Last days

As I mentioned in prior blogs I was very fortunate to have had time with dad in the last six months of his life.  It was an emotional rollercoaster both for him, my siblings and me…  

After his initial surgery and diagnosis we were all given the stark reality of what lay ahead – Dr. Brown (head of Oncology at the Ballarat Base Hospital) had a family conference where he outlined in bleak detail what would happen.  He said that only 1% of patients with Dad’s type of advanced Brain cancer - the official name - Glioblastoma multiforme (GBM) - Stage IV survived more than a year. 

James, dad and me - at Glenda & Max's apartment
Cuthbert St, Ballarat - Australia 1971

One option was to do nothing (initial diagnosis) and let it takes its own course but that would have meant days and weeks...   So to be honest I was surprised that given the severity and the aggressiveness of the cancer Dr. Brown asked if dad was willing to undergo aggressive radiation and chemotherapy regime to see how long he could extend his life while keeping as much quality as possible.

I remember dad looking up at us all as we stood around him and after a short pause he agreed to the treatments.   This conversation was the confirmation of dad’s death sentence and we all knew it…most of all dad.  How can you not get emotional at a time like that?  Tears seemed to be the order of the day, but I tried as hard as I could to stay in the moment, more for dad than anything else.  I’d save my tears for later - in private.   I felt I needed to be strong for him.

His treatments began the following Monday and because I was working my job remotely and therefore not expected to be in an office or with clients directly each day I was in the fortunate position of becoming dad’s taxi service to and from his daily treatments.   

The doctor had warned us about the side effects of the radiation and chemotherapy in that dad would lose his hair, definitely lose weight and be quite ill from the chemo drugs.  This was not going to be an easy time for any of us…   Surprisingly none of these came to pass and in actuality dad put on weight and was surprisingly healthy for much of his remaining time with no side effects.   The doctors were astonished to say the least.

Anyway, each weekday I’d drive out to Clunes and pick him up for the 30-minute car ride back into the Ballarat Austin Radiation OncologyCentre (BAROC) in Drummond Street for his treatments.  I remember going out to pick him up early one morning and there he was with the chainsaw pruning one of his fruit trees (we had a large one acre block with a wide variety of fruit trees).  You name the fruit and dad had it growing somewhere in the backyard - plums, apricots, apples, walnuts, nectarines, peaches, quinces…  

Dad at home in Clunes - circa 1984 
he was 52 at the time

I watched him as I walked up from the garage, he was working like normal (a man possessed would best describe it) and it was moments like these that I had to stop myself from thinking that he was completely healthy and that perhaps this was just a bad dream, after all he did look his usual self other than the large scar on the side of his head and his robust nature (same ornery self) sure made it feel weird that he only had weeks and perhaps months to live.   Somehow it just didn’t compute.

Another morning I went out to pick him up and although I had called him from the back door there was no sign of him anywhere, that’s strange, I thought?   So I slowly circled the house calling his name finally eliciting a response and finding him perched on top of the peaked roof our the house.  As you could imagine I asked “what the hell was he doing up on the roof?”   He said that he needed to fix the hot water service at which I said he was mad and that he could fall and hurt himself…   

Even as the words came tumbling out of my mouth I knew that it was an idiotic thing to say given the gravity of his somewhat immediate situation.   His response was classic dad – “so what, I could just as easily die in a hospital or I could fall off the roof and break my neck.   What’s the difference?”   I had to agree he did have a point – no use molly coddling him it would never work with him.

Yet another day I arrived to find him sitting in the kitchen near the stove with a loaded .22 rifle lying across his lap.   As I slowly entered the kitchen I asked him what he was doing with the gun?  Was it loaded?   Of course it was loaded he responded incredulously, what’s the point of a gun if its not loaded.   He said that he had been shooting crows…   At which point I thought he had completely lost the plot and gone stark raving mad.   “What crows dad?”  I asked innocently trying not to upset him too much as I edged closer.   He said that the crows had been scaring away his pet magpies and eating their food that he’d put out for them each morning.  

Dad and me - Nov 2010 - he had started
his treatments but he was still reasonably healthy

I slowly approached him but with no real plan except to get the gun out of his hands.   As I stood beside him he pointed through the window and sure enough he had opened the louver windows and poked a hole through the fly wire mesh and had been taking pot shots at the crows as they landed in the backyard.   He was a pretty good shot and I noted the carcasses of at least two recently shot crows lying near the rhubarb patch up the hill from the kitchen.

All well and good I thought except that where he lived in Clunes was on the edge of town and there were a couple of newer houses recently constructed up the hill from him.   Any of the shots that didn’t find their target with the “said crows” would be directly at those houses.   I freaked out!   Dad, you can’t shoot in the town you might hit something I said crossly.  

His response – “what are they going to do arrest me – I’m already dying”.   He had a point, but I was able to convince him that he might actually hit someone rather than something so he relented and somewhat reluctantly handed over the rifle.   I guess he felt as though he had little time left and zero control over the events unfolding around him and so wanted to influence just a little corner of his life - and man did he hate crows with a passion.. :) 

Another morning after his treatments, I noticed that it was only 10:30 am and without additional blood tests or appointments he was done for the day.  I suggested that we go for a coffee at a café I knew down in Sturt Street (main thoroughfare).   He begrudgingly agreed and I could see he was a little freaked out by the throng in the café as we entered, just another morning in a busy and popular place like this I thought.   He ordered a cappuccino and without any prompting asked if there was any cake – sure the waitress said, “today we have carrot cake”.  “Lovely you’d better bring me a slice then” dad said with a cheeky grin!

Dad telling me a story - Daylesford Australia
November 2010

Our coffees and cake arrived to which he quickly demolished (yeah, “Watchdog” could really eat!), and as we were leaving the café he tugged at my arm and said that he’d never just gone for a coffee like that in his whole life – I’m so grateful that I was there to share it with him, but at the same time so very sad that he’d gone a lifetime before experiencing something so simple.

In his final weeks he got weaker with each passing day, I could see his energy and the fight start to wane.  So I took him for one last coffee and the conversation that I had been rehearsing but dreading for quite sometime.

After the coffees arrived I told him that I needed to tell him something very important.  I started off by telling him how significant he’d been in my life and that even though we hadn’t much of a relationship over the years that he was my role model and that I always, if faced with a tough decision would ask myself “what would dad do in this situation?”   He was clearly embarrassed even though there was no one around us, saying that our family didn’t talk about these types of things as he looked around furtively not wanting to make eye contact.   I told him that he didn’t need to say a word, but just listen and that I was going to tell him exactly how I felt whether he liked it or not.

Now you might say that was pretty harsh, but I was blessed to have had the gift of one-on-one time with him over those final months, learn about him and his life, share stories, laugh uncontrollably with him but most importantly to let him to know how much he meant to me.  

I had the chance to say goodbye…and for that I am so very fortunate!