Chapter 9

We would find out eventually after grueling days of waiting on test results that one scan showed his liver was inflamed.  The unfortunate part about this was no one knew why.  None of the blood work to date had showed this, but we were finally able to see it with one simple scan.  The only explanation given to us was that small cell lung cancer feeds on the proteins and sodium in your body and attacks your smaller organs and when this happens it quite likely that nothing can be done, there are times that the inflammation cannot be reversed. 

We were left with the possibility of sending dad to a liver specialist in London who had dad’s case file and was just as puzzled as all the other doctors. 

It should be simple; when there is inflammation you apply ice.  If only it could be that simple. 
It was at this point that my gut was telling me that the doctors were thinking that the cancer was causing the inflammation and it was slowly shutting down the liver. 
Slowly my dad’s condition worsened and weakness once again set in.  Blood transfusions were required to try and raise his hemoglobin levels.  The drain from his gall bladder was finally removed at the end of October, and I think we all knew where this was going. 
With the end of treatments nearing, there should have been so much to be hopeful for; however we were a family left wondering what the next option was going to be.  The chemo doctor was still not willing to resume treatment unless the liver condition improved, and at that point we were being told that it was unlikely to improve. 
The battle was intensifying and we were all realizing that the battle he was fighting was soon to be over.  My dad was an immortal to me, and with his strength unable to fight this I knew that it was soon to be over. 

On October 29, we were called into a meeting with one of his doctors.  Arriving at the hospital expecting to hear the worst but still trying to hold hope, the anticipation of this meeting was overwhelming.  Walking into a room with a social worker, nurse and one of his CCAC workers was the final blow.  I knew that when the social worker brought in boxes of Kleenex we were not in for good news. 

His body is weak, and he is tired, but he is in no pain, except for a sore throat from the radiation. 
Doctors tell us that a scan from last week show that the spots in the lung have shrunk from radiation, but chemo has to be given in order to have any shot at beating this, and at this point chemo was no longer an option. 
Even if dad had a healthy liver, he was too weak to go through treatments.  It was the news we all knew was coming, but wanted so badly to ignore. 

The doctor had consulted with many liver specialists and no solution for the inflamed liver has been found.  They had tested him for all the normal things that would cause this, but none of them are present.  It became a trial by error process; to start removing him from his many medications to see if that would make a difference.  It was a possibility that his anti-seizure medication could have caused liver damage.  The option of a biopsy on the liver was given, however even on the slight chance that something would be found, the treatment option would be something he could not handle.

I have watched countless movies, and TV shows and seen the doctors deliver that dreadful news to a family, but nothing can ever prepare you for the day when you are that family. 

My dad was not present at this meeting, and the decision was made to go and tell him that the doctors had exhausted all options in his treatment and nothing more could be done.  It was so hard to give up hope, when less than 24 hours before this meeting my dad was asked if he wanted heroic measures taken should his heart stop to which he answered “yes”.  How do you tell someone this news, when they are not ready to give up? 

We needed a miracle, and miracles have happened.  It was just not going to happen in our case. 
Making that walk down the hallway to tell my dad of his fate seemed like it took an eternity.  Preparing in my head how I was going to handle hearing the words said, and having to watch his reaction to it.  I was quite unprepared for the doctor to actually skate around the topic and once again give my dad hope.  It was if I had dreamed up the meeting we just had.  An unbelievable thing happened that day; I suddenly found strength as it was needed.  My mom and I had to be the ones to tell my dad that in fact his fight was over.  We were the ones who spoke the words to him, not a doctor.  The look on his face is something unexplainable.  Puzzled might explain it, as a doctor had just told him to prepare for a trip to London for further testing.  What he didn’t explain was that they wanted to use dad’s tests for research purposes, and not for a possible treatment.  It was our turn to take over his case; in fact he would not go to London.  He would settle in for his final rest.  He would have his family who loved him at his side, day and night until he decided it was time. 

