As I write this, we are 3 years and 2 months along Dad’s cancer journey.
Following a number of treatments, his incurable cancer had been stable for 21 months. Then in August, 3 years to the day since his diagnosis, we were told that his maintenance treatment appeared to have stopped working. He carried on with his maintenance for 2 more months, just to make sure, but really we all knew, even if we didn’t say it, that this treatment had run its course.
So, it’s back on the rollercoaster of uncertainty – watch and wait. Always waiting.
We were blindsided by the diagnosis back in August 2013, although it didn’t come as a big announcement like you see in the movies. I received a phone call from Dad to tell me he was in hospital, following 8 months of a terrible bad back. His GP had sent him straight from the surgery to the hospital following a strange blood test result.
It was difficult trying to process the information on the way to the hospital – how can a bad back cause a strange blood test result? I found very few answers to my questions when I got there.
As I was leaving the hospital, I remember dad saying “I’m really poorly, love”. He didn’t really know then, and nor did I, but I somehow knew he was right.
We were still in the dark when the hospital informed us that they were going to take a bone marrow biopsy. At this point, Dad caught hold of one of the doctors due to perform the biopsy, to ask what they were looking for.
I still feel sorry for this Doctor when I think back, as he clearly wasn’t used to delivering a diagnosis. He mumbled under his breath something about Myeloma…cancer. Dad pushed him to know about a cure and he again mumbled about managing it in the medium term.
I took this garbled information home to my husband, but decided not to tell anyone else because I held onto some small hope that it wasn’t really cancer.
My Dad. Strong, funny, dependable Dad couldn’t possibly have cancer.
