My dad was my absolute world and I don't know how to live without him. Its been 7 and a half weeks since he left us but suddenly i'm crying a river. I can't control them.
I keep forgetting he's gone and in my head i'm planning to call him or pop in to see him then reality hits and its like i'm back to that moment when he stopped breathing.
Within 6 months of being diagnosed we lost him.
My dad went through so much within that 6 months and I was beside him every day as was my mum who became his full time carer. He had head and neck cancer. It was stage 4 at diagnosis but we were told the operation could remove it all. The lead up to the operation was incredibly painful for him. He resorted to morphine and began to struggle to eat. He had biopsies and a PEG fitted. Everything was moving so quickly, every week at the hospital, several appointments to attend.
The operation was huge lasted 15 hours. He had a section of his jaw, saliva gland and lympnodes removed. The recovery was so difficult. He had a trachy in so couldn't communicate and drains coming out if him. He had skin grafts from his arm and stomach which was also having to heal. His face was swollen. There was so much secretion that he couldn't feel. He was now also unable to eat.
My dad began to recover slowly. My mum giving him his fotisips ever 3 hours through his PEG and his medication. He never looked the same and the secretion coming out of his mouth continued. I would look at him putting on a brave face and tell him he is starting to look better. He would tell me he is finding it so hard. I would say this is the hardest bit just get through this recovery and get strong enough for radiotherapy and chemo.
6 weeks after the operation the radiotherapy and chemo started. It was a 6 week plan. Once a week chemo 5 days a week radiotherapy. On the second chemo session they said he had a fever so didn't give it. His radiotherapy continued. His fevers got worse. Then he became breathless.
Then weeks and weeks of hospital admission then discharge then back in again. Scans, xrays, blood tests constantly causing him more and more distress. Eventually to be told the cancer had spread to his lungs and the fever isn't infection or sepsis its due to the cancer.
The new plan.. finish radiotherapy, monitor him then start immunotherapy. Again more stays in hospital. Oxygen levels dropping, back and shoulder pain getting worse. Since his operation he slept upright in a chair. He couldn't lie in a bed. Still not even being able to take a sip of water and by now hadn't eaten for months, just PEG fed.
He would ask me, am I going to get better? Yes of course you are dad you just have to be strong and get through this hard bit. Every bit was hard. His speech wasn't clear so sometimes it was hard to understand him. But I tried.
I kept telling him he will get better the treatments available are so good now. He would look at me with sad eyes. I never cried in front of him. When in hospital he would ask me to take him home. He asked me if he will be able to go on holiday this year. I said maybe not this year dad but next year yes we will all go together. He said tell the doctor I want to go on holiday.
His final week was him feeling unwell at home and being taken to hospital in an ambulance. His oxygen was low. It was the first time he wasn't going to the hospital with me sat in my car next to me. As he left in the ambulance with my mum I cried. I didn't know then that he will never come back home.
He needed a scan which took a week. Then on the Sunday we were told the cancer had spread to his bones and his skin. We were told there will be an MDT again to discuss a new plan. On Monday (dads birthday) we were told he had 3-4 weeks. The Tuesday he seemed better. We spoke loads, he was alert and we thought he was going to be well enough for another round of immunotherapy. Wednesday he was sleepy, only responding when spoken too but still aware of what was going on around him. Wednesday night, 2 hours after leaving him, we get a call to say his heart rate is fast. We rush to him and he's in the bed, he hasn't been in the bed for months why is he in the bed. His breathing is fast like he was panicking. He was asleep. I try to wake him but he doesn't open his eyes. I put my hand on his chest and tell him to breathe slowly and not to panic we are here. Try to wake him but he doesn't wake up. I keep calling him, dad, dad, dad. I hold his hand but he's not holding mine, his hands red hot, burning, I shake him and tell him to open his eyes. He doesn't.
The doctors call us out and tell us there is nothing more they can do. They switch everything off and stop his treatment. The room is silent. Dad seems calmer. We hold him calling out for him. He didn't respond. 15 hours later his breathing changes I leave the room to call the nurse and he took his last breaths. I rush in screaming for him to wake up telling him I just popped out to get the nurse, asking him why has he left me and telling him to come back. He doesn't come back.
The guilt, I should have done more, I kept reassuring him he will get better but he didn't. I promised him he will eat again, he will go on holiday again.
The pain, unbearable.
My mum, shattered to pieces.
Me, lost, in denial, angry, confused, alone, scared, no one to call Dad.