It was quite an uncomfortable night when the funeral director arrived to talk to dad about his final arrangements.  With all of us present we discussed how things would go down when the time came.  He chose the music for his funeral, which would carry him to his final resting place, even who would deliver his eulogy.  After this meeting, he would await the arrival of a few final family members so we could all have our proper goodbyes.  This is something we never really got. 

It seemed as though he chose to give up one night without telling us.  He went silent.  Except to tell the doctor that he was in pain, so a morphine pump was ordered and that night would be the last that night we could ever speak with him.  I love you were shared, but not enough.  How many times can you tell someone you love them before they die?  There was so much to say, in such little time. 
If I had the chance again, I would tell my dad that he was the best man I will ever know.  My life with him was so blessed.  He was my provider, my rock, my dad, and he can never be forgotten. 

For 3 grueling days we would sit at his bedside, all he did was breathe.  Watching his chest fill up with air, and fall again was eerily peaceful.  I would lay with my head on his chest and listen to his strong heartbeat.  He had a good life, helped many people and touched many hearts.  Nurses were in disbelief at how strong his heart was still on day 3, I wasn’t.  It was a strong heart. 

Remembrance Day came and knowing how much my dad loved the bag pipes I decided to spend the moment of silence at his side with the volume on his TV turned as high as it would go.  Hearing the echo of the trumpet, and the hum of the bagpipes fill his room made me smile.  I held his hand and told him how proud I was of him for the fight he had given to a losing battle.  He was my hero. 
That night when everyone left for supper and my husband and I sat with him one last time, it happened.  He took his final breath.  It was a heartbreaking moment to be with him, but it was a moment I will forever be grateful that we shared together.  We shared such a special irreplaceable bond and he felt at peace enough to let go with me at his side. 

Leaving the hospital that night knowing my life would never be the same was the hardest thing to do.   My mind racing, my head is such a state of disarray, all the feelings I was having and the emotions going through me all at once made it very hard to breathe.  The one thing I found solace in was knowing his suffering was finally over, but selfishly I wished he was still here so I could sit with him and feel his heartbeat. 

The days to come were very long and exhausting, going through 2 days of visitations and then facing the final step, the funeral.  I was going to deliver the eulogy for my father.  For a man who was so important to so many people, that was a scary thought, how would I ever find the words to say, and how could I possibly say all that was needed to be said.  Hoping I could piece something together that was a fitting enough tribute to such a man.  I spent hours writing and re-writing these final words I would share with hundreds of people.  It was my final tribute to him. 

Chapter 8~

My prayers to this point had been for my dad’s strength to fight this, from this point on my prayers turned to us as a family, to heal us from what we were about to go through. 

With so many good days, followed by bad days, positive test results, followed by negative test results, one doctors uplifting opinion, followed by another doctors realistic view on this issue, I was drained.  At the end of September we received possibly the most confusing news, after watching the deterioration of his spirit for weeks we were told by one of his London doctors that he sees an improvement and wanted to continue treatments.  Puzzling, I must say.  The utter confusion in this matter is hard to convey in words.  The puzzling look on my face after most of these appointments would have been a clearer vision. 

We would see days where he wanted to get up and walk, eating his meals (small amounts, but at least eating), this would be such an uplifting sight for me, after slightly losing hope, the pain of guilt for the thoughts I had been having were too much to bear.  How could I be giving up on him?  How could he show so much improvement only to follow that up with a fever and feeding tube the following day?  The human body is a strange object to wrap myself around.  I guess to be truthful it’s the disease that puzzles me more than anything.  It truly is a silent killer. 

Treatments resumed, days went on with this roller coaster of good days and bad, good news and bad.  He was frustrated by the lack of information he was receiving and confused by what exactly was happening to him.  It’s hard to say if he was being naïve or if he was just afraid to let down his walls and show us that he was scared. 

