Letter to Lauren

After receiving and reading Lauren's letter; I was far too emotionally spent to write back. I needed 'alone time' ... my heart was breaking.

I longed to hold my daughter tightly and to assure her that everything would be OK.

Finally I felt ready to put pen to paper and simply let my heart dictate my response.

Hi Lauren,

I am sorry that you now have to experience such profound sorrow and at such a young age - I wish it could be otherwise.

I too have run the gauntlet of mixed and powerful emotions on more than one occasion. I have cried more tears than I care to remember. I have been angry, sad, fearful and despairing. But as powerful as these emotions are; nothing has eclipsed the aching, gnawing, sense of incredible, inconsolable grief and loss that churns relentlessly deep within me.

I still yearn for so many things. Life is so precious; and yet sadly, we all seem to take it for granted until some momentous milestone moment comes along to hit us fair in the face.

I still dream of a world that can be a much better place; even though my faith, in its many and varied expressions, has been horribly shattered and bears little resemblance to that of my youth.

I have been hurt by those closest to me and the scars still refuse to heal. I have lost a son to suicide; beguiled as he was by the deceptive poison of the ancient serpent spewing forth falsehoods in the guise of profound truths and noble sacrifice. I have known these and many other vast chasms of dread and despair, but I have climbed mountains too – and more than once.

From atop some lofty peak of human endeavour, I have glimpsed God. I have walked where the tallest among us roam. I have witnessed the best in human endeavour and wandered among true nobility – so rare these days. My life has been full! I want these things for you also - all of them.

Do not try to avoid human suffering, for in doing so you only diminish your own humanity. Sadly, many never glimpse the incredible potential, that is latent within us all and which enables us to overcome against all odds; becoming both a conqueror and yet, one who is deeply humbled and much wiser for having embraced a life-altering event, granted to them.

Never fear to venture out on ‘the road less travelled’; for there, the ‘greats’ have journeyed; and there you will find the true meaning of life; a life in all its magnificent fullness, which is both elusive and illusory; and far too frightening for most mere mortals. But you are not among them.

You have begun the journey that leads to truth and purpose. You have made a good start. Embrace the journey in its entirety, even the moments you might long to forget, for there is purpose in them.

I cannot conceive of a universe, whose genesis was chaos and whose progress is a result of the random collision of complex occurrences. The universe I see contains order and purpose; but its dimensions and complexities far outstrip our puny intellects and dwarf our most vivid imaginations. Such a universe can only be conceived in the heart of God and therefore sustained, held in balance and directed by his supreme power.

I do not fear dying, for as you say, I have experienced death; not once but three times. What I fear most is NOT accomplishing the purpose for which my life was made manifest. Fear however, is not my greatest enemy at this time … GRIEF … is.

My most powerful, negative emotions revolve around leaving behind those most precious to me. And you, my dearest daughter, are chief among these …bar one … your mother!

My love for you is immense; my esteem for you, boundless. You encapsulate, in one, gifted individual; all that I would aspire to in so many ways. How could I not miss you terribly? How could I ever willingly choose to leave you? But I am comforted by the fact that I live in your heart and you in mine – FOREVER!

I have not given up … please know this!

I have begun, yet another momentous battle for ‘truth and purpose’. I intend to embrace all that comes along, with the overwhelming and over-arching sense of victory, which grows daily within my heart. The wisdom of God is my compass and his Spirit my ever present companion.

I love you beyond words … Dad

Letter from Lauren

Letter from Lauren

After receiving her father’s letter, Lauren wrote back in words and emotions ‘unbridled’. Still ‘raw’ from the overwhelming impact of the news, Lauren simply allowed her heart to speak …


Hey Dad...

Well, I've spent the better part of the day processing the news. I've cried rivers of tear and told God to fuck off which is a word I never use, that's of course if there is a God as we speak of - I have my doubts these days and I'm pissed that he's picking off my family.

I read through the report and you're right it doesn't look good - and I'm trying to put it nice, for my own sake. The doctor in me doesn't see much hope, the daughter in me will fight to my own death to give you as long as possible and hope against all odds for a miracle. I'm just crushed, really. I'm not ready to say goodbye to my Dad.

