9 months later...the good and not so good

Monday dad went in for his nine month CT scan...last night he called with the update after meeting with the doctor.

The good news is that none of dad's vital organs seem to be in any danger of new cancer growth. I'm guessing that this means that dad's cancer isn't spreading out from his lungs, so that's a comfort. Along with this, dad told me that his life expectancy hasn't changed. This is a bit confusing to me since the doctor only gave him 3-6 months to live in the first place (and we're 9 months alive), but it gives me greater hope that dad is truly going to make it to his granddaughter's birth in February.

The bad news is there was a growth on his ribs (or something like that) and it actually broke his rib. Sometimes dad's info is a blur in my mind as I try to make sense of what really goes on in his body. Dad has been complaining of shoulder pain for some time so as terrible as it is that there's another tumor, it's also a relief to know where the pain has been coming from. At least it's not another comment from the doctor like, "we can't figure out what's wrong." That sort of statement drives me nuts. Dad will begin radiation treatment Wednesday, or thereafter, which sounds scary to me but I'm gathering will be what it takes to kill the tumor. Once that's taken care, I'm hoping that his broken rib will be able to be fixed so he's not in pain any more.

Dad also talked about chemo treatment, again. That always comes as a surprise to me. It sounds like the doctor wants to try another drug that isn't so harsh on dad's system. It's hard to sort out my feelings attached to this. I'm proud of my dad for doing what it takes to fight this cancer that is going to kill him any way, but I have serious fears about what the chemo does to him. It wasn't fun to watch him suffer the last time. Nonetheless, if it buys us the time we need for him to be with us for Madeline's birth, it's worth it. I haven't cried about dad's cancer in a long time so it's crazy to me that right now I am bawling as I type this. I feel like we have these benchmarks for dad's life...At first it was just the 3 and 6 month marks...now, it's marked by, "just make it to Thanksgiving, dad." Then Christmas. Then New Year's. Then your birthday, dad. Then Madeline's birth. I feel like there's hope, especially since he's made it this far, but there's always that element of fear for me. It's selfish, really, since I'm not the one with cancer. I can only imagine what dad must go through. But, still, he's my dad and it hurts to think about it. I just want Maddie to meet her sweet Papa.

Starting a new week

As I close out one week and look at starting another, I can't help but realize I breath a little bit easier on this Sunday. This time last week I was driving home and feeling like there was no hope - today is a slight improvement. 

Dad met with the doctor on Tuesday and blew us all away and agreed to do experimental treatment. When I talked with him over the weekend, he said his experiment does not involve placebo. He will be taking a specific chemo cocktail with drugs that he knows about. As far as I can tell, the experimental part is whether the chemo has any affect on his cancer. While I maintain that I support any decisions dad makes, I still feel relief that he's willing to give the treatment a shot. He's really clear that the chemo won't cure his cancer, but it may slow its growth down. Whatever buys me more time with my dad I'll take it and celebrate it. When I shared the news with my friend Jana she congratulated the family and said, "Your dad's ready to fight." I hadn't even thought of it like that. But she's right, dad is choosing his way to let the cancer know that he's not going down easy. I'm so thankful. 

When this whole thing started, especially after dad's biopsy results came back, I really wanted to fight this on my own. I shared with my staff about what's going on with my dad and pretty much told them I didn't want them asking me about it. I consider school my safe haven from this and the children I am with are my therapy. I will have to say that the people I work with have reached out in very gentle ways and offered support by sharing their own personal and family experiences. I still don't want to spend my work time talking about dad - it's too emotional. But, I am realizing the importance of reaching out and letting others help me through this. For me, it takes more courage to let people in then to try to go this alone. 

There's never been any doubt in my mind that our dad loves us. Suzanne, Steven, and I share lots of stories that make us laugh about stuff we've done with dad. Unlike mom, though, he's not overly affectionate and he doesn't always have the words to express how he feels about us. In fact, he's often used mom as his mouthpiece to tell us how he feels. I guess there is good that can come out of cancer - not only has our family really rallied together but I'm noticing that dad is a lot more open and gentle with us-not using mom as the voice, but him telling us himself. It's a side of dad that I feel blessed to experience.

I didn't like driving away from my parents home today. I feel like I don't know if dad's going to be there when I go back next weekend. It's an unsettling feeling to live three hours away. 

Suzanne's turn...

I will never forget the look on the doctors face when she pulled me into her office. The physician that my dad and I share is very good to my dad. She seems to understand him in ways that I will never be able to. She is able to get him to do things that nobody in our family has ever gotten him to do. I have had the privilage of knowing our physician for many years. She started out as a resident in the hospital I work for, then when she finished her training, became my personal physician. Eventually when my dad was in need of a new doctor, I urged him to go see my doctor. She has truely been a blessing to my dad.

