My parents are hoping to be back in Israel at the beginning of next week, once my father has begun the new cocktail of drugs (flogging a dead horse, anyone?). After that, my classes finish on the 15th and I should really be booking tickets. The question was when I should book a ticket back to the UK. My mother suggests that I should see my father before deciding on when I should head back. The implication is that he is not in a good way and I will need to decide whether to stay for the foreseeable future.
Sensible Brother and I have been talking about "after", a pretty transparent euphemism for "when my father dies". Mostly we have been talking about his worries and concerns, some of which are legitimate and some of which are unfounded but worrying nonetheless.
What has been interesting is the way in which the death of a parent forces you to grow up. Obviously, having lived away from my parents for a decade, I don't turn to them every time I have a sniffle or a lightbulb blows in my bathroom. But I do ring them if I need advice, if I am out of my depth or if it seems that there is something they should know. My brother is slightly more dependent, but that is mostly by choice. My father, cryptic man that he is, has a tendency to give advice that seems to have little foundation. When asked why he does things the way he does, he responds with "one day you will understand". My brother worries that he will live his whole life by the rules set down by my father, only to realise on his own deathbed, that he never did understand and simply followed the instructions doggedly, waiting for the answer to become clear. I explained to him that part of being an adult is learning to find your own answers and to evaluate the information that you are given against your own experience and against expert advise. If he is not sure about something, he could ask a lawyer, accountant, doctor, etc. Part of growing up is realising that your parents are people and do not have all the answers, as much as they might present themselves as though they do. But it is hard to digest the idea that someone you may have relied upon to have an answer will no longer be there, whether their answers are good or not.
I have been reading back over my posts and I can see how far we have all come on this god forsaken journey. As much as we will all have learnt and understood, my father will still be dead, and wisdom is little consolation for that.
Happy news is thin on the ground these days and will probably continue to be for the next few weeks. I regret to report that we are coming to the end of this war. All I can hope for is to keep my chin up and remember that life always kills you in the end.
Showing posts with label mortality. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mortality. Show all posts
Monday, 28 November 2011
Thursday, 29 April 2010
They think it's all over
First blog in a while, but I am sitting at in the hospital while my father has just been taken from surgery to recovery. At 8am this morning he had a Whipple procedure and 40% of his pancreas was removed, along with 30% of his stomach. The surgeons consider the surgery to have been a success and they believe that they have removed the whole tumour. We will have to wait for another week to get the pathology results from the lab, but it is all looking very good and my father is now expected to make a full recovery.
It will take a while for my father to recover (and he's going to be on nil by mouth for up to a week- nice) but it seems that he is out of the woods for the moment. We still need to wait for the pathology report, but there is good reason to be cheerful.
After all that, it seems a bit of a let down, really. I feel that we at least deserve a medal. Instead my father gets to live another day. Just like before the cancer. Of course people got faced with their own mortality and some of us reassessed our lives and life will never be exactly the same. But it feels too much the same for my comfort. Does defeated cancer really leave a lasting impression. Complacency and habit return very quickly.
But don't mind me. Selfish. And tired. Meh.
It will take a while for my father to recover (and he's going to be on nil by mouth for up to a week- nice) but it seems that he is out of the woods for the moment. We still need to wait for the pathology report, but there is good reason to be cheerful.
After all that, it seems a bit of a let down, really. I feel that we at least deserve a medal. Instead my father gets to live another day. Just like before the cancer. Of course people got faced with their own mortality and some of us reassessed our lives and life will never be exactly the same. But it feels too much the same for my comfort. Does defeated cancer really leave a lasting impression. Complacency and habit return very quickly.
But don't mind me. Selfish. And tired. Meh.
Wednesday, 6 January 2010
"and if I'm not dying?"
Sorry that I have been a bit remiss. Lot's of non-cancer related things have been happening.
Catch-up story. My dad was in Chemo on Monday. The treatment was supposed to start at around 9am. Anyone remember the first time that he was at this hospital? Right, well, it turns out that one of the drugs he was supposed to be on has only just becomed FDA apporved in the states and is DEFINITELY not approved for treatement in Israel. So the hospital would not give it to him. He had brought it himself, you understand, but they could not hold themselves responsible if anything went wrong with it. An insurance thing. So my mother and the Head Nurse went on a hunting mission to get written consent for this drug from about 3 different hospital adiminstrators. And at 2:30pm , the treatment finally started. Home by 6. Nice.
