I spoke to my Dad this morning. Normally I'd speak to him every 5-6 weeks, but it has been a lot more frequent this year. His wife, my stepmother I guess, has cancer, as I think I've mentioned here before.
It's not something I have written a lot about. It may seem selfish, but I've been trying to put it out of my mind. I am over-familiar with cancer having witnessed its insidious toll on my uncle, aunt and stepfather - and now my stepmother. It is a terrible way to die, and I am of the view that if I am ever diagnosed with it than I'd rather go out sooner, when I am still physically and the memories of me are healthy and warm, rather than later when I am a mere husk of a man. I pray it never comes to that.
I can't ignore it any more though. I speak to my father, a proud, strong man whose habit is to fight for everything, and hear in his voice the quiet despair of a man who has run out of ideas. He still searches, but I get the impression he knows that the search is futile. He'll stay strong till the end, you can rely on that, but I wonder what comes after.
As for my stepmother I can only imagine what she is going through. I haven't spoken to her since Christmas and I respect her wishes in that. One of the awful things about cancer is that it can rob one of their sense of dignity. The treatment is intrusive and toxic and leaves its mark. She has quietly fought that battle with my father beside her and unseen my sister and I supporting from the sidelines. There is nothing more we can do.
Today they are greatly disappointed. They had thought the treatment had gone well, the signs were positive - yet the doctor gives them no further cause for help. His prognosis is unchanged - before Christmas, and quite possibly well before then.
He tells me, dad, that he has seen it himself in the last few days. She has no energy, can't walk 100 metres and even doing that is at a shuffle with frequent stops. She is on oxygen, and from what I gather has lost hope after this most recent examination. I have not enquired about her physical state and do not want to know - though I can imagine.
I feel a little disloyal writing this even if I do it under my anonymous identity. It is something I have to write though because it is of my life, and because it is not something that can be ignored. More than anything, it is not something that should be ignored.
I won't be writing a lot, though it is inevitable there will be things that must be reported. There is little anyone can do. I told my dad that, told him I knew there was nothing we could do but that we, my sister and I, are here whenever and however we are needed.
This is a terrible, terrible thing. Again.