On the day I took my father into the doctors office, I never thought I would have to leave after receiving such devastating news. I am still suprised at how unprepared I was to hear the news I was about to hear that day. As my sister has alluded to earlier, I had recently been on vacation in the Philippines. I received the news that my mom needed surgery on her colon and that my dad had cancer the day before I was to fly home to the states. I was worried, sick, and scared all at the same time. I was desperate to get home, but powerless to do so. It made absolutely no sense to try to change my flight arrangements when I would be home in a couple of days.

On my flight home, all I could do was pray and think about my family. I never wanted to have a vacation end and be home like I did this vacation. When I finally was home, I was so relieved to see my mom, know that she was ok, but I still needed to set my eyes on my dad and talk with our physician. From the conversations I had with my dad, I knew he would not come home early to get his biopsy done. I knew that he needed to get this done, but had to wait on his timing. My next step was to call the doctor who was unable to talk to me until the following day, while I was at work. I knew this would be a difficult conversation, and from the moment I came home it felt like my world was narrowing down to this one moment. The BIG talk. The doctor spent almost an hour with me talking about my dad's test results, what they ment for my dad's future and what needed to happen next. We agreed to meet the next day so she could check up on me, and see what other questions I may have. The next day was one of the most difficult days. It was hard for me to get my thoughts in order, and I don't remember ever feeling so helpless, scared and uncertain as I did during those first days. I do know that when I begin to feel helpless and scared, my immediate response is to take action. If you haven't figured it out yet, I am a RN. I also happen to work in the Cardiac Intensive Care Unit, and as such I have access to some of the best surgeons around. Immediately I showed my dad's PET scan and radiology report to the surgeon I wanted to work with my dad and asked that he speak to my dad's physician. He gave me hope that maybe there might be something to do for my dad. He promised to speak to my dad's physican and also present my dad's case at cancer conference the following week.

Fast-forward to the day I took my dad into the doctor's for a prolonged asthma attack. He was so short of breath that he couldn't make the drive by himself, so I decided I would take him. When I handed my dad over to the doctor's care, I decided I would visit with the office staff. I remember sharing my vacation stories and generally having a good laugh despite the heaviness that constantly weighed on me. Little did I know that at that very moment, my doctor was talking with my dad's surgeon about his test results. As I said before, I will never forget the look on her face when she came out to get me. I didn't have a clue. I thought she might need to tell me that my dad needed to go to the hospital immediately, but it turns out that it was much worse than that. I remember her asking me to sit down, and then she told me. Stage IV non-small cell lung cancer. It was worse that what we originally thought we would see once he got his biopsy results back. I couldn't believe it. Things like this did not happen to us, it was surreal. I broke down. There is nothing that can possibly prepare you for this. What would I say to my mom? She had asked me to call her after I found out what was going on with my dad. We did not expect that we would come home with such grave news.

While the doctor went to tell my dad, I called my sister. I had promised her I would call when I knew what the results were. I never dreaded a phone call as much as I did that one. I knew that she was going to be at work, but she deserved to know. I wanted her to come home to be with me and our family. This was news that was too much for me to bear alone. So I made the call that would change all of ours lives. I tried not to cry while I was talking to her, but it never is how you want it to be. While my sister was yelling into the phone, you could hear the pain and confusion, the uncertainty of what this diagnosis would mean. I knew she would come home, and I was never so relieved that my sister would be there to help out. When it came time to take my dad home, he looked so peaceful. I was an emotional mess, and my dad just wanted to go smoke his cigarette. It was the most awkward drive home. My dad seemed resigned to dying, and there I am telling him that I'm not ready for him to die. Not my most shining moment. I will never forget him looking at me and saying, "It's ok, I've lived a good life. I don't regret anything. Maybe I will have time to go to Yellowstone, because I have never been there. I do know that I want to go catch some fish and go mushroom hunting." All I could do was laugh......

February 27, 2009 - March 1, 2009

After hearing the news, the drive to Beaverton didn't seem that long. After the initial freak out of hearing about dad's biopsy results, Mark came home early from work to console me and make sure I got on my way safely. He had offered to come along but for some reason I really felt the need to go see my dad on my own. I was really surprised at how calm I was during the drive up. When I arrived at my parents, I don't know what I expected, but I remember being surprised at how normal dad looked. That's the thing about cancer, you don't really look sick.

We didn't really do anything except look at the paperwork that showed dad's diagnosis and then talk about how dad could enjoy hot chocolate again - since he's dying anyway, why not drink it and not worry about his diabetes. Dad talked about his smoking...the doctors are really pushing him to quit. Dad remembers how miserable Grandpa Takano was when he quit smoking near the end of his life because he had been told to and dad decided he isn't going to quit. Why? He's dying anyway. I've learned with dad that it's no use arguing with him - he's pretty stubborn and once his mind is made up that's it. Well, at least most of the time....

The whole weekend, dad kept telling us how he wasn't interested in the experimental treatment. I heard him tell my sister, "I'm not a humanitarian." In fact, he told all of us that he was going to visit the doctor on Tuesday about experimental treatment as a "courtesy". To whom? Courtesy to the doctor? I had pretty much prepared myself for dad to continue on his path of no treatment as was attempting to accept the fact that my dad will likely be dead within the next 3 to 6 months.

