The Rollercoaster You Never Want To Get On
Stuart Muller
I knew I was taking on a lot of work when the semester began. I’m studying part-time for an MA and working part-time too. Instead of doing two modules, I decided to do three because they seemed really good and wasn’t drawn to the ones the following semester. I also knew there would be substantially more paid work to do next semester. I’m really interested in being a journalist and decided to become the news editor of the student newspaper and radio station. I had a lot on my plate but I planned far in advance so things were manageable and I knew I’d have an intensive couple of months but things would ease off next semester. Once I handed in my first three essays I knew I was half way there. I booked a ten day holiday to France and Italy before I had to get on with the next three essays. However, no amount of planning could prepare me for what was to happen next.
My Dad told me he was having pains when he eats, which was putting him off his food – for my Dad this was serious – he loves his food. After going to the doctors and hospital, he was told he had a growth around his stomach area. He had to have an operation with two possible outcomes. One, they could remove the tumour. Second, if the tumour had spread, it couldn’t be removed, which would be critical. I didn’t even think about the second option. Dad wanted the operation as soon as possible. He was in pain, turning jaundice and losing his appetite. The not knowing was psychologically killing him.
I re-scheduled my holiday and spent my time looking after Dad and trying to get on with my essays. I was under a lot of pressure – there were the essays, work, the radio, and of course Dad. When term ended there was no radio work. I was largely positive because I felt everything would be fine. The day for Dad’s operation came and I was at work because they said he will be in intensive care all day so I won’t be able to see him. I was in a meeting when I received the phone call from my Uncle. I found a quiet space and he told me how the operation went. He said the cancer had spread. They couldn’t remove the tumour. I managed to stay strong. I went back to my meeting, said my apologies and went to phone my sister. It was then that it hit me, I couldn’t keep it in, I started crying, trying to tell my sister; she immediately burst into tears and started screaming. I said hopefully they can prolong his life for years and years, who knows. We need to take one step at a time. We needed to tell our younger sister too and she said she would tell her face-to-face. But as soon as that conversation ended my younger sister called. I didn’t know what to do. I thought it better to wait so I didn’t answer the call, she phoned again and I didn’t answer it. I phoned my Uncle to ask him what to do and he said he told her. I was in a daze, in a state, in a spin. I was worried about my essays so I went to the library and got some books out to take them with me.
Just before I got to the hospital I was told not to tell my Dad how the operation went. I went to the intensive care unit and they allowed me in to see him. The nurse confirmed what my Uncle said – he has cancer of the pancreas. Dad looked asleep but the nurse said I should go over to him. As I got there his eyes opened. The first thing he said was how did it go? I didn’t know what to say or do. I said I’m not sure how it went. He said but didn’t your Uncle tell you. I said let me ask him - that was my get out clause. I left the intensive care unit and phoned my Uncle. He said tell him, if you can. I went back in and told him. He said that means I only have two or three years to live. I said you don’t know that for sure, you need to speak to the cancer expert first. He said I know. I looked it up and the doctor said. He said don’t worry, we’ll fight it. My sister came into the intensive care unit. She was so strong. She was positive and optimistic. I went outside to see my other sister and together we hugged each other and cried. My Uncle and Aunt were pillars of strength too. The strength, help and support I received from my family, my amazing family, was invaluable. I went back in to see my Dad, and somehow, as best as someone can after a five hour operation, he was reciting Churchill proclaiming he was going to fight it on the beaches, the sea and the air.
The next day the surgeon came in and confirmed to Dad that he hadn’t been able to remove the tumour, it spread and he had two or three years to live. Once I heard that my heart dropped - it was confirmed. My Dad, who, until a few weeks ago was fit and healthy, running about, loving life, suddenly had only two-three years to live. My Dad’s main concern was quality of life and the surgeon confirmed he should get his appetite back and be able to travel – for Dad this was good news. I was just blown back by his positive attitude. It gave me strength. The next couple of weeks Dad was in hospital recovering from the operation where he made a slow but steady recovery. Throughout this time everyone in the family all supported each other, staying positive and strong, as was Dad. They knew about my situation with the essays and told me to tell my boss and lecturers.