My parents are so annoyed that they are leaving here ASAP for Houston, even if they need to do the last round of chemo there. I don't know yet whether I will be joining them at any point. Currently, the set date is Saturday the 16th.
Right, now is where I vent my spleen a bit over things that I can't specify, because they partially relate to something else. But here it is. I am angry and sad and disappointed by the notion that my father may only be doing things because he thinks that he is dying and, if he finds out he is not, will revert straight back to the objectionable opinions that he once held. I was hoping that he would be having personal epiphanies about the important things in life, but it seems that the epiphanies are quickly and easily forgotten as the threat of mortality fades or just becomes a part of life. After all, he may believe that he is going to die, but that belief cannot be at the forefront of his thoughts all the time; it would drive him mad.
So the transformation into "sainthood" that I thought was happening is not. All that's happened is that he has discovered that people treat him like a saint who can do no wrong, people are afraid of upsetting him and people will do whatever he wants. I hate feeling this bitter! And this cynical and thinking such terrible thoughts about my parent. But if a man is acting under duress of having the fear of God put into him, how can he be trusted to follow through once that threat has been removed.
I hope to god that this particular thing that I am going through will not last long because loving someone and hating them all at once is hard and hasn't happened to me for a few years. Right now it needs to be simple. Man could be dying: do what you can to help. End of Story. Stop muddying it with motive. Even if that motive makes you want to break things.
Arse.
Catch-up story. My dad was in Chemo on Monday. The treatment was supposed to start at around 9am. Anyone remember the first time that he was at this hospital? Right, well, it turns out that one of the drugs he was supposed to be on has only just becomed FDA apporved in the states and is DEFINITELY not approved for treatement in Israel. So the hospital would not give it to him. He had brought it himself, you understand, but they could not hold themselves responsible if anything went wrong with it. An insurance thing. So my mother and the Head Nurse went on a hunting mission to get written consent for this drug from about 3 different hospital adiminstrators. And at 2:30pm , the treatment finally started. Home by 6. Nice.
My parents are so annoyed that they are leaving here ASAP for Houston, even if they need to do the last round of chemo there. I don't know yet whether I will be joining them at any point. Currently, the set date is Saturday the 16th.
Right, now is where I vent my spleen a bit over things that I can't specify, because they partially relate to something else. But here it is. I am angry and sad and disappointed by the notion that my father may only be doing things because he thinks that he is dying and, if he finds out he is not, will revert straight back to the objectionable opinions that he once held. I was hoping that he would be having personal epiphanies about the important things in life, but it seems that the epiphanies are quickly and easily forgotten as the threat of mortality fades or just becomes a part of life. After all, he may believe that he is going to die, but that belief cannot be at the forefront of his thoughts all the time; it would drive him mad.
So the transformation into "sainthood" that I thought was happening is not. All that's happened is that he has discovered that people treat him like a saint who can do no wrong, people are afraid of upsetting him and people will do whatever he wants. I hate feeling this bitter! And this cynical and thinking such terrible thoughts about my parent. But if a man is acting under duress of having the fear of God put into him, how can he be trusted to follow through once that threat has been removed.
I hope to god that this particular thing that I am going through will not last long because loving someone and hating them all at once is hard and hasn't happened to me for a few years. Right now it needs to be simple. Man could be dying: do what you can to help. End of Story. Stop muddying it with motive. Even if that motive makes you want to break things.
Arse.
Monday, 7 December 2009
Business as usual, i.e messed up!
Over the last couple of days, we have been dealing with mundane yet important matters regarding the Christmas period.
Every year, in December, my family has held a memorial service for my grandfather, who died in 1996. My father is very keen on this and has insisted that everyone be together for this occasion. It's the equivalent of a religious holiday for him (we can talk about the morbidity of this another time). My brothers have managed to worm their way out of it a couple of times in the past but, as far as I know, without fail, I have turned up every year to entertain my father and grandmother's friends as they pretend they are celebrating the life of someone long dead while scoffing all of our food (cynical? moi?).
