you all.

Thank you everyone for your thoughts, prayers and love. This is a very, very distressing time for Mum and I, and obviously more-so for my father, who is as brave and strong as ever. The doctors couldn't believe how much of a fighter he is- they are all amazed. He is, without a doubt, an absolute hero, and I am a very, very, very proud daughter.

I'm sorry if this post is a bit rambling and incoherant at times, Mum and I spent all day at the hospital again today and we're exhausted. We are doing alright, just taking one day at a time. Like I said earlier, Dad is alright as well. He is very weak, but he knows what's going on, what's happening, what's going to happen... and he still managed to (jokingly) give us "the finger" today, so he mustn't be doing too badly!

Thank you to everyone else for your love, wishes and prayers. They might seem so simple to send or say, but they mean so much to us and make us realise we're not alone- especially for Dad. If you would like to send your well wishes, thoughts and love to Dad, please feel free to email me at jess@andsoourfightbegan.com, and I will pass them on.

Two Days After

Hi guys, sorry I haven't updated the blog as quickly as I said I would.
The news isn't too good and, as you can understand, we wanted all of our family to be told in person, or at least over the phone, what happened before I blogged it.

As you all know, Dad went in for his op on Tuesday the 26th of October. The doctors were very positive about the operation and even said that it would be highly unlikely that they wouldn't be able to carry out the entire procedure. They said that there would be a small chance that the cancer would have spread, but they wouldn't really know until they opened him up. They told us that the later we heard from them, the better, and after about 2.00pm AWST we'd at least know if they could do the operation, or if the cancer had spread and it would be inoperable.

At quarter past two I mentioned to Mum that as we hadn't heard anything, things must be looking up and the operation must be going well. No more than 15 minutes later, the phone started ringing. The surgeons had opened Dad up, looked around, and found that the tumour had started associating with the main blood vessel to Dad's brain (the Carotid artery), and had pretty much wrapped itself around it. A partial dissection (where they cut away part of the tumour) wasn't possible since it would have exacerbated the already fast growth of the tumour, and would have spread it even more. They didn't bother touching Dad's thyroid, either. They closed him up after doing nothing.

This effectively means that there are no other possible curative treatment options for Dad. His illness is terminal. We have spoken to the chemotherapy doctors and they seem to think that they'll be able to give him a very low dose of chemo (once he's all healed from the incisions the surgeons made) to try and stop the growth of the cancer (which will give him more time with us). The dosage would be very low, so he won't be sick at all. Dad obviously needs some time to a) come to terms with the diagnosis and b) decide if he would like to explore the option of chemotherapy.

Dad is doing alright though. Today he was up and about. He's already gone for two walks and a shower, and it's only 12.00pm! He is being so brave.

So for now, that's really about it, and I'll definately keep you all posted.

Please, let this be a reminder to you all to spend time with your loved ones. Cherish them. Love them. TELL THEM HOW MUCH THEY MEAN TO YOU, because you won't always have them here so you can say it to their face. Yes, I know people argue. Everyone does. So argue. But don't say things you know you'll regret later, and don't go to bed angry at each other. Life is too short and precious to waste one more moment than you absolutely have to being angry at someone you love.

Please also let this remind you about how much damage cigarettes and excessive alcohol consumption can do to the human body. The original cancer 8 years ago was caused by Dads lifetime of smoking. He stopped after the first operation in 2002, but it had already caused so much damage. I know it's your own body and you can do with it what you like, but please remember that if you hurt yourself, you also hurt the people who love you and care about you.

I know I've said it in previous posts, but thank you all so much for your love and support. It means so much to us, and especially Dad. My father having cancer, both now and 8 years ago, is the most isolating and lonely experience ever. It's so hard on Mum as well, and I can't even begin to imagine how hard this is for my Dad.

Having to face not having my Dad down the track is so scary, and we're trying to enjoy and cherish every moment we spend together as a family. It sucks so much thinking that if one day I do get married, I won't have my Dad to walk me down the aisle, and when I have kids, they won't get to see for themselves how loving and funny and amazing my Dad is. Having you all sending texts, emails, whatever, makes it just that little bit less lonely and scary for us. It makes us feel like we're not completely alone. So thank you. Thank you so much.