As the process went on nothing was more upsetting to me than seeing the look of fear, confusion, hope, let down, and pain in his eyes.  This is a man who was for my whole life dealt the blows like a champ.  Nothing ever seemed to faze him, or at least he never let us see it.  He took on more than he could handle at times, but could anyone see it, No.  He wasn’t built that way.  Something about a man, and not showing fear was taken to the next level with my dad. The day would come, sooner than later, when we would truly see just how much my dad feared this disease and what his outcome would be. 

On one evening visit to my dad, we went for a walk through the halls of the hospital; it was not like any walk we had ever taken.  It was not down our street with frequent stops at every house that someone was outside to visit, chat or have a cold one.  Albeit he was just as friendly in the hospital corridors as he was on Queen Street, saying hello and offering a smile to people he passed.  That night after our first walk, I figured I would get him settled into bed and watch TV, but much to my surprise he wanted to walk again.  One more time we made our way around the halls, I was bursting inside.  The amount of pride I had for him at that moment is monumental.  I know he was frail and tired, but he wanted to badly to show me just how much fight he had in himself.  That is just the man he was.  How could you not look up to that? 

The idea of him possibly being well enough to come home was tossed around, even though one of his London doctors was still concerned with the liver issues and was pushing for a scope to be done to see just what was happening. 

The beginning of October seemed to bring on a whole new set of mountains to climb.  On one side we were seeing such improvement with him, he was nearing the end of radiation, he was gaining weight, and he was allowed to come home for afternoon visits to the house... These were all such positive signs for us, and allowed us to once again have hope.  One Doctor was still pushing for a scope to be done to find out what was going on in the liver, as he would not resume chemo until he knew.  Another doctor was telling us that having a scope done was far too risky with how thin his blood was still.  The scope was scheduled, post-poned, re-scheduled and ultimately cancelled.    It was determined that an MRCP would be a safer option, this specific scan can target the area they need to see and give very detail results... I am so glad that someone discovered this scan existed, it must have just been approved in the days before this, as I am sure that no medical professional would ever let a family be batted back and forth for weeks over one specific treatment that was too dangerous, considering the severity of this situation, when a perfectly safe option was right before them.  One would think.

As you can see my sense of humor has kicked in, in this case all I can do is joke now, because that is what this was becoming.  My sense of humor came from my dad, and it was so nice to see that his was making a comeback as well.  He started to joke with the nurses and his visitors.  What a refreshing change this was to see.  The sparkle in his eye was there when his grandkids came to see him. 

Thanksgiving was upon us, and we had so much to be thankful for.  Dad was slowly coming around and this made life easier for us all.  It was a hard holiday for us to get through without him being with us, so the decision was made to postpone it until he was better so he could enjoy it with us.  One of our traditions has always been to each share what we are thankful for when we sit for thanksgiving dinner.  This year, we would not share that moment, but in our minds we all knew.  Many years with this wonderful man, lessons he had taught us, trips we had taken, moments in time we would never forget.  That is what we were, and always will be thankful for.

Quite obviously I never made the choice to become a nurse, but one would think that in nursing school the object of compassion would be taught.  I can tell you that for most of the duration of my dad’s stay in the hospital we would not be so lucky with compassionate nursing staff. 