I never expected to be facing this so soon in life; you are so strong and have always seemed invincible. I mean, hell, you've died three times and still made it back! I don't understand why your life would be cut short. It doesn't seem right or fair. You've done nothing but give and give and this is the karma that comes back?!

I don't want this to be happening. I keep hoping that there's a mistake or this is all a bad dream that I will soon awake from. I've got tears streaming down my face while I write this, my eyes so blurred it's difficult to type.

It's selfish but I keep thinking of myself and that's it's not fair that my Dad I love so much is being ripped from me. It's not fair that I will be left without my Dad. What will I do without my Dad? Dad's are the first men we love and who love us back and losing that is heart-wrenching. Who will I run to when I'm in trouble?

I've always counted on my Dad being there for me. You've always been there for me. I know it's selfish but that’s part of how I feel. I look at Banjo and Matilda and I cry because I want them to grow up knowing you. I don't want to be cheering Banjo on from the sidelines in years to come as he plays football or soccer and be thinking ' I wish Dad were here to see him'. I don't want to be thinking 'I wish Dad could see her, he'd be so proud' when Matilda wins a race or gets her first 'A'. I don't want to be celebrating my birthdays each year without you present.

I want you to be here when I get my first book published. I want you to be here when I finish my PhD. I want you to see me when I'm at the height of my professional career and achieving what I've worked so hard for, what you've worked so hard for.

A great part of who I am today is because of you and it's not fair that you won't be around to see the result of all your effort and sacrifice. I don't even know if I could achieve what I want without you in my life. We may not be in constant contact with the distance between us, but the fact that you are there allows me to strive and achieve. You're the left hemisphere... I need you.

It's ambitious but I always daydream of one day being President of the international sexual health society, or running the sexual health programme of the World Health Organisation, or maybe getting a Nobel prize (now we're really dreaming). And as I accept my award/position I always picture you in the audience cheering my on proudly, and I dedicate my achievement to you and Mum. It kills me to imagine that dream without you in it and instead picture myself paying tribute to your memory with tears on stage.

It's too soon to be thinking about losing my Dad, and you're so young and healthy, it's just surreal and completely unjust. There's still so much you have to teach me, so many stories to tell me, so many things you have to do. I'm glad that you have spent so much time on your book and the family tree because in losing you I feel like I will lose a big part of the family history. I will lose a big part of myself because part of my identity I find in you and a big part of who I am is linked to you.

You are the one who always understands me. I have so much of you in me that you know me so well and no one else knows me like you do. I don't know what I will do without you in my life. It's a strange thing to know that someone you love is dying; it's like being in a constant state of mourning. I go about my life but it's always present in my mind and every now and then I just stop and think 'my Dad's dying'.

On the positive side, knowing permits me to plan to spend time with you doing things that I would want to before it is too late. Knowing ahead of time assures me of being able to say goodbye as I would like to. Not that I would like to, I don't even want to think about that. I don't know how I will pick up the pieces of my heart that will surely shatter into 1,000 fragments in the moment that you slip away from me.

I'm really disappointed with Bob and how he has responded to the news, even a stranger would have a more emotive reaction. I can't believe that he is my brother, the same one that I once felt so close to and loved so dearly. I will respect your wish and not interfere in the relationship (or lack of) that you have with him, as long as it is what you want. I do wish that there could be a reconciliation, I believe Bob will regret it for the rest of his life if he misses the chance to be by his Dad's side when he needs it most and give back even just a little of all the love that you have given him.

My mind keeps spinning and going back to so many different memories from my childhood, remembering things we did together, moments we shared, and conversations we had. You're my Dad; I'm your little girl... I can't imagine losing you. It's your blood that pumps through my veins; it's your energy and love that spurs me on. You're not supposed to lose your Dad like this, not so early, not so suddenly.

I'm sorry I'm going on and on about me, this should be all about you, I just can't separate myself and all that I will lose in losing you from this. I worry about Mum too. I can't imagine how it must be to, after so many years of life with someone you love, be facing the possibility of losing them and being left alone. She won't be alone though. I want you to know that Mum will never be alone or want for anything. I promise you that I will always be by her side and ensure she is provided for; she will live with me if she'd have it that way.