In any case, my Grandmother was desperately hoping that my dad had forgotten about it this year and that, if she kept her mouth shut, the appropriate window of time would pass without the memorial taking place. Seriously, this is her husband we are talking about, and even she is fed up of it.
But, lo and behold, as soon as my father's chemo schedule was set (which he had the first dose of yesterday, by the way) he was talking about dates for the memorial. It usually happens on the last Friday before Christmas. Only problem is that on the 21st he is having chemo in Geneva. So the 25th it is! It is a Friday, after all.
Now, my mother has some serious objections to memorials this year, anyway. Throughout these last few months, with my father's immune system being compromised, no one has been allowed near him if they had a cold, sniffle, funny coloured tonsils, etc. Surgical masks are given out like sugar lumps with your coffee. So the idea of him standing outdoors, in midwinter (albeit Israeli winter), surrounded by 100 people who will be coughing on him and then inviting them all back to a very small flat hardly seems sensible. But apparently catching a virus that could kill him does not faze my father if it is in the name of a service to remember someone who is already dead.
So, in short, the argument is ongoing. There has been shouting and crying and my grandmother is about to add her considerable gravitas to the discussion.
In the meanwhile, I have prices for 9 different flight options, and my fiancee is losing her rag, as we can't tell her mother whether we will be turning up for Christmas in Dorset.
Otherwise, I think the chemo is ok. He is clearly impatient to get on with something. He just happens to be making our lives difficult in the process!
Every year, in December, my family has held a memorial service for my grandfather, who died in 1996. My father is very keen on this and has insisted that everyone be together for this occasion. It's the equivalent of a religious holiday for him (we can talk about the morbidity of this another time). My brothers have managed to worm their way out of it a couple of times in the past but, as far as I know, without fail, I have turned up every year to entertain my father and grandmother's friends as they pretend they are celebrating the life of someone long dead while scoffing all of our food (cynical? moi?).
In any case, my Grandmother was desperately hoping that my dad had forgotten about it this year and that, if she kept her mouth shut, the appropriate window of time would pass without the memorial taking place. Seriously, this is her husband we are talking about, and even she is fed up of it.
But, lo and behold, as soon as my father's chemo schedule was set (which he had the first dose of yesterday, by the way) he was talking about dates for the memorial. It usually happens on the last Friday before Christmas. Only problem is that on the 21st he is having chemo in Geneva. So the 25th it is! It is a Friday, after all.
Now, my mother has some serious objections to memorials this year, anyway. Throughout these last few months, with my father's immune system being compromised, no one has been allowed near him if they had a cold, sniffle, funny coloured tonsils, etc. Surgical masks are given out like sugar lumps with your coffee. So the idea of him standing outdoors, in midwinter (albeit Israeli winter), surrounded by 100 people who will be coughing on him and then inviting them all back to a very small flat hardly seems sensible. But apparently catching a virus that could kill him does not faze my father if it is in the name of a service to remember someone who is already dead.
So, in short, the argument is ongoing. There has been shouting and crying and my grandmother is about to add her considerable gravitas to the discussion.
In the meanwhile, I have prices for 9 different flight options, and my fiancee is losing her rag, as we can't tell her mother whether we will be turning up for Christmas in Dorset.
Otherwise, I think the chemo is ok. He is clearly impatient to get on with something. He just happens to be making our lives difficult in the process!
Tuesday, 13 October 2009
"There is a difference between what you want and what your parents want"
So, my uncle randomly turned up in London yesterday. He was here for a meeting, which I did not know about and rang me up to ask me to meet him for coffee. I have not spoken to this man one-on-one for more than 5 minutes at a time in my life, so the prospect was fairly daunting. After trekking up and down Tottenham Court Rd for a while, we ended up in Starbucks (by the way, British Society, you were not doing yourself any favours yesterday, as the customer service everywhere we went was appalling. I was quite ashamed of the city that I call home) and sat down to talk about nothing.
