My Dad was diagnosed last June and in October I was told very abruptly by his oncology dr that he needed to start radiotherapy urgently and I did realise what was happening. Well actually no one had actually told me but I had sort of joined the dots myself and had come to the conclusion that he wasn't going to recover and his treatment was only going to slow the progression of the cancer. 

Following the radiotherapy we had our first visit from the Macmillan Dr and Dad decided he didn't want to know his prognosis but I did, I needed to know what Dad had coming and the closest I got to prognosis was months not years. 

3 months on from radiotherapy I could see he had deteriorated, he was now on oxygen and heavily dependent. I'd moved back in with him with the blessing of my husband and son as he was waking several times through the night oxygen starved, confused and frightened and had a carer for him whilst I was at work. Trouble was I was getting no rest and I was getting more exhausted as the days went on. The Macmillan Dr came back to see Dad and could see I was exhausted and arrangements were made for Marie Curie to sit with Dad one night and this is where I now struggle to accept my loss. 

As I was trying to explain to Dad why I wouldn't be there that night all he kept saying is all I want is you but accepted that if I got ill because I was exhausted I could end up being missing more than one night. Well that was the night Dad took a turn for the worse, even though when I left he was as he normally was, and District Nurses had to be called in to give medication to stop his agitation but was he only agitated because I wasn't there for him and that's the issue I'm beating myself up over. I know I did as much for him as I could but I can't help but wonder if I'd been there if things may have been different.