My boss was supportive and one of my lecturers got back to me straight away and told me not to worry about the essay and it was no problem to have an extension. It was really hard having to deal with what my Dad was going through plus the added pressure of the essays. I tried to get back to studying but it was hard to concentrate. I was trying to find out as much about my Dad’s illness as possible and to see if there was a magic cure that hadn’t been discovered. The trips to the hospital meant it was hard to sit down and concentrate on my essays but my Dad told me to get on with my studies. When Dad didn’t want visitors because he was tired and in pain I managed to have my first full day of studying. The essay was actually a useful distraction at times. It meant I could focus my mind on other things.
When Dad came I went to his house to look after him. However, this wasn’t easy. He didn’t want to eat, which meant he wasn’t sleeping or getting stronger to fight the cancer. When he did eat he ate too much, too quickly or the wrong food and felt sick, which put him off eating even more. Meanwhile, I went back to uni for a day to finish off one of the essays. What a relief it was, one down, two to go. My Uncle from Israel came over and we had a big family meal together. Dad ate more at that meal than in the last month. My Aunty was so happy she gave my Dad two week’s supply of food. I left Dad again to go to uni to finish essay number two. He was in good spirits when I left him so I was relatively happy. As the deadline came I managed to hand in two essays - only one to go.
When I went home Dad was in an awful state. He wasn’t eating or sleeping properly. He was getting weaker and weaker. I had to ask for another extension for my essay to look after him. I was really fortunate my lecturer was understanding and he said it wasn’t a problem. That enabled me to worry a little less but it was still hanging over my head and was a stress I wanted to get rid of sooner rather than later. Dad was due to have the chemotherapy in a few days but he just didn’t seem like he was in the shape to have it. He called for a doctor and she suggested he goes back into hospital. I went to see him the next day and after five minutes with me, he wanted me to go – he was too weak – he just wanted the chemotherapy, he thought it was his panacea. I went back to uni to try and get on with my final essay knowing I was only days away from getting this extra stress off me. I received updates from my Aunty and Uncle who told me he’s weak but the doctors and nurses will get him out of the hospital in the next couple of days.
I was about to start writing my final essay, when my Aunty called. She said he’s really unwell and I better come to hospital straight away. He was really weak when I saw him and shouting in Hebrew, his mother tongue, telling me to get out. He could no longer speak in English. The doctors said it was because he was in so much pain and confused. The nurse told us he was rapidly deteriorating. When my other sister arrived and heard the news she broke down saying “I can’t live without him, I can’t live without him.” The doctor gave a slightly better prognosis but not much better. Dad stabilised and they did a scan on him. They said a perforation in his abdomen was causing the problem. They needed to put a needle into his lung and abdomen to drain all the shit out of him. There were complications because his blood was too thin to have the needle in his abdomen so they had to postpone it. It was a risky procedure but luckily it went well. The next day he was able to say a few words and the day after he was able to speak in English again. He’s very weak but he’s back from the dead. I asked my lecturer for another extension and he said I could have an extra three weeks. It was such a relief he was so understanding - but I just wanted to get it done.
As I write this story, trying to finish off the essay, trying to write the news, worried about work, Dad’s still in hospital. Things are better now - Dad will be out of hospital in the next few days and that will be one less stress. Writing this has been a brilliantly cathartic experience, enabling me to relive the last few weeks – it made me cry but I guess that helps. I’ve learnt I have an even more amazing family than I knew I had. And my friends have been invaluable support. I’ve learnt to cry, to feel pain, to juggle, to balance the important things, to get a better understanding of the more important things in life, and of course, though it’s a cliché, it’s still true – just how precious life is. This experience has made me realise that no matter what the pressures are it’s essential to talk to people about them, that it’s important to put things in perspective – I was stressed about the essay but all that really mattered was Dad and my family – that’s what’s really important.
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