For a strong, independent man to become so dependent on other people was a bitter pill for him to swallow.  The situation was made drastically worse due to the many days he had to sit in his room, in isolation, with food he could smell sitting outside his door, out of his reach, all because kitchen staff would not gown up to bring it to his bedside.  Countless times I would arrive to visit him and find cold food waiting in the hall outside his door.  I would ask him how long he had waited for it, and sometimes it was upwards of 45 minutes.  Talk about a helpless feeling.  This is what cutbacks in our hospitals are causing.  It makes these nurses so busy that they do not have time to deliver a meal from the hallway to a bedside table.  It causes them to overlook a patient who has gotten sick on himself, and buzzed 3 times for help.  It keeps them away from someone who needs assistance to get to the bathroom, who would eventually attempt going by themselves only to have an accident on the floor.  Those same nurses would then point the family of this patient to the linen closet to get the sheets and gowns needed to clean up these messes.  This happened too many times to count, and that is sad.  This is what is happening in our hospitals? It scares me to think that other people may face the same degrading situations that we did.  The little confidence my dad could have had was taken away from him on a daily basis, when I would arrive the look of horror on his face knowing what I was about to find.  Imagine how that made him feel, to have his daughter clean up after him.  I am choosing to tone down the unimaginable events that we were faced with at that hospital, only because I do know nurses who work there and I would like to think that they do not want to be placed in a category with the nurses that we had the misfortune of dealing with.  To be honest it sickens me.

My level of anger had reached an all-time high, there were many days that I would have loved to just take him home and be his private nurse so that I could be assured he would never sit in soiled clothing, or wait for a meal that was just out of reach. 

Above all of this he still held his head high, as high as he could consider.  He still held hope that one of these tests would show something, anything that would lighten the severity of this. 

This was my lowest moment to date.. Not because of my dad's illness or what we were going through, but because I had to be witness to such a travesty at our local hospital.  To worry about leaving each night for fear that my dad would sit unattended to for hours and not be able to get to the bathroom.. Or worry that if I didn't arrive right at meal times my dad would have to sit without food.  I somewhat understand the situation he was in being quarantined or whatever it was they called it.  You couldn't just walk into his room, you had to fully gown and glove in the hall each time you left and entered the room.

The Choices in Life

As I sit here on a Friday night surfing through the absolute nothing that appears in front of me as I flip through the 400 some odd channels on our cable box, I am forced to turn off the tv and sit in silence.  The silence of my house, where my husband sleeps on the couch across the room, my 6 year old lays entangled in his bed sheets which I have to completely strip and remake each morning when he slides out of bed still wrapped in those sheets and drops them onto the floor, and my sweet innocent 3 year old daughter sprawled in a star fish shape sleeps taking up more than half of a queen size bed.  All 30 lbs, 36" of adorableness with beads of sweat on her upper lip and her hair starting to curl up on her forehead from how hot she is even though she has managed to kick off her sheets yet again.  The thoughts that flow through my mind are of the good old days. 
The days when I would just be jumping in the shower at this time of night, after making a few phone calls to make sure plans were still on with my friends.  The days of heading out the door at 11pm to start my night, and rolling in at 3am to crawl into my bed where I would not move from until at least noon the next day. 
My responsibilities included covering my early shifts for the weekends so I knew work would not interfere with my social life.  Making sure I had a new outfit for the bar was a neccesity, and that I had enough money in my account for the gas in my car, and plenty of drinks was mandatory!
These were the days when my friends were who I lived for, hanging out, late night chats at each others houses or on the phone, and always making sure I worked enough shifts during the week so my weekends would be mine.  Those were the days...
Flash forward 12 years and here I am on a Friday night and my responsibilities are much different now.  My life consists of working enough in a week so I know my bills are paid, and there is food on the table and clothes for my kids.  That has been tough this year, with the life of self employment that we have both chosen there are times when we have to sacrifice one thing so we know we can provide.  We do our best. 
I wonder if my parents had the same struggles when we were young children, the self employed life they lived as my dad dropped out of high school to start working with my grandpa.  I remember lots of things about my younger years.  Very happy memories, lots of fun family times and moments that will last a lifetime. 
Alot of the choices I make now, would have seemed very obsolete back in the "good old days" to ever have imagined sitting at home on a Friday night would have been socially wrong, but now as I walk from room to room turning off night lights and lightly kissing both my children as they dream I know that these are in fact the good days, and i wouldn't change a thing. 
The memories I have from when I was a child, wonderful memories with my family.  All the life experiences I had in my teens, and the things I learned in my early 20's have formed me into who I am today.  I am a mother.
My new life of friday nights spent quietly in front of the tv while everyone in my house is fast asleep is exactly where I want to be and I wouldn't give that up for anything.

