Living with dying

This is a post I never wanted to face up to writing. Despite knowing the time would come, I of course hoped it wouldn’t. Naively, ignorantly, optimistically hoping something would change.

This is not an attention seeking post, or an attempt to bum anyone out. If you’re feeling emotionally fragile or only drop by for the fun stuff then I won’t be offended if you don’t read on.

2 years ago, about now, my Dad started passing blood when he went to the loo. Not being one to neglect these things, he went to his doctor, who referred him to the “2 week clinic”. A cancer doctor.

Dad researched the internet (as we all do these days) and feared it may be bladder cancer. When he went to the clinic he was told there was an issue with his prostate. Ironically the passing of blood was completely unrelated, a one off.

My only knowledge of prostate cancer up to that point was:

a) It’s very treatable

b) It’s an “old man’s” disease.

My Dad was just 57.

As for the first point, yes it is very treatable. Mortality rates from prostate cancer are difficult to measure, because many older men who are diagnosed with it will, ultimately, die from something else rather than the cancer – maybe old age, or a heart attack.

But somehow my Dad, at the age of 57 and with no previous symptoms ever, had stage 4 prostate cancer. Inoperable. Too far gone to treat, and with no possible cure. It had already spread out of his prostate and into his bones. The only options were treatments to halt the growth, the spread, the virility with which it was attacking his body.

He’s had two years of treatments; hormone therapy, injections, radiotherapy and chemo. And now there are no treatments left. Only pain management. Treatments that will ease the pain that the cancer will cause in his bones.

Living with Dying

The head fuck of all this is that my Dad doesn’t look or seem ill. He hasn’t lost weight, stopped going out, become immobile or lost his appetite. He’s travelled to Greece, Italy, Cambodia and Vietnam since his diagnosis. He’s currently having a brand new kitchen fitted. He still tells me off for drinking too much and regales me with tales of what he’s been eating for dinner. He still sees friends and goes greyhound racing. The only problems he’s had have been as a result of the medication he’s been taking.

When he was diagnosed the realisation was almost too much to bear. The thought of finality and an end. Of knowing what’s to come. Cancer is a horrible disease, and I saw what it did to my Grandad, the physical effect it had on a once strong man. It’s a scary prospect.

But then, for a while, cancer became a word again; something that was there but we couldn’t see it. We lived from month to month with Dad going for blood tests to see how the medication was working. We breathed a sigh of relief and wept with joy when the results were good. We cried with sadness and despair when results were bad and yet another treatment option was exhausted. And now there will be no good results. There are no more potential highs to combat the crippling woes.

I’m scared. I’m so fucking scared. I’m scared for my Dad – I know he hates pain and fears what’s to come. I’m scared for his wife, who he’s only been married to for 5 years. She’s the same age as my husband, and far too young to be widowed. They were supposed to have a really nice life together, a long life, a happy retirement for my Dad filled with travel and days out and all the life affirming things they love to do together.

And I’m scared for me. I’m scared of how I’ll cope. If I’ll cope. I have no idea how to comprehend the fact that he’s not going to be here. That I can’t phone him up to talk about my holiday. To not see the animation in his face as he describes a meal he’s had at a restaurant.

My husband has told me on many occasions that at least this way I get to spend time with my Dad, not leave anything left unsaid, make memories that will carry me through the times we’re not together. And I know that’s true. But I wonder if sudden death is easier, for everyone? Because grieving for someone who is still very much alive is so difficult. And I don’t know how my Dad even gets out of bed in the morning, living with the knowledge of what’s going on. Living with dying.

In the UK tests for prostate cancer aren’t currently done on a routine basis, they have to be requested from the GP. As far as I can tell, they’re only available to men over 50, unless there is a significant indication that there may be a problem. If you know someone over 50, maybe mention this to them and suggest they think about a test.

Thanks, as always, for reading. x

Advertisements

15 thoughts on “Living with dying

  1. Karen Hampton, writer says:

    So very sorry to hear about your Dad and what he’s going through. And yes, you will get through it . Of that I am quite confident. I can’t and won’t address the how or how long it’ll take except to say it’ll take as long as it needs to. Sending prayers for the both of you.

    Like

    • This, tatt and the other says:

      Thank you for your kind and thoughtful words.

      In a strange way it reminded me of the reassurance you gave me when my toenail fell off. You said it would grow back and I’d be able to wear pretty sandals again, and you were right.

      Not that I’m comparing my Dad with my toenail, of course! But it gives me strength to know that people out there know that I’ll be ok. Because, realistically, what’s the alternative?!

      Thank you so much, Karen. x

      Like

  2. Mrs Strawberry Blonde says:

    This is so sad! I know what it feels like when you know someone you love cannot win the cancer battle. Your hubby is right, you can make memories now. All you can do is make the most of the time you can spend with your dad. xoxo

    Like

  3. danniijane says:

    I’m so sorry to hear this. My nan passed away from cancer the weekend and we had to live with knowing it was terminal. It’s awful, so my thoughts are with you at this tough time. I’m glad to hear your dad’s still living his life travelling and not letting it get him too down, my nam did the same x

    Like

  4. tamaraprokopchuk says:

    So sorry this is happening to you, your father, and all your loved ones. This post made me tear up a little. It’s been nearly three weeks since my own dad has passed away. It’s not easy, and some days I feel angry that he was taken from this life so soon–my dad was 63. But I do try to remember all the good days and talks I used to have with him.
    ~Thinking of you and your family~
    Tamara ❤

    Like

    • This, tatt and the other says:

      Thank you so much. I thought of you as I was typing the words. I hope you’re all ok too.

      Strange to think you can be an ocean apart from someone yet feel their grief. the power of the internet, I guess.

      Anger is massive for me. The injustice. Maybe it wil fade, in time.

      Lots of love to you and yours. xx

      Liked by 1 person

  5. Tina says:

    I am so sorry to hear this. I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. We had a similar thing with my Nan, but I think it’s a bit easier to accept when somebody is older. Not that it’s easy, but maybe more expected.

    It sounds like your Dad is doing the best thing though, living his life and making sure he gets the most out of it. I know it must be hard for you, but it doesn’t sound like he’s going to let it get in the way of doing the things he wants to do.
    Maybe your Dad is giving us all a great lesson at the moment.

    You sound like you have a great support system too.
    I’m sorry my comment can’t help, but I’m thinking of you and here if you need it xxx

    Like

    • This, tatt and the other says:

      Thanks so much Tina. Your words mean a lot, everyone’s do. You’re right about illness in older age. It seems like the natural order of things. My Dad’s Mom is 80 and at this rate she’ll outlive him. That’s just not right. It’s sad to see my Dad being limited by medication; that’s the only thing that’s been making him poorly and unfortunately it’s curtailed his travels. But he’s hoping that his consultant will give him the go ahead to get away soon.

      Thanks so much for reading and replying. I really appreciate it. x

      Like

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s