Eventually the conversation turned to the upcoming trip and my parents arriving in Israel (which they did yesterday, how nice of you to ask! ;-) ) and he started saying some slightly odd things. He was wondering how come I was going to Israel when my brothers are not, why I am so adamant to stay and have I asked my parents what they want from me. Suddenly, and without warning, I thought "Holy shit. Has he been told something that I haven't? What if they don't want me there? What if I am just going to be a burden and my mother thinks she will have to cook for me and do my laundry and generally look after me, as well as after my father? Gah!"
So I rang home and called my mum. She said, "Don't be so silly. We not only want you. We need you. For instance, I can't leave the house to get a pint of milk if there is no one to look after your dad. We are counting the days until you get here" (Obviously, this was all in Hebrew, but you get the gist).
So I'm rather chuffed. The title of the post refers to something my uncle said, which suggested that I was going to be with them out of a selfish need to see my father, when he didn't necessarily want me there. So nah to that! Apparently it is unimaginable that a daughter could take time out of her life to be with her sick father.
I told my uncle the following: Let's pretend that there are two options. One option is that I run off to Israel and take 6 months out of my life, only to have him fully recover and I am left feeling like a bit of a ninny. Fine. Option two is that I don't. I decide that everything is fine, I stay in London, get on with things and, 9 months down the line my father is dead and I spend the rest of my life regretting the time with him that I will never get back. I know which option I choose, selfish or otherwise.
And this brings me on to my next point. My uncle kept talking about the circumstances in which my father is dead. People have been intentionally avoiding this, which includes everyone from my immediate family to random acquaintances. So, just to put it out there and thus confront the fear: Dead. Death. Dying. Terminal. My father may die. The chance is pretty damn high.
Phew. Do I feel better? No, not really. But if I need any justification as to why I am doing any of what I doing, let's go with that. And furthermore, let's go back to the start. 27 Percent. It's the 73 percent that is driving me right now. And everything else is bullshit.
Eventually the conversation turned to the upcoming trip and my parents arriving in Israel (which they did yesterday, how nice of you to ask! ;-) ) and he started saying some slightly odd things. He was wondering how come I was going to Israel when my brothers are not, why I am so adamant to stay and have I asked my parents what they want from me. Suddenly, and without warning, I thought "Holy shit. Has he been told something that I haven't? What if they don't want me there? What if I am just going to be a burden and my mother thinks she will have to cook for me and do my laundry and generally look after me, as well as after my father? Gah!"
So I rang home and called my mum. She said, "Don't be so silly. We not only want you. We need you. For instance, I can't leave the house to get a pint of milk if there is no one to look after your dad. We are counting the days until you get here" (Obviously, this was all in Hebrew, but you get the gist).
So I'm rather chuffed. The title of the post refers to something my uncle said, which suggested that I was going to be with them out of a selfish need to see my father, when he didn't necessarily want me there. So nah to that! Apparently it is unimaginable that a daughter could take time out of her life to be with her sick father.
I told my uncle the following: Let's pretend that there are two options. One option is that I run off to Israel and take 6 months out of my life, only to have him fully recover and I am left feeling like a bit of a ninny. Fine. Option two is that I don't. I decide that everything is fine, I stay in London, get on with things and, 9 months down the line my father is dead and I spend the rest of my life regretting the time with him that I will never get back. I know which option I choose, selfish or otherwise.
And this brings me on to my next point. My uncle kept talking about the circumstances in which my father is dead. People have been intentionally avoiding this, which includes everyone from my immediate family to random acquaintances. So, just to put it out there and thus confront the fear: Dead. Death. Dying. Terminal. My father may die. The chance is pretty damn high.
Phew. Do I feel better? No, not really. But if I need any justification as to why I am doing any of what I doing, let's go with that. And furthermore, let's go back to the start. 27 Percent. It's the 73 percent that is driving me right now. And everything else is bullshit.
Friday, 2 October 2009
whose cancer is this, anyway?
Speaking to my parents yesterday, I got only one clear indication: They are worried about me. Sounds weird? Well, here's why.
Apparently, there is quite a high chance that my father has a specific genetic predisposition to pancreatic cancer. And breat cancer. And ovarian cancer. He is being tested today to find out if he has this mutation. If he does, then there is a 50% chance that his children do as well. However, I have managed to pick up every single one of his genes and seemingly none from my mother, so the chances are pretty good that I have it, if he does. And so do my brothers. This is more of a problem for me, though, obviously, as they don't have breasts or ovaries.
