Hey guys, you posse of special friends…
Jotting from flight back to San Francisco, Donegal via Dublin…and twenty minutes in Reykjavík…It was so good to be home and have 10 days with Mum and Dad, in this gritty new reality for us that has broken in the last two months.
Mum and Dad came all the way down to the airport in DUB to pick me up when I arrived end July, which was a real treat. And, Mum was mostly in good form for the three hour drive in the gorgeous northerly summer evening light. Mum seemed so normal in our first hug, except for the PICC line on the inside of her bicep and tubigrip on her arm – a tap for the chemo line plugged in every second Monday and Tuesday for 46 hours (PICC is peripherally inserted central catheter).
Dad is naturally very cautious with her, so it was a wonderful sign that they both thought it OK to do the trip, but Mum was flat out asleep across the back seat by the time we arrived home.
Pete had been back for two and a half weeks in the first half of July soon after we heard the diagnosis – and through the really emotionally challenging prognosis meeting. It is Stage IV colon cancer she has, with the added challenge of metastasis to the liver (and possibly lungs, small nodules). I have come to learn that this is not a good cancer to have, but too that the stats give a best prognosis of years rather than months.
Just today, she started on her third chemo round, each of which is 46 hours “plugged in”, in hospital for the first six or so and then on release with a small pouch around her waist that is siphoning through the PICC line.
My trip was to be there for the second round. It seemed to start well, Mum energetic and with a real vibe of courage and as we pulled into the hospital that morning for day 1.
On day 3, we had a first experience of “complications”. Mum wasn’t feeling well at all on getting up and the hospital guided that she should have vitals checked at her local GP (“primary care doctor” in US).
I’ll spare the details, but with some concerns on blood markers and liver function, Mum was taken in on caution and with the bad luck of a bank holiday long weekend, it was a five-night stay in the end. With daily blood tests and eight-hourly IV antibiotic sessions to eliminate infection concern being at the center (centre!) of the biomarker volatility, it was a real baptism as to the complexity of chemo on the body, and how closely everything gets monitored when signs of being “out of whack”.
I spent a good half of every day with her each of those days, really nice times together, enjoying chatting about all kinds of things and walking around the ward. I would make an early drive each day to get there by 9 – literally from missing her by the end of each evening at home – and to enjoy the morning roads and to give Dad some quiet time to himself.
On the Saturday and Sunday afternoons, Dad and I took her out and we watched each of the Gaelic games – including seeing cousin Eoghan O’Gara (Dublin) score a last minute goal for Dublin in their march on an attempted fifth title in a row.
Over the last day and a half of the trip, Mum and I did some light gardening together, her appetite really improved and I was so glad to have the time with her at home before it was return-flight time for me today, SFO-bound.
Pics below…
Mum and Dad have been delighted by the expertise, service and standard of care from the Irish health system, HSE. Mum’s oncologist is known to be one of the best in the country, and so we are feeling lucky with that and the pace and assertion of decisions. Over the trip, I got to know Letterkenny Hospital like the back of my hand…
For me, this trip getting back to home in Donegal helped what kept feeling a little abstract to be much more real. I loved the time with Mum, we had a really warm time together. And, was able to help Dad in different ways and be there at the end of the day for a whiskey and some long conversations.
At the same time it was emotionally hard – we can’t believe it given how flourishingly healthy Mum seemed when I was back in Ireland just a few months ago in May. You pinch yourself.
Mum is emotional from time to time, though she usually stops herself, her eyes focus and flicks back to a philosophical smile, being in the moment and content and optimistic. I was so impressed to see this state of mind have the upper hand, I thought. The hardest moment in the trip was when the Oncologist came up to her ward after one night in, and told her they’d need to keep her in until Tuesday to monitor the blood panels daily, and liver function markers that had deteriorated.
I asked if she was scared, and she broke down and said quite emphatically, “no I just want to go home”.
Dad feels like a wonderfully caring husband and nurse now, and a family leader in all this, yet can be exhausted and stressed. I was more worried about him in terms of psychological “vibe” when home. Many of you have shared that this can be the way for the lead carer – and look forward to chatting more about this.
I promise no more such wordy updates, but haven’t been the best at communicating these last few months and thus the plane-trip “missive”. We have a lot more family comms every day, work is really important to keep on top of given how supportive Equilibrium have been…and so please excuse me where I’ve been crap on email or text.
Kevin
PS There are cards everywhere at home, that have meant much. She adores many of you that she’s got to know! Please do shoot her a note sometime, however short, if you the instinct ever. The address is:
Carmel Brennan
Dumela
Hall Demesne
Mountcharles
Co. Donegal
IRELAND
(No postcode!)
