So after just over a week back at home, dad started getting breathless again. He was admitted to hospital for a second time. I made it clear to the admitting registrar that dad had not been informed properly about his probable diagnosis so she sat down with us and explained it all. Dad was in tears. He just did not want to believe it, which none of us did really. Dad was still hoping for the best. We were all trying to remain positive. We knew that further investigations were required. The first lot of fluid that had been analysed from dad’s lung had come back negative for cancer cells. I was hoping that this was positive news and that it meant his cancer hadn’t spread to the pleural cavity which in turn would hopefully mean a better prognosis.
Dad had a chest drain inserted to drain more fluid to help with his breathlessness. A second sample of fluid was taken and sent for analysis. The following day, the consultant came to talk to us in great length about everything. At last we had answers! We were so grateful for someone finally talking to us properly about everything – although it was hard news to hear. The plan now was to take a biopsy in his lung. The procedure was booked but we had to wait a few days…..
Seeing dad in hospital, barely walking and in immense pain was difficult. He had been started on slow release morphine which was controlling his pain slightly. As more of his pleural fluid drained away, he was able to walk slightly further distances and we managed to take him to the hospital cafe a couple of times to get him away from seeing the same 4 walls of his hospital room.
The day before his lung biopsy, we got the news that his procedure had been cancelled because it was no longer needed. That was the news that I was dreading. It could only mean one thing. Yes … the fluid that had been sent from his drain the second time had shown cancer cells meaning we were dealing with a very advanced cancer of the lung that had spread to the pleural cavity. We were all just distraught. Everything I had feared was coming true. I knew the prognosis was not good from the medical journals I had read but the only person I told this to was my brother. We had to stay positive at this point and hope that a) dad would be offered treatment and b) that the treatment would work.
Dad’s drain had drained approximately 4 litres in total this time. He then had pleurodesis whereby a ‘talc’ was inserted down his drain to adhere the lung to the chest wall and close the pleural cavity. His drain was then removed, and dad came home. I drove him home. He went inside and straight upstairs. That was a big mistake! He was in so much pain when he got up there, and he couldn’t breathe. It took quite a long, panicked half an hour before he managed to settle his breathing. He hadn’t walked far in hospital, and did too much too quickly, the moment he got home. It really frightened dad and he didn’t dare come downstairs for a few days for fear of the same happening again. That is until he had a visit from the lung cancer specialist nurse who went above and beyond her duty of care throughout his whole cancer journey and we cannot thank her enough.The lung cancer nurse was very motivating and honest with us. Dad absolutely had to start mobilising and getting out and about otherwise he would not be offered treatment. That was a harsh reality for dad. He desperately wanted treatment. It was a couple of weeks before we had an appointment to see the oncologist which meant we had a couple of weeks to get dad mobilising again. He was in agony, and really struggling with his breathing at times, but he was determined to get treatment. We had visits from the MacMillan nurses who tried adjusting all of dad’s medications to get his pain under control. The lung cancer nurse had also given dad a handheld fan to use to help ease his breathless episodes.
2 weeks passed … the day of the appointment arrived. Dad was mobilising very short distances. He was now managing to climb the stairs at home, but he stopped a couple of times on the way up to catch his breath. I was so scared that dad was not mobilising enough to be offered treatment. Our appointment went on for about an hour and a half in total. Mum and dad were not digesting much of what the oncologist was saying, which resulted in questions being asked over and over again. Dad’s prognosis without treatment was 6-9 months.
The big question was – would they offer dad and treatment?
His cancer was too advanced to be able to operate on.
He could be offered chemotherapy but there were side effects which may him more poorly and could result in his condition deteriorating quicker. The oncologist was very hesitantly offering dad the chemotherapy and said he was borderline as to whether it would be beneficial to him or not. They said they thought there was only about a 20% chance that the chemo would work to shrink the size of dad’s cancer. If the chemotherapy did work, then his lifespan could be extended to another 1-2 years with us. Dad had no doubt in his mind. He was going to have the chemotherapy. He was going to fight this. The oncologist then decided that they would only give him 70% of the normal chemotherapy dose so that the side effects would hopefully be lessened.
My emotions were all over the place. I was so happy that dad was so determined to fight this for as long as possible. I was so happy that he was giving the chemotherapy a chance even though the odds seemed against it working. I was terrified that it would make him really poorly and lessen his life even more. I was terrified of the possible side effects of the chemotherapy. I was wondering if this was the right decision for dad. BUT I knew that it was his only hope of trying to extend his life. It was his only hope to spend more quality time with us and with his young grandchildren. He was determined to see his grandchildren grow up. He 2 grandsons – who were 4 and 2 years old at the time, and he also had a 6 month old granddaughter. Chemotherapy was his only option to try to make this happen. We would take each day as it came, and pray that dad did not suffer from any of the side effects.
Cancer journey - a relatives perspective 