So, in a couple of weeks when those test results come in, I might have to be tested myself (and don't start me on how much I am going to have to deal with having blood tests), and, if the test is positive, I am going to have to be screened for all these cancers every few months for the rest of my life.
My parents are worried about the inconvenience. I am worried about my potentially shortened lifespan and the prospect of having cancer coming out of every orifice. Nice.
I have a very poor record when it comes to considering my own mortality. I truly think I am going to die on airplanes and I think about death a lot. So the idea that I might be halfway through my life scares me shitless. Yet another reason to run off, get married and start having sprogs as quickly as possible. Only not really.
Yeah, but it's all contingent on him having this mutation. Which everyone actually thinks he does this time. The reason is that, if he does have it, it makes the cancer much easier to treat, because they know what type it is and what to target. So, good for him, not so good for the younger generation.
I'm feeling mildly cynical today, can you tell?
In other news, I have taken my grandmother's advice to not take anyone's advice and have booked flights back to London for the very immediate future. I want to be back in Israel when my parents arrive, and I reckon I am going to be bouncing back and forth for a while. So, London on Saturday night, where I will stay for 10 days. Then we will think onward. Life, shouldn't stop, they say, but until my personal view of my father's prognosis improves, I am not taking any chances. Plus, I hear that chemo isn't nice.
Finally, I want to thank all the people who have dropped me messages via any means this week. People that I have not spoken to in years have come out of the woodwork in support. Funnily enough, this is not like my attitude on birthdays. I disabled my facebook wall every year on my birthday, because I think that if people want to wish me a happy birthday, they should make an effort. I think this is different because people genuinely care, and also, because I have received several very thoughtful and heartfelt messages. So thank you. Thanks for being supportive. Thanks for making me smile. Thanks for showing me that people out there care and that there is a point in my writing all of this (other than for informational purposes anyway). You guys rock.
Apparently, there is quite a high chance that my father has a specific genetic predisposition to pancreatic cancer. And breat cancer. And ovarian cancer. He is being tested today to find out if he has this mutation. If he does, then there is a 50% chance that his children do as well. However, I have managed to pick up every single one of his genes and seemingly none from my mother, so the chances are pretty good that I have it, if he does. And so do my brothers. This is more of a problem for me, though, obviously, as they don't have breasts or ovaries.
So, in a couple of weeks when those test results come in, I might have to be tested myself (and don't start me on how much I am going to have to deal with having blood tests), and, if the test is positive, I am going to have to be screened for all these cancers every few months for the rest of my life.
My parents are worried about the inconvenience. I am worried about my potentially shortened lifespan and the prospect of having cancer coming out of every orifice. Nice.
I have a very poor record when it comes to considering my own mortality. I truly think I am going to die on airplanes and I think about death a lot. So the idea that I might be halfway through my life scares me shitless. Yet another reason to run off, get married and start having sprogs as quickly as possible. Only not really.
Yeah, but it's all contingent on him having this mutation. Which everyone actually thinks he does this time. The reason is that, if he does have it, it makes the cancer much easier to treat, because they know what type it is and what to target. So, good for him, not so good for the younger generation.
I'm feeling mildly cynical today, can you tell?
In other news, I have taken my grandmother's advice to not take anyone's advice and have booked flights back to London for the very immediate future. I want to be back in Israel when my parents arrive, and I reckon I am going to be bouncing back and forth for a while. So, London on Saturday night, where I will stay for 10 days. Then we will think onward. Life, shouldn't stop, they say, but until my personal view of my father's prognosis improves, I am not taking any chances. Plus, I hear that chemo isn't nice.
Finally, I want to thank all the people who have dropped me messages via any means this week. People that I have not spoken to in years have come out of the woodwork in support. Funnily enough, this is not like my attitude on birthdays. I disabled my facebook wall every year on my birthday, because I think that if people want to wish me a happy birthday, they should make an effort. I think this is different because people genuinely care, and also, because I have received several very thoughtful and heartfelt messages. So thank you. Thanks for being supportive. Thanks for making me smile. Thanks for showing me that people out there care and that there is a point in my writing all of this (other than for informational purposes anyway). You guys rock.
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