I have read so many peoples stories on these forms, and it upsets me greatly the number of people and families who have been affected by cancer. Life can be so cruel.
Sunday 8th May 2022, the day after my Mums birthday, my Dad, aged 64 (11 days before his 65th birthday) so very cruelly and sadly passed away, after fighting stage 4 lung cancer from when he got diagnosis at the beginning of July last year. His body was riddled with cancer (lungs, kidney, liver, bones and the brain). He put up an incredible fight and was determined to fight it as much as he could. He was given chemo therapy and for a while the chemo was working. The cancer in his lung had shrunk twice and had stabilised everywhere else by January 2022. He used to go walks every single day, despite how tired he felt, to try keep himself fit and moving. When it came to his treatment days, he always said no to a lift to the hospital, and said he wanted to take the bus and walk as he never wants to lose his independence. The chemo worked for a while, but suddenly during the month of March, we noticed my Dad was becoming more breathless and the numbness in his fingers returned. It got to the point we had to take breaks every 5 minutes after walking around the park, and then as time went on, my Dad couldn't even take 10 steps without struggling to breathe and it took so much effort for him to walk up the stairs. My family took my Dad into the hospital during April, they done scans, and his cancer Dr had to sadly advice him that the chemo had stopped working, the cancer had grown again in his lung, had spread more in his brain, and there was nothing else they would be able to do for him. My Dad walked out of the hospital devestated; he had so much hope that we was going to make it through another year. He didn’t want to go as he loved his family; it’s heartbreaking. The Dr then called my Dad and family back to the hospital and advised they were going to up the dose on my Dads steroids, and if he could see that Dad could do small things like hoover without struggling after 3 weeks, then they would put him on Immunotherapy, but if there is no difference, he would be given the option of a stronger chemo. This gave my Dad hope, however over the next week, we noticed the steroids weren't making any difference, and Dad continued to decline, becoming more exhausted and fatigued. On Saturday 23rd April, my Dad took a LFT test and had tested positive for covid. The Wednesday following that, my Mum advised that my Dad struggled terribly during the night, so I phoned the hospital and they sent out paramedics to assess him. He got took into hospital and was in the covid unit until Monday 2nd May. On this day I went to visit him, we weren't allowed to visit for the first 5 days due to him being in the covid unit. When I visited my Dad, I had to take a moment outside the ward. I was so upset as I seen he could no longer walk and the nurses had to assist him to the toilet. He was losing his independence - the one thing he was absolutely dreading. I sat with him for 2 and a half hours, during that time he got moved to the respiratory ward. I had bought him a t-shirt and showed him it and told him I would take it home and he can get it when he's back. I honestly believed he was coming back home as the doctor in the covid unit had originally advised that because all of my Dads energy had been used to fight the infection, his leg muscles have lost the energy to move, but they were going to give him physio to get the strength back in his legs. A few days later, my Mum got a phoned call from the doctor to advise the absolutely dreaded news, that my Dad was deteriorating, he had less than 2 weeks to live, and it wasn't the covid that done it, it was the cancer. The Dr advised that he could not believe my Dad was living for as long as he were as the cancer was everywhere in his body, he said he had never seen anything quite like it. The news absolutely shattered me and my family. They didn't advise my Dad of the length of time he had left, my Dad still believed and was determined he was coming back home, despite how quickly he was deteriorating during that week in hospital. When visiting he would keep saying "I just need to get my strength back" and was chatting about us having a takeaway at the weekend. One of the days after we found out the horrible news, he told me and my Mum he was coming back home on Sunday, we just went along with it. He could barely talk by the end of the week and was constantly fatigued, lost his appetite for food. It didn't stop him from trying to have conversations though, just the conversations were short and small worded. On Saturday 7th May, I could see my Dad was struggling, and it was then I knew, he would be lucky if he makes it to Monday. I had a moment with my Dad alone that evening were I asked him for a hug, he said of course, and kept patting my back as I hugged into him and he layed his head on my shoulder for about 5 mins. I sat beside him crying telling him how much I miss him at home and home isn't the same without him. He didn't seem to realise me crying beside him. He was confused about things by this point and advised he just wanted to move his legs and do something for himself. Sunday 8th May, at 4am, my Mum got the dreaded call to advise my Dad was deteriorating quickly and we should go to the hospital. We ran to the car, up into the hospital. We sat at his bed side. We comforted him as much as we could, speaking gently and chatting about great memories we had as a family and how much we love him. Dad was in a lot of discomfort and pain, the morphine didn't seem to be cutting it, it was horrible to witness, and he was still trying to fight it despite the odds. The nurses came into the room and managed to position him comfortably and he told the doctor he didn't feel pain no more. He kept reaching holding onto my mum, we was all so upset but also trying to hold it together to make his last moments as peaceful as possible. My Dad later passed away that morning with me, my sister and my Mum by his bedside holding onto him. We are so heartbroken.
There’s a lot of anger. He didn’t deserve it; he was an incredible man. He didn’t want to go, it wasn’t his time. He worked hard, paid into a pension all his working days, and was looking forward to his retirement with my Mum who was the love of his life from the age of 22. To pay into a pension all your working days, make plans for your retirement, to then get absolutely nothing out of it due to a disease you can’t control, is so cruel and unfair. We will live the rest of our life’s wondering what caused him to end up with the horrible words lung cancer. I read that 70% of lung cancers are caused by smoking, but my dad didn't smoke.
We like to remind ourselves, the suffering he went through for 10 months, not being able to enjoy life as much and have a drink on a Saturday night like he always did, was for a very small fraction of his amazing 64, only just over a week away from 65, years of life he got to live and enjoy. He is now at peace and not in pain anymore.
He was everything you want a Dad to be; so fun, protective, loving, caring, and by far the funniest man I have ever and will ever know. No matter what decisions me and my sister made in life, he was always so unbelievably proud of us. He was a well liked man. My Mum, sister and me were his life. He loved us to bits and we done everything as a family of 4, and continued that till the end. We will continue as a family of 4, as we believe he is going to be watching down on us everyday.
We miss him so much. Home isn’t quite home without him and it does feel empty. I’ve never felt such sadness and grief. Just been crying constantly since the day I found out he didn't have long to live, but I've been upset and occasionally crying from the day he got diagnosed.
I find it helpful during the grieving process speaking to and reading others stories who have/are going through similar.
My Dad will always be remembered for being the amazing, smart, caring, loving man he always was until the end. Even kept positive and light hearted after he got diagnosis and never allowed it to stop him living; he still went out daily walks and took each day in his stride being the proud man he will always be.
I honestly don't know how I'm going to cope and continue the rest of my life without him. I'm 25 years old and my sister is 26. There was so much we wanted him to see: us getting married, having kids. He's been robbed years of his life due to the horrible disease, and I can't quite come to terms with it. He was my rock and my best friend. I'm so so sad and just wish it was all a nightmare.
I like to think we’ll be reunited one day, not soon, but one day, and I can’t wait already for the day I get to see my Dad again.