Chapter 7

CCAC nurses came to the house frequently to check in on him, test his blood, and take his temp.  A patient receiving chemo is at a dangerous risk of developing fever.  In the event that his fever spiked we were told to take him to emerg immediately.  All these directions, and orders, schedules, and medications, Nothing was simple anymore.  My mom had the most complicated job of all, trying to deal with dad.  We know this long battle has just begun.  His days were spent mostly sleeping, and relaxing in his lazy boy chair.  When he felt up to it he did take small walks around the house as to keep his strength up.  He became very quiet, and did not want company.  The fact that someone like him was not up for visitors showed us just how much he was really suffering inside.  He never showed us, or expressed to us what he was feeling, even though we could see it, and watch him change in front of us, he always did his best to try and keep us positive.  Even in times like this, he worried not about himself.  We noticed that dad became very itchy, we assumed it was the radiation drying his skin out,  but  at one point the itching became so bad, that a trip to the ER in the middle of the night was made.  The doctors discovered he had hives.  He was literally scratching his skin off, and had to be put on an antihistamine to relieve it.  He likely had an allergic reaction to one of the many drugs he was on.  He went days without eating a thing, and only living off meal replacement shakes when he could keep them down.  Watching this happen was ripping me up inside.  How could this disease do such damage to a person.  The doctors had told us what to expect, but nothing they said could have prepared us for what we were seeing.  In the matter of 6 weeks my dad had lost 30 lbs and was slowly fading away to nothing but skin and bones.  When I went to see him, he was always sitting in his chair covered in blankets because he was always cold.  He was so frail, this wasn’t my dad anymore.  This was the disease taking him over, and it became more and more difficult to watch. 

As September came, Max and Samantha were set to start Junior Kindergarten.  It was to be such an exciting time in our lives, but it was only filled with sadness.  My dad would never have missed this.  I was starting to see change in Max, and I’m sure it was because of what he was seeing happen to his papa.  Charlee was too young to really understand what was happening, yet she never even paused before climbing up on papa’s lap when we visited.  She would cuddle up to him and tell him she loved him.  Max was very set back, and had to be persuaded that it was ok to even touch dad.  I could see the confusion in his little eyes and that was too much to bear. 

The next few weeks I seen my dad go through daily trips to London to receive radiation on the brain. After which he started his first round of chemo which lasted 3 days with 3 weeks off in between each round.  As though this wasn’t enough, they also started the radiation on his lung, this “simple” procedure, so he put it, would start to slowly burn the inside of his mouth and throat, it would dry his skin to the point where he couldn’t stand the itching, and kill his taste buds.  Not so simple anymore.  A task such as eating became a battle on its’ own.  He had lost any sensation to taste, therefore food did not appeal to him.  My mom tried her best to do what she could to get him to eat.  Even going so far as to order him meal replacement shakes, you would think this would be ok, something cool on his throat should have worked.  However it got to the point that he could not keep food down.  The sickness had set in.  All the awful things you hear about cancer patients going through treatment are true.  It`s so difficult to watch someone you love so much going through this and knowing there is nothing you can do to help.  All we could do was be there for him and show him we all were fighting this with him!! He was so tired from the treatments that to stand was a chore. 

One afternoon after a visit from a nurse left us again reeling with confusion.  Her attention was drawn to his weight loss.  He had lost 5 pounds in one week, and this was definetly not a good sign.  He was faced with a choice, to force himself to eat, or slowly fade away.  It was evident that he wanted to try, but his will to fight was fading just as quickly as his weight. 
He began to move less, and became weaker and weaker.  It was evident to us one afternoon after he collapsed while trying to walk to the washroom that we needed to make a decision.  We decided he needed to be sent back to the hospital.  Upon arriving in the ER we waited for him to be assessed, and this is when Dr. Realist entered our lives.  He became the one person in the medical field I could actually put trust into and I believed would not lie to me.   Dad’s blood pressure was dangerously low, I mean 60 on the high end and no reading on the low end.   They had trouble inserting an IV because of how bruised his arms were from all the previous poking. 