I love you and Mum with all my heart and it kills me to think about losing either one of you. I have always had trouble thinking about the day when I will attend your funerals and speak of the great man and woman that you were. I never in my wildest dream thought that either of those days would come before my 40's though.

I'm going to see about organising more trips to visit in the next year, I need and want to spend as much time with you as possible. I still have so much to learn from you and there are so many things to share. I want you to come and stay here too if you want to. You should plan to come and stay here for at least 3 months to let me show you a really good time and for you to hold and play with your grandbabies who will want to know all about their grandad and what an awesome man he was. Please consider it.

If I can do anything at all for you or Mum let me know. I wish I could be there and I'm going to be there more often. Keep me up to date with the test results; you know I will be bugging you. I'm still holding out for a miracle, I just can't accept that there could nor should be a life without my Dad.

I love you!

Lauren.

Ps - Excuse the errors and raw emotions I'm not proof-reading this, you can't edit the words that the heart sings.

CT Scan and other Incidentals

Today I dutifully attended the Dee Why X-Ray & CT facility to undergo a CT (computerised tomography) Scan, to determine the possible 'spread' of the cancer. The hope is that the cancer is contained to the Prostrate and not spread beyond to the lymph nodes and the abdomen.

Prior to attending the facility, I was then given the following instructions:

When you arrive, you check in with the receptionist so the radiographers know you are there. Then you usually take a seat in the waiting room until someone calls you for your scan.

When you are called, you may first go to a cubicle to take off your outer clothing. You may have to strip down to your underwear and put on a hospital gown. If you are just having a CT of your head, you may not be asked to undress. You must take off any jewellery that is in the area to be scanned because metal interferes with the machine.

When you are ready, the radiographer or helper will take you into the scanning room. You will probably have to lie down on the machine couch on your back.

Sometimes the scan is done with you on your side or lying on your front. You need to lie as still as you can, but breathe normally.

Once you are in the right position on the couch, the radiographer will leave the room. This is because there will be X-rays in the room and it would be dangerous for the staff to be exposed to these. They see patients having X-rays and CT scans all day, every day and if they stayed in the room, would be exposed to far more X-rays than any patient.The radiographer will be able to see you on a TV screen and you can talk to each other through an intercom.

The radiographer will control the position of the couch from outside. The couch can move automatically through the CT scanner so that the part of the body to be scanned
is in the machine.

The radiographer will tell you that he or she is about to start the scan and remind you to keep as still as you can. When the scan is over, the radiographer will come back into the room and help you down from the couch.

Lying still for long periods can be uncomfortable. If you are getting stiff and need to move, tell the radiographers through the intercom. During the actual scan, you have to try to keep as still as possible, and not cough or swallow, particularly if your head is being scanned. Mostly, you can breathe quietly but normally throughout the scan.

For some scans, your radiographer may ask you to hold your breath at various times during the scan. If this is going to happen, they will tell you beforehand.

You should be able to go home as soon as the scan is over.

Now of course I felt completely at ease after reading all of the instructions!

"What was that about taking all your clothes off ... I hope they have central heating in there"!

Prior to the procedure, I was asked to drink a milky-white, 'liquid contrast material', which I was told would help provide 'contrast' so that the body tissue would show up more clearly on the scan.

After undressing, and then being made to sit for 'an eternity' ... half naked ... in a 'broom closet'; I was finally ushered into the 'scanning room'.

After a medical questionnaire, which raised my anxiety level to an 'uncomfortable' level; the discussion turned to the likelihood of adverse reactions etc. I was then told:

"Some people feel a bit claustrophobic or 'closed in', when they are having a scan". (You need to tell the radiographers this, before the day of your appointment!!) Like, how am I supposed to know, in advance, how I'm going to feel!

"If necessary, you can have a tablet or injection to calm you down before the scan". (If you had the foresight to organise it in advance).

"If you let us know that you are nervous, we will take extra care in making sure you are comfortable and understand what is going on. Keeping your eyes closed sometimes helps".

Now that was really comforting ...

A 'dye' was then injected into a vein to improve the clarity of the scans. The nurse explained that the injection might cause a feeling of being 'hot-all-over' for several minutes - but that it was normal for most people. She was right, I soon became aware of the 'hot-all-over' feeling - it was a little disquieting, but otherwise OK.

