Papa Has Cancer?

December 22, 2020

When I find out my Dad has stage 4 cancer it's sometime in the morning

We get a call at 5am from a doctor at Montfort hospital on the 21st telling us they found something in Papa's blood work that requires them to do further testing. 'Bring him in immediately.' We know it's not good. Anudidi and Paji (my Dad's 'adopted' son) take Papa to the emergency.  They weren't allowed to stay with him - Covid rules. We're in the dark for the whole day and it's not until the next morning when I call papa's cell to see if he's awake that we find out. 

He picks up the phone after the first ring and I'm happy to hear his voice. I ask how he's feeling and what tests have been done and what not. I've got him on speaker so my mom, who's sitting next to me, can hear as well. There's a knock on my Dad's hospital room door. It's his doctor, Dr. Ayuen. 

"Hi there, I've got some bad news." She says, as if she's a store clerk telling a customer they'll be out of toilet paper until next week. 

The first blow sinks my heart a little. My mom goes still. Pop is mute. Ayuen sees he's on the phone and asks if he wants to discuss the results with 'your daughter' on the line. He says sure-he wants her to get to the point. Mommie and I are bracing. 

'So you have stage 4 cancer.' Boom. Just in one small sentence our lives are changed forever. Mom lets out a sound- I think it's almost a moan. I try not to cry and do my best to take notes as she lists all the places the cancer has spread. 'the cancer has metastasized into your spline, shoulders, hip...she's talking so fast I'm trying to keep up. I need to write it all down cause I have to tell my sisters. They're gonna wanna know details. After she's done her spiel she slows down to explain 'next steps'. Shit, she said Palliative. I know what this means. I've been an actor for CHEO who's new born is hanging on by a thread and the doctors suggest palliative care. Basically this means making the person comfortable until they die because trying to keep them alive will ultimately do more damage and cause more pain. Ayuen is trying to tell him he's dying fast and there's nothing they can do to stop it. I don't wanna hear it. 

The next call I make is to my sisters. I break down when I say 'It's stage 4 cancer guys.' But I pull myself together quickly cause there's so much more info to tell. One of them says, I knew it. I had a bad feeling. I think one of them is crying. My mom sitting next to me is hurting so bad- I can feel her. She's in disbelief. We're not ready.

December 22, Later that day...

It's so strange you know...because I knew this day was coming sooner rather than later. For the past 3 years I had been telling mom 'brace yourself cause I don't think Papa is gonna live another 5-10 years.' He was getting weaker, shakier, smaller. My sister's and I rounded it up to his drinking and smoking habits and lack of exercise. My dad's been smoking since he was a teenager and drinking religiously every night for about the last 40 years. It added up we thought. I soooo believed it was his drinking and smoking. I would berate him almost daily for the waft of nicotine that would fill the house even when he tucked himself in by his office fireplace to smoke - I made this mandatory in the last year. I had had enough...apparently so had his body. 

I was angry after his first fall in the summer. I thought he had had just too many whiskey's that night, slipped and couldn't garner enough strength to pull himself up. My mom was scared, I was pissed. I got him on the treadmill the next day telling him he had to start exercising and build some muscles. He always had twigs for legs. He listened for a while. It was hard to push him every single day, I thought he was just lazy. Maybe he was or maybe he didn't wanna face reality. He had made himself weak. 

October 26, 2020

I think it was about midnight when I hear coughing coming from the hallway. Maybe it's my mom, maybe she's sick. I open the door to my bedroom and I know it's coming from downstairs. I get a pit in my stomach and I know it's my Dad. I fly down the main staircase and see him rag-doll like on the floor vomiting. I fear the worst. I see if his head's split open and check for blood- nothing. A small sigh of relief. His blue whiskey glass is on the floor unbroken. He's been drinking. I know I have to act fast so I pull him up to a sitting position leaning him against the bottom step of his office stairs. He can't hold himself up. He looks confused and in pain. His legs are folded under him and he doesn't have the strength to straighten them. They're locked in place. I hold his torso up with one hand while I try and pull his legs from under him. It's hard. I'm now sweating. He can't hold himself up, he's leaning. I mop up the vomit. I think I get him some water. He mumbles for a tissue. Then I ask if he can move his legs. He can't. I don't know how to get him upstairs to bed. I ask if he can slide over to the main staircase. I'm thinking, 'maybe I can get him to crawl up.' I pull him over - almost like dead weight- and he manages to crawl up one step but it's not looking good. He has no strength to pull him self up, his torso is now collapsing. Abort mission Puja! He's gotta sleep down here, 'papa i can't get you up'. I tell him I'm bringing a foam mattress and he can sleep on that for tonight. It's another major task just to slide him down the last step to the floor and onto the mattress. He's helpless - I don't know why. Can he be THIS drunk?! I straighten his legs and arms once he's flopped onto the mattress and he looks uncomfortable. 'Papa do you want me to fix your arm?' His face is almost entirely smooched into the pillow so it's hard to hear him say no. I tuck him in, set a glass of water next to him along with some plastic bags incase he vomits again. He seems to hear me but I can't be sure. He just responds with a mumble. I step back, take him in, and wonder if I should do more. Should I call 911? My mom is asleep in her room this entire time. I don't want to disturb her.  

I should have disturbed her! Maybe if I did she would have freaked out even more than I and called 911. He needed a hospital, he needed medical attention and he needed more than a quick judgement from his daughter who assumed 'fuck man, Papa drank too much and has fallen'. I'm angry, scared and sad as I walk back up to my room thinking 'shit he's gonna kill himself.' I just didn't know he was already dying. 

October 27, '20

I woke up the next day completely fuming. Something drastic needed to happen to get my Dad to quit drinking and change his lifestyle. I tell my sisters what happened and we decide to hold an 'intervention'. In the meantime I call our family doctor (One of Papa's closest friends, Ranbir Bhatia) and tell him about the two falls he's had, one in the summer and one last night. He says something has to be done asap. He wants to see my dad for a checkup. At some point in the early morning Papa had made it upstairs. He sleeps in till noon. He's humiliated - I can feel it. I see him, like I always do, from outside my bedroom across the banister, sitting in his office chair. 'Papa things are going to change now.' He timidly looks up and says 'yes I know.' 

Side thoughts in November 2020

He didn't participate anymore (now I know why) and I got used to just me & mom, but he was always there. 'Hi Pop' when I walked in the house, 'bye Pop' when I left and 'goodnight Pop' as I shut my bedroom door. And when I didn't see him sitting in his office chair or watching an Indian show before lunch or knowing he was showering I'd ask mom 'where's pop', she'd say 'he's gone to the bank' and...Nothing... it didn't matter, or at least I didn't think it matter.  But it did. He was there. He was coming back. He was gonna be here...just in case.