From this point on, we were told straight up that his chances for survival are not looking good.  After extensive blood work we discovered that his protein, sodium, and electrolyte counts were very low.  He was dehydrated and all around in bad shape.  To say he was dry as a bone is sugar coating it!  His liver enzymes counts and billy ruben were so high which were causing his skin to appear tanned and yellow.  His blood was so thin he was at a risk of internal bleeding.. So needless to say things were looking grim.  The bad news just seemed to keep coming, and my bad dream was very quickly becoming a sad reality.  He had to eat or face being put on a feeding tube.  The treatments required him to be at full strength and with his body so weak he would never make it through another chemo treatment.  This was a shock for dad to hear I’m sure, but it was at that point that he realized just how imperative it was that he eats! 

In the days to come dad was seen in London by one of his oncologists who was very concerned with his liver and decided that before dad’s next radiation treatment he wanted him to have a catscan of the liver so he could see what’s going on.   Needless to say that on dad’s next visit to London we found out that the results had never been sent to the doctor there.  This was why things were so frustrating for me! These are the problems we had along the way, with 4+ doctors involved in his case it was very hard to get straight answers from anyone.  Finally a week later the results were in but it was another rock for us to climb over.  The scan showed that the liver was clear but there was spots on the kidney that were in fact shrinking from the radiation and chemo he was receiving.  The visciousness of this disease was becoming more and more evident to us.  It was rearing it’s ugly head in yet another part of his already frail body.  It was like getting a high five and then a slap in the face all in the same split second.  No cancer in the liver… but! We are certain it’s now in the kidney.  How much can one person take?  Looking back now, we should have taken him home and enjoyed every last second we had with him.  If we had only known what the next few months would bring. 

The one part of this that still to this day confuses me is that they could not figure out what was happening with his liver.  His counts were so high, I’m talking 280 high, Normal is around 17, now you know what I mean.  Not one of his these highly trained experts could figure out what was wrong.  One doctor thought it could be the drain from the gall bladder not working properly and causing irritation to the liver.  Another couldn’t be convinced it wasn’t cancer infact spreading, and another simply figured his liver was shutting down due to the amount of cancer in his body.  What was it about this disease, it seemed that with everyday that passed it spread further and further. 

It was at this point that the doctors started talking about a more aggressive form of treatment, knowing now that the kidneys were affected, their original plan it seemed had to change.  My thoughts, his body isn't handling the treatments he is having now, how is he going to handle anything more aggressive.  At some point, we had to make the decision to scale back on treatments and just try to have some quality of life with him before the end.  A person can only take so much, and this difficult difficult decision was slowly coming upon us.  With doctors telling him he had just days to start fighting harder, eating and showing signs of improvement we knew that he had a decision to make.   With his entire family in his corner we all silently watched and waited.  

Chapter 6

With each step forward we thought he had took, something else came up and he was set back 2 steps.  This ongoing battle just kept getting worse.  The anger inside me built over someone’s plain stupidity.  How could a surgeon NOT know what he was doing, and if he did not know what he was doing, why would he even attempt to screw around with it.  Could have been the end of his shift and he really wanted to go home to his family, and then the page came in for a consult in the ICU, so my dad was his victim.  Thankfully, the doctors in London who installed this drain were able to catch this mistake and we hoped there were no ill side effects from what had happened.  Even though dad’s blood work showed that his billy ruben count and liver enzymes were not what they should be, we were hopeful that now that the drain was working properly this would turn around.  All the while this went on we had to wait for results of this pet scan.  Try and live our lives like “normal” until dad went to London to meet with his oncologists to receive his results and discuss radiation treatments starting.  He was told that the petscan did not show any signs that the cancer had spread to other organs. Finally, something positive to go on, It seems that for the time being we just have this infection to deal with and once it’s cleared up things will go forward.  While in London dad also received his first radiation treatment on the brain.  “It was simple”, he told me, “it lasts just a few seconds, and then its done”.  Well that doesn’t sound hard.  One treatment down, and only 9 more to go on the brain.  He was a survivor and it was going to take more than this to keep him down!