I was also told that I should just relax and try to stay calm while my body was slowly entering into the large (rather ominous) circular looking device in front of me. Stay calm ... sure NO WORRIES!

It was then that I realised that I must be a little claustrophobic! I kept telling myself: "the big spinning doughnut doesn't frighten me ..."

The scan took about 30 minutes.

You just lie there, flat on a table inside the large, circular device (CT scanner) while it rotates around you. Meanwhile you are alternatively told to: 'inhale and hold your breath', while the scans are taken; and then to: 'exhale and breathe normally' while the machine relocates for a subsequent scan. You do this in response to a computerised 'voice' which intermittently invades your 'headspace'.

Come to think of it ... I'm convinced that the 'voice' is activated by a colour sensor mounted close to where your head is located; as I'm sure, that on several occasions, the command to: 'exhale and breathe normally' only happened when I had started to 'turn blue'!

Anyway, I survived the whole ordeal and lived to tell about it and you are my witness!

Follow Up News

In a hurried letter to my daughter Lauren, I wrote the following (after speaking to her at length on the phone)


Hi Lauren,

Sorry about the bad news, and breaking it t you over the phone; but I couldn’t withhold telling you any longer.

I was hoping for a better result and would then have told you after it was all over; given that there was nothing you could do and you had enough on your plate.

I have been avoiding talking to you for a while … you read me too well! I have known for a long while, but that’s another story.

I told Bob and Sheridan (not a good response) after Grace’s birthday party along with Ken [Marg’s brother] and Nan [Marg’s mother].

Ken I told first and privately so that he could keep an eye on Nan in the days immediately afterwards - just in case he and Anne left early – he has been very supportive. Nan was understandably upset but also very supportive.

I’ll ring again soon … you asked for the results and the upcoming tests … here they are:


• 21st September – GP

Blood work


• 27th September – GP

Blood work results

PSA levels:
Normal (0-3.5)
Mine (84.8)


• 19th October – Urologist/Surgeon

Rectal Exam
Large mass (prostate)


• 25th October – Urologist/Pathology

Intra-rectal exam/biopsy

Severity/Grade (0-10):
7 is average, Mine 9

Type of cancer:
“The worst f---king one you could have…” – the Surgeon’s response

Prognosis:
Worst Case: 12 – 18 months
Best Case: 3 – 5 years (optimistic)

• 27th October – Pathology

CT scan
TBA


• 2nd November – Pathology

Isotope Bone Scan
TBA


• 13th November - Urologist/Pathology

Scan Results
TBA

Grave News...

I'll be blunt, Mr Purcell, it's not good news. I am really sorry that I don't have better news for you, but there are still some things we can try ..."

I was not completely shocked by the news, I had known for sometime that something was wrong; a sort of 'gut feeling' if you like.

But circumstances in my life had been pretty chaotic for quite some time and had not permitted an investigation into my 'gut feelings' - until now.

My mind had already begun to race ahead exploring the many different scenarios, until ... suddenly the Urologist was speaking again.

"... there are a number of tests we need to do right away. I'll schedule a CT scan followed by a Bone scan for early next week. We'll know more then, and can begin to develop a plan of attack."

"Doctor let me be blunt, I need to know ... should I start getting my afffairs in order? I have a daughter and two young grand children in Chile; the youngest one is only 6 weeks old and I've never seen her".

"If I were you, I would be planning to spend as much quality time with them as possible; why wait and take the chance that your health might deteriorate more rapidly then expected. I would go and see them"!

"Thankyou, I appreciate your honesty, I've got a lot to think about".

My wife and I just looked at each other - stunned! I had earlier warned her to expect bad news, but even I wasn't prepared for the prognosis:

"At best you have 3 to 5 years; at worst ... a little over 12 months!


All I heard for the next hour or so, repeated like a tape recorder resounding relentlessly in my head, was that last phrase ...


"... a little over 12 months"


It was then I realised I had a terminal illness, and fear came flooding in! As I looked at my wife while we made our way to the car, I could see that she was sobbing and shaking and the colour had drained from her face. I felt so helpless, realising that I was ONCE AGAIN the cause of her pain - only this time I could see no obvious way to make it up to her?

