Dad dying of oesophageal cancer

Mum and I are sitting with Dad today. The Ladies’ World Cup Final is on. Dad was able to watch most of the semi game. But not today sadly. He has stronger painkillers now and sleeping most of the time. But it’s tough to see him when he gets agitated with his hands and arms and feet moving in bed, and not to know quite what it means. Sometimes it means he may need the toilet, we think. We don’t know if he is in pain. The doctor says to let her know if we think he is in pain. How do we really know? He drank some water from a syringe and was able to tell me with a nod he had had enough. But there are few words today. Maybe a quiet “yes” or “no” to specific questions about wanting water or if he’s in any pain or needs the toilet. He’s calmer again now and sleeping. 

Mum and I are going to lunch at one of Dad’s favourite places. Why not. Who wants to cook?

About 10 mins left of the game. Not looking that good for England at the moment. But you never know. Come on, England. I think Dad can hear it on in the room. 

So sad today to see Dad can’t really express himself any more. Or acknowledge me or mum really. He lost his smile today. Maybe yesterday. The last smile I saw him give was to my husband. They always joked together. 

It is heartbreaking what cancer does to our loved ones and families and such an emotional rollercoaster that is challenging for anyone. I feel every bit of your pain and it sounds very much like we have had the same journey. You are so amazing being there for dad, it is so so hard, I bet he is so proud of you. Treasure every little moment together, however small that may be. Look after you too. Sending hugs for the difficult times ahead  xx

I just wanted to say how your messages are filled with love and also sadness. I lost my dad just over a year ago not through cancer but old age he was 92 and I spent his last days with him in hospital, I am now currently preparing myself to lose my only sibling my lovely brother with cancer. Reading your messages has given me some warmth in the lonely hours of the night, so I thank you for that. Stay strong and remember no one can touch your happy times and memories they belong to you x 

Thank you. I am so very sorry to hear about your brother. Hugs to you. xxx

Thank you xx

Today, my sister went to see dad this morning and I went at tea time. Dad had been very agitated, as they say, restless, a little delirious (talked about his mum, our nan) and trying to get out of bed when my sister went. They had had to put an alarm on the bed to alert them when he tried to get out. I was surprised as he had been very quiet yesterday. He had also eaten a pot of custard. They gave him something to calm him before she left him. 

When I went this evening, he was very quiet and sleepy in bed. He looked peaceful. They had given him something to calm him again. The lovely doctor came and spoke to me, which was a little worrying. But she is so lovely. Dad had had some calcium treatment now. However, his agitation, she said, was either the high levels of calcium or simply the fact that he is coming to the very end of his life now. She said that Dad’s wishes were that he should go peacefully at the very end and that his discomfort should not be prolonged, so Dad would now be sleepy more often with the drugs they give him to keep him calm.

I stayed with him for an hour or more. I rubbed cream on his feet as he loves and rubbed cream in his big old builder’s hands. His hands and feet were cold. But he never likes his feet hot. He always sticks them out the bed. I just held his hand and talked about things I’d done today and how much we all loved him. Also sang Shotgun by George Ezra which came on the radio. We leave the radio quietly playing on Radio 2. He loves Tony Blackburn and all those songs. He had a little water from the syringe and was able to tell me when he’d had enough with a slight nod.

I came home and asked mum if she wished to visit Dad. She was going to have a day at home as she was very tired but decided she would go, given what the doctor said. My sister took her. I’m on dog sitting duties.   

Mum was so sad this morning. “He’s just not here.” She said she wakes from sleep, in bed or in her chair, and her first thoughts are “Where’s Dad?” I don’t know how to console her. 63 years is a long time married. Other times we are OK, we can even laugh, but I suppose we are soon to be plunged into a painful world we don’t really want. Not that we much want the torturous world we are in now.

Today, we all went to see Dad this afternoon. It was a hot day. Dad was a little restless again, pulling at his clothes and bedclothes again. It’s so painful to watch someone you love doing this, knowing they are uncomfortable but not really knowing what they want or need.

Dad had a little water from a syringe, even a teaspoon of custard. He could swallow this tiny amount, but not easily. Just about tell me, through his reactions, if he wanted a little more. But he didn’t appear to be able to see or recognise us. Maybe he could. But he wasn’t comfortable or at peace at all.

The lovely doctor took Mum, my sister and I aside to the Quiet Room. She asked if we were all happy with him to now have a syringe pump with medicines that would put him into deep sleep until the end. Dad had said, in discussions with her, that he didn’t want to go through a difficult end to his life. By God, it’s been that until now, but perhaps the very end can be peaceful for him now. 

Under this medicine there will be no water or food given. She said that giving a drip can cause problems itself as the body no longer processes water and food as it did.

Of course, we agreed to the syringe pump. It’s unbearable to see him as he is now, but it has broken our hearts that it is so near the end of our wonderful Dad’s life now. 

The doctor said she believed that though he would appear to be asleep, he could hear us, perhaps familiar voices (so she would never talk about him with him there, hence us leaving to go to a different room). So to talk to him when under this medicine.

I said “sleep well” to my Dad as I kissed him goodbye for the evening.   

They will ring us if there are any changes in how he is. But we know there are no guarantees we will get there in time if things change quickly, which they sometimes apparently do. We could have stayed, but we are all exhausted (particularly mum, of course). We will come back tomorrow. 

This is so tough for you all. Sending you all my love just take each hour as it comes. 
today marks one whole month without my dad and your posts are all so familiar to me however I have what you have and that’s knowing I was there for him. Apparently touch and hearing are your last senses to leave you so just keep doing what you have been and your Dad will know you are there xx

Bless you. xxx