It’s hard to explain what was going on in my mind over this first month, my dad had so many things going against him, and I was watching him change right before my eyes.  His head had been shaved for the brain surgery, and all the weight he had gained while on the steroids was slowly disappearing.  His skin had a tan/yellow tone to it, and the spark in his eye, was no longer there.  The journey had just begun, though dad looked like a worn traveler.  His blood counts were very low and his energy level too.  Slowly but surely dad’s vitals started coming back to normal, for the time being.  His elevated heart was finally beating normal after 2 weeks, and his blood pressure was coming back up.  His appearance was still very yellow but we thought it was improving as well, we were all very hopeful that sooner than later he would be back home. 

He was released from the hospital on Wednesday August 18 after his levels had all come back to normal.  We knew that the next few months would be difficult, he had to travel daily to London for radiation and chemo was set to start on August 19, (even though this would not happen yet) my dad had had a few treatments of radiation and was starting to feel the effects.  The decision was made to put the chemo on hold until the radiation on the brain was complete.  At this time, blood clots were discovered in my dad’s lung, which meant he had to be put onto yet another medication to thin the blood.  He would have nurses coming to check in on him while he was at home. 
Some news would surface at this point, that something was in fact discovered in the pet scan, that we would not be told about until this point.  There was some spots found on the kidneys that needed some further testing to see if in fact this was part of the cancer or not.  We knew that this type of cancer was fast spreading, but could it in fact spread this fast? If in fact these spots on the kidney were cancer, the course of treatment would change.   So now chemo was out the question until they could do another cat scan to determine what these spots were on the kidney.  The plan was to compare this scan to a scan they would do later after the first round of chemo.  If the spots reacted to the chemo treatment in any way, they would know that it was cancer.  The only other option was for another biopsy which was an invasive procedure that they did not feel necessary for dad at this point.  All this information made my mind reel, I could literally not handle anymore bad news.  I realize that this must sound extremely selfish to be thinking of no one but myself at this moment.  I just could not imagine what my dad was thinking at this point, and he was very hard to speak to about this.  He stopped expressing much feeling and we had trouble talking about the subject. 

The doctors explained that if the cancer had in fact spread to the kidney we would be facing yet another set back.  There would be 2 options, one would be to add another round of radiation attacking the kidney directly, the 2^nd option was to consult with a surgeon to see if part of the kidney could be removed.  We were told that it would be hard to find a surgeon who would perform surgery on someone with this advanced stage of cancer.  It seemed like this road just became a little longer, and a lot rougher.  The feeling of any hope seemed to diminish a little more as each day passed.  We just had to hope that once chemo finally started, these mystery spots would turn out to be nothing and we could continue on the original plan of treatment. 
Things were changing so quickly around me, it became confusing from one doctors appt to another, as we would hear such different opinions and there were so many people involved in his case.  There was times when I was frustrated with my family, for many different reasons but deep down I knew that we needed to stick together more than ever right now.  Emotion and frustration were wearing me down very quickly, and I know Mike and the kids were feeling it.  I had become a different person because I had no outlet to vent my anger.  I felt almost trapped, I had to try and be so positive around everyone, especially dad, but really I just wanted to scream most of the time.  This wasn’t fair, why was this happening to my dad,  To my family! To me it seemed there had to be someone else who actually deserved to have this happen to them, not my dad!