Trans-rectal Biopsy

Even now, I shudder at the thought of my first (and hopefully) last encounter with what is technically known as a: "TRUS" or 'trans-rectal ultrasound'. Let me explain.

Firstly, you are forced to re-visit a previous indignity. Lying on a table, in a foetal position; exposed (again) and just waiting ... anticipating, another 'probe' by a well-meaning doctor!

You tell yourself, that this time you are ready; even though the probe this time is a mechanical device and not a human digit. What you are NOT aware of however, is the design.

Then … the 'intrusion' and the 'awakening'! THIS probe has sharp edges - OUCH.

"Hey doc ... I have a friend who is an engineer, I'm sure he would be willing to chamfer the edges off that thing! Is it supposed to scrape its way, all the way to the desired destination"?

"Sorry ... can you FEEL that"?

"Feel it? Hell I can feel every move (twist and turn) that you make"!

"Sorry we'll give you some more local anaesthetic ... you shouldn't feel anything after that".

"I do apologise for that but because of HIV/AIDS, we have had to re-design the probe somewhat".

"How's that now?

"Much better ... thanks"!

Just a little Pinch

As the 'probe' reached its intended destination, the doctor explained, that he was about to penetrate the prostate (via the rectum) and then 'fire a gun'. I would then hear a 'clicking sound' (which he then demonstrated) that would 'pinch out' (ouch) samples of the prostate for the biopsy. This did not sound like something I was going to enjoy ... I was right.

I lost count of the number of 'shots' that were 'fired', but I seem to think it was somewhere in the order of 12-16 ... at least that's what it felt like.

I should explain that the tumour was particularly HARD on one side, and required extra effort to penetrate before a shot could be fired!

So much force was applied, that at one point it put pressure on my diaphragm and subsequently my heart and caused my blood pressure to drop to the point where I almost passed out!

We paused at this point and allowed by blood pressure to rise again. Then we started over!

As we moved on to the 'other side', to my great relief; the probe penetrated easily and without any discomfort!! (That rules out the thought that the doctor was using a 'blunt' needle!!)

Soon, the procedure was over. I was left a little worn out ... and sore ... but otherwise OK.

The drive home was a little difficult. Mostly, because finding a comfortable seating position, proved to be a 'mission impossible'!

Needless to be say, I had much to think about over the next few days.

Urologist

I attended my first appointment with the Urologist/Surgeon today in his Monavale surgery. After some intial discussion, I then underwent ... a 'digital rectal examination'. Now this is not as painful as it sounds, but it certainly is a little embarrassing; as the process involved a gloved finger penetrating my anus!

As I recall that moment now, I can't help but smile broadly. The Urologist had asked me to climb up on the 'bed', which was located against the far wall. As I approached the 'bed' I received a new command: "drop everything from the waist down, climb up; then lie down and face the wall - in a foetal position".

Now everyone knows that doctors are well respected and to be obeyed - to the letter. And so I did as requested. Now imagine, a 56 year old (proud Aussie) male, with his dignity only just intact ... his trousers and underpants around his ankles ... trying to climb onto a 'bed' one metre high!

"Hey 'doc' don't you think it would have been much easier to climb up here, if I didn't have my 'dacs' down around my ankles? Come on fair go!"

The doctor simply laughed (I suspect a snicker was present too) and explained that most of the men he sees; can't undress that easily once on the table. Hence the 'dacs down first routine! So much for trusting in authority figures. Next time I'll ask for a second opinion!

Now, this could not have been a pretty sight!

I was (almost) glad that my wife had been asked to leave the room for the duration of the procedure.

Imagine what she would have had to endure, the poor thing; watching while her husband - whom she had previously viewed as: strong, self-reliant, a pillar of strenth type - was anything but a picture of strength and calm. The image she would have had burned into her psyche would have been that of a:

'A half naked middle-aged man, lying helplessly in a 'foetal position' (which speaks of vulnerabilty, dependence upon others) 'facing the wall', as though in disgrace; and then letting out a pathetic wimper, as a gloved finger was thrust into his nether-regions!

Oh, the indignities we men have to endure!