I lost my dad about a month ago, after a long battle with cancer. I never imagined I would lose a parent in my early thirties. If someone told me that would happen, I would have guessed it would be my mother because she has had varying health problems recently, the worst of which is an autoimmune disease. My dad, on the other hand, was always well. I don't remember him ever having a cold or even vomiting.
In his younger days, he was both a heavy drinker and heavy smoker. He smoked three or four packs of cigarettes per day and went to the bar after work every day, most of those days he was drunk. He quit smoking in 1989 or 1990, but he continued drinking.
The first diagnosis came in June 2004. For a couple of months he had been complaining of discomfort in his throat, as though something was stuck in there. Immediately, my mind flashed to his friend who had lost his battle with cancer only a few years prior. James' cancer started in much the same way. I urged my dad for days to go to the doctor. Finally, he went, but was given medication. This went on for another month before being referred to an ear, nose and throat specialist (ENT).
The first thing the ENT wanted to do is set up a scope of my dad's throat area to have a look at his vocal chords. There was nothing wrong with them, though a small tissue sample was taken an tested. There was a small spot, or lesion, on the base of his tongue. This was also taken for analysis. The tissue from his vocal chords was normal; however, the spot at the base of his tongue turned out to be cancer.
What a blow! I hadn't been close with my dad for most of my life, which was due mostly to his lifestyle of drinking and partying -- doing what he wanted and not wanting to be bothered with being a parent. In 2000, our relationship began to change, and we started talking, getting to know each other again and ultimately got closer.
Though I knew in my heart my dad had cancer, I wasn't fully prepared for that initial diagnosis. (Is anyone?) It felt like we had only had a relationship for a few short years and I couldn't bear losing my dad. I cried out to God and begged him not to take my dad. Alone in my apartment, I sat at my desk and sobbed, "Please don't take my dad, God. Please. I only just got a relationship with him. Please don't take him away from me."
A few weeks after the being diagnosed, my dad started radiation treatments. He took approximately forty in all. I accompanied him to many of the appointments he had with his oncologist. When the doctor was asked what causes the sort of cancer my dad had, he said that alcohol and smoking are the main causes. Smoking was obvious, but it never occurred to me that alcohol is be a carcinogen.
After he completed his radiation treatments, my dad was given a clean bill of health, but was told that he wouldn't be considered cured or totally cancer free for five years. There were follow up appointments each month, but eventually the appointments became less frequent. There were also tests run every so often to make sure there was no recurrence of the cancer. He had blood drawn often and CT scans done of his head and neck area.
Nearly two years had past when he began having problems in his throat again. Half of one tonsil was removed, then the rest of it. A single cancer cell was found, but nothing else. Then a lesion appeared on the back of his tongue near his throat. It grew quickly. The top portion (above his tongue) was removed in mid January 2007 and sent for stat analysis. It was cancer.
The only option for him this time was surgery, but it was to be a very long, involved and delicate surgery. They would have to slice him from the middle of his lower lip, down his chin, back to his neck, around and up behind his ear. Then they would break his jaw so they could get to his throat and back to his tongue to take out the cancer. Removing the cancer would require removing his tongue or at least a portion of it. The tongue would then be re-formed using muscle tissue and blood vessels from the inside of his forearm. He would be given a tracheotomy, which would only be temporary until he went home from the hospital. He would also be given a feeding tube because (for obvious reasons) he wouldn't be able to get any nourishment.
My dad had such a strong will to live. After consulting with his oncologist about any other available options, he agreed to the surgery, which took place in mid February 2007.
The surgery lasted about 9 hours. Afterward, the doctor said it had been a successful surgery and that the tumor was about the size of a golf ball. My dad wold have to stay in the hospital for approximately two weeks before he could go home, depending on how quickly he was recovering. He did superbly! His recovery progressed well, and he went home as scheduled. He was learning to swallow again, and his speech was becoming clearer and clearer. But the joy would be short-lived.
In May, he started feeling like he couldn't breathe, like was smothering. Tests revealed a mass at the base of his tongue. Further tests confirmed: It was cancer again. Treatment option: Chemotherapy.
I don't honestly know how many blows like this one person can take, but I'm not sure I'm strong enough to handle it. But my dad did it with great dignity, grace and courage.
He started chemo in June and was also part of a double blind study that may or may not have included an additional drug. After a couple of months he started going down hill fast. He nearly died in September before they changed the treatment. He did better with it and regained much of his strength, as well as some of the weight he lost. But the cancer didn't respond. In fact, it grew slightly. So he was placed on yet a different medication. This one made him very ill, but the cancer did shrink, at least initially. Finally, he was placed on a fourth chemotherapy treatment, which seemed to be really working. The tumor was shrinking and becoming "loose," which the doctor said meant it was dying.
Our hopes were dashed in March of this year when, after days of dealing with excruciating stomach pains, my dad went to the emergency room. (He hated to go to the hospital if he could avoid it.) While there, he had an ultrasound of his abdomen to see if something was wrong with his feeding tube. That wasn't the problem. Spots were found on his liver. The cancer had spread. The doctor assured him and us that, while there is no cure for liver cancer, my dad could take chemotherapy to control the growth of the tumors and possibly live a good while longer. Though he had great will and determination to live, my dad said he would have to think about it. He stayed a few days in the hospital that time. After only being home a few days, he was readmitted to the hospital for about 10 days. It was during this time that another scan was done on my dad's abdomen to check his liver. It was much worse, so much so the offer of treatment was rescinded. He was, instead, told he had anywhere from seven days to three months to live and was offered hospice care.
He lived 26 days.
I miss him so much. Since he is gone, I notice things about myself that echo him. I enjoy cooking, having people over for a meal, trying new things, going places, going shopping, and finding good deals. He had a nose for bargains.
There was a period in my life, a long period, when I honestly felt like hated my dad and thought we would never, ever have an semblance of a relationship. I remember praying on many occasions, for many years, for God to mend my relationship.
One Sunday morning at church in 2000, I literally heard God speak to me. It was during the altar call. People were giving their lives to Christ, recommitting themselves or for some other reason they were at the altar. I was in sitting in the pew praying for my relationship with my dad, that it would be healed and that we could be close. I won't ever for get His words: I long to make you whole. It sent chills over my body. I looked around myself sort of puzzled, then, like a flood, I began to sob. I wanted to be whole. Being made whole required a relationship with my dad.
After this encounter with God, our relationship began to grow, and I began to mature in areas where my growth had been stunted because he was never around. (My parents are divorced, and by my recollection they were never married. I never remember him living in the same home as me.)
I'm thankful for the time I was given with my dad, to have a relationship with him, to have known him. I'm glad that he matured and became a father to his adult children. I know I needed it.
No matter what happens, I will never forget you, Daddy, or the things you taught me. Though you only knew Jesus for about a year before you died, I'm more thankful that He could say he knew you. You lived bravely through your battle and your fought a good fight. Now you're at peace and suffer no more. May you rest in peace. I know we will see each other again one day.
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