I cried my whole drive home. For whatever reason it occurred to me that the child/ren that Mark and I hope to have will never know their Ojichan and I would never get to do what dad did with our grandpa and ask him to give a name to our child/ren. It just didn't seem fair that my children will never have the benefit of having their wonderful grandpa as part of their life. I'm not pregnant and with 3 to 6 months left ahead...well, you do the math. Try as I could to force the thought out of my mind, I just couldn't quit thinking about life without dad.

I began another week with a heavy heart.

Dad's cancer type and stage...

It just so happens that mom needed to have surgery because she had pollups in colon. One wouldn't flush out so she needed to have surgery to have a portion of her colon removed so that things wouldn't turn cancerous. Knowing dad's initial cancer diagnosis before she scheduled her surgery, mom decided that having surgery while dad was gone would be best so that she would be fully recovered by the time dad got back from grandma's. Not knowing what kind of support dad would need she just wanted to be sure that she was as healthy as could be. 

Her surgery was on Thursday, February 12th - exactly one week after dad had flown down to CA. Steve came down to my house for the week just so that mom could be in the hospital and not worry about him and so Liz and Suzanne could continue to work without taking time off to care for Steve. It was an easy week, relatively speaking. Steven just hung out and watched movies. 

It just so happens that mom's surgery was the thing that brought dad home... on February 20, Suzanne called me and told me that dad felt bad because he was in CA while mom had had surgery and was now trying to recover and that he had decided to come home Monday (2/23). I cannot even begin to explain the sudden relief at knowing that dad would be home so he could get in and get his biopsy done. Seriously. I really thought I was ok with him being in CA but when Suzanne said he was coming home it was as an instant burden was lifted off of my shoulders. 

So, dad did come home and then within a week he was in for his biopsy. Three days after the biopsy, Suzanne took dad to the doctor because he was struggling to breath. Dad and Suzanne share the same primary care physician - who seems to be a woman who cares about the person she cares for as much as the medical part. She happened to get the biopsy results while dad was in the office getting an asthma treatment. Suzanne immediately called me at work to tell me what she knew...

Suzanne blew me away with how strong she was. I detected a serious tone, but nothing that would indicate what she was about to say. Dad has stage IV non-small cell lung cancer. "What do you mean?" I yelled. No treatment. "Wait, Suzanne, what do you mean?" Dad's not eligible for surgery. No chemo or radiation. "Suzanne, I don't understand. What do you mean?" What do you mean was the only thing that I could formulate to say. Then the real bomb...dad has three to six months to live. All I could do was yell and cry. Thank goodness for my secretaries who just shut everything up in my office - blinds, door. They immediately packed me up and sent me on my way up to Beaverton. 

I've only experienced heartbreak one other time in my life. This time, I thought that I'd actually die from the heartbreak. My dad is dying of cancer.

We find out dad has cancer...

I remember talking to dad the first part of February 2009, just to check in and dad telling me about his scans and the results. I had actually talked to mom first and she said why don't you call your dad and say hi to him. I knew dad was heading down to California to spend a month and a half with Grandma Takano and since I couldn't remember when dad was leaving I figured I'd ask him about when he was leaving. 

Dad had gone to the doctor for shoulder pain and unbeknownst to me had needed to get MRI, PET, and CAT scans...

 

When I talked to dad, it was our normal, "How you doing?" Dad's response was something along the lines of not so good. When I made a casual comment about that that was a bummer to hear, dad began to go into the results of the scans. I remember hearing "spots on liver and kidney" and "mass in the center of chest". I remember feeling really confused and trying to sort everything out. Dad kept referring to "it" and it suddenly occurred to me that dad was talking about cancer. I finally just came out and said to my dad, "you've got cancer, don't you?" Almost in an accusatory tone...like, "why aren't you just telling point blank what's going on". 

To add to my anxiety over what was going on, Suzanne was in the Phillipines. She's the one that can look at the doctor reports and explain everything in a way that makes sense. My parents live in Beaverton and I knew they couldn't adequately answer all of the questions racing through my mind and I am not with them to read the paperwork myself to attempt to make heads or tails of things...

Dad told me that "it" was spread all over and that he had decided to go to California anyway. He wanted to spend time with Grandma before he knew for sure what kind of cancer and what stage he was at. At least for him, not knowing where he was with cancer meant that he could go and not have the weight of everything about cancer hanging over him. As hard as it was for me, I forced myself to be supportive of dad. As much as I wanted him to stay home to figure out what was going on, trips to take care of grandma were important to him and he was going whether any of us wanted him to or not.

In talking to my friend Jana, I found out that the best thing for dad to do was to take charge and that it was good for him to be going to grandma's because that's what HE wanted. 

Coincidentally, mom was scheduled to have surgery shortly after dad left for CA. Little did we know that the timing of that would be crucial for things to come.