While attending a birthday party for my sister Daisy in November, 2001, everyone knew that Dad wasn't himself. A man that was normally the life of the party, sat quietly on the couch and attempted to eat a piece of birthday cake. Dad's booming voice and laugh was silent that night.
He had been experiencing pain in his legs and arms. Upon closer examination, Dad noticed purple streaks running down his limbs. He told me that he used to get up very early in the morning to soak in a bath before work. The warm water would soothe his arms and legs and relieve some of the pain. Dad knew there was something wrong and typical of Dad, he didn't tell anyone.
December 8, 2001, 10:50p.m., I received a telephone call from my youngest sister Sarah. Dad was in the emergency room in the local hospital. We both knew something was seriously wrong. Dad hated hospitals. He avoided them as much as possible. While working construction, If he had cut himself, He'd grab a roll of duct tape and begin wrapping tape around the wound. One, two inch slices into his flesh that screamed stitches and antibiotics were bound with duct tape or superglue. Instant panic moved through my body like a wave of fire. I quickly drove to the hospital and found my father lying in a hospital bed with huge purple streaks from his armpits to his wrists and his inner thighs to his ankles. The staff of Doctor's diagnosed Dad with Deep Vein Thrombosis. Blood clots in the veins were not only preventing normal blood flow but threatening to break free and enter his lungs. Deep Vein Thrombosis can be managed with medication, we were told, but the bigger issue was the cause. After a week worth of various tests, Dad was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The cancer had already spread to his liver. He was told he had 2 to 4 months to live. The look on Dad's face when he broke the news to all of us was unforgettable. A blank stare, wide eyed and pale, I'm sure he must have been in shock. How could this happen to MY Dad. A man so strong, so full of life. I guess my first reaction was panic. Understandable, I'm sure. Thoughts swirled in my mind. Will he die? Why is this happening? Does Dad want to die? How does it feel to be told that you're going to die? Will my son remember my father? Will Dad be in pain? In just a short period of time, I experienced an intense array of emotions, anger, sadness, denial, denial and more denial. This is impossible, I told myself. This won't happen. He'll get better. I went to my Dad's bedside and told him that we were going to fight this with everything we had.
The Doctor's prescribed blood thinners that helped with the blood clotting in his arms and legs. Pain medications were prescribed to control the pain of the blood clots and antidepressants, Celexa and Xanax, was prescribed for depression and anxiety. The blood clots reduced in size, after a week stay in the hospital and he was sent home with an appointment with the local Oncologist.
Dad began chemotherapy the following week. The chemo drug Gemzar was used to treat the cancer. An appointment was made for my sisters and I to talk with Dr. Gibbs, The local Oncologist, regarding Dad's condition. Unfortunately, I suffered a miscarriage and could not attend the meeting. Dad's only request, at the time, was to not see my sisters after they spoke to the doctor. Dad knew they'd be upset after hearing of his condition and couldn't stand the thought of seeing them in that state. That friday, Dad went to his chemotherapy appointment while my sisters sat in the doctor's office and discussed his condition. The doctor explained to them that Dad would start feeling better when the chemotherapy drug began to shrink the tumors but in a short while his health would fail quickly, he'd slip into a coma and pass away. I sat at home and waited for my sisters to arrive. Laurie, Daisy and Sarah showed up at my house in tears. ..........
