Anguish

This week’s blog is dedicated to a good mate from Australia, who told me this week that his mum wasn’t well and that he was heading back home to be with her.  I can only hope that he’s made it home safely and that she’s feeling better.

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At some point we all get the call…especially as we get older.  It’s that inevitable call to say that a parent is sick, fortunately for many of us they are close at hand and we can quickly be by their side but for those of us living overseas it’s a traumatic and hellish moment.

I still remember getting the call from my sister Glenda to say that Dad had collapsed and that he’d been rushed to hospital…there was silence at the end of the phone before she finally said “it doesn’t look good, its going to be touch and go whether he makes it through the day”.

Knowing that you are half way around the world, everything speeds up considerably from that moment on, but at the same time it also slows down.  It hard to describe the sense of urgency and panic you have to get home as fast as possible but at the same time you’re stuck in no-mans land of waiting for the plane with no ability to make it happen any faster than it going to was a complete bastard of a situation!  No good words to describe it.

There were so many emotions coursing through my body and mind in those moments following the call, my concentration now shot I wasn’t able to go back to the webcast that I was hosting and had to have one of my senior team take over for me. 

Fortunately for me I was working in Vancouver at the time, and I knew that there were flights to Australia later that night so I was able to hold it together until I’d booked my flight and double checked to make sure I had both passports.  Thank goodness I always carry both my Australian and Canadian with me when I travel, and although it sounds trivial now, not having to apply for a visa was a bonus as I'm not sure I could have concentrated enough to fill in the online application. 

After booking the flight, I headed downtown to my hotel and packed my bag.  Fortunately after staying at the Marriott Pinnacle for three years to that point they were very accommodating and released my bookings for the remainder of the week and the next at short notice.  I haven't forgotten this small but generous gesture and one that makes me a loyal guest to this day.  

When I got to my room I sat on the bed, tears streaming down my face as I strained to remember what I’d said to my dad the last time we spoke, even trying to remember when I spoke to him last…was it two weeks or three weeks ago…it could have been longer…so many questions coursing through my head.  This was about the time the guilt started to build.  I realize now in retrospect that I was searching for answers, for which there were none. Partly blaming myself for not being able to detect his illness, for living too far away, for not calling often enough and thus clearly I was an errant son…well, you get the drift and overall pretty negative with myself.  Again, easy to spot in hindsight - right? 

The plane ride to Australia was beyond comprehension, with all the feelings of guilt, shame, and anguish swirling around to create a pure numbness that is hard to describe - I felt nothing.

In our conversation Glenda had said that things looked bad and that perhaps I’d better prepare myself for the worst when I arrived.  

My brother Laurie picked me up late on Friday night from Tullarmarine airport in Melbourne, the obvious question I had for him was “is dad still alive?”.  He nodded, a little overcome with the emotions of the past 24 hours we drove to Royal Melbourne Hospital without talking much as I think we were both a little over wrought.  When I arrived they had just wheeled him back into the neurological intensive care ward after his brain surgery.

Glenda and James were already in his room waiting for us when we arrived at almost midnight, I had been flying for the past 24 hours without sleep yet I was wide awake and fully functioning.  There were many tears and hushed conversations as we held vigil by dad's bed that night, his head encased in thick bandages, him propped up on pillows and hooked up to a myriad of machines monitoring his vitals.   

Somehow he had survived multiple trips in the ambulance over the past day or so, the last being a 1.5 hour dash to Royal Melbourne from the Ballarat Base Hospital down the Western Highway with the siren turned on full and the paramedic crew trying to keep him alive.  The air ambulance that had been requested was diverted at the last minute for a serious road accident and strangely this worked in dad’s favour as it gave his surgeons time to review the CAT scans, and prepare the plan for his immediate surgery once he arrived.

They wheeled him straight out of the ambulance and into the operating theatre and so began a 5-hour odyssey to remove a tumor from above his left ear.  

I guess it was dad’s sheer bloody mindedness that got him through the night, and mid morning the next day he woke from his coma, albeit groggy he could talk just fine.  Obviously a little confused as to what was going on.  His first question to me was “what are you doing here?”

I smiled my best smile, and fighting back tears told him that he’d been sick and that he’d just had an operation and thought I should come to see him to make sure he was okay.  It’s strange, even as I write this story tonight my eyes are welling with tears as I remember him looking up at me from his bed and the puzzled look in his eyes.

After three days dad was well enough to be transported back to the regional hospital in Ballarat and clearly we were fortunate in many ways with Dad as his health stabilized to some degree and with chemotherapy and radiation he was able to go back home during his six month illness, with a reasonable quality of life for much of his remaining time.  

One memory I shall never forget is the young woman in the bed next to dads in the intensive care ward at Royal Melbourne.  She was in early 30’s and had brain surgery the same day as him.  It was heartbreaking to see her husband and toddler come every day and sit by her bed, her daughter playing on the floor at the foot of the bed and not really understanding what was going on and why her mummy was sleeping so much.  She was bored and restless, and we all helped out as best we could playing and reading to her. 

By the time dad was ready to be moved the young woman in the next bed had still not regained consciousness and her husband had been asked whether he would consider taking her off life support.  He and his daughter had been the only visitors during the time we'd been there, and so he had to make this heartbreaking decision alone while his young daughter played at his feet.  

With all that had transpired over those few day I felt completely drained but I can’t even imagine the level of pain and agony he must have been going through and ultimately the decision that he had to make...  

I think its a good time for an extra hug when you see your loved ones next!