The bliss of denial

For the past two visits prior to this one, leaving my Dad behind after visiting him was heart wrenching.

He has had his brain tumour since December 2008, but in the last six months, it has come back with a vengeance. Ironically, it happened after he had the all clear and the doctors had told him how he could finally have a break from years of treatment. His tumour affects his speech, balance and cognitive functions. Since this summer, it has progressed very rapidly. First, committing him to a wheelchair, them affecting his speech.

When I went to see him in November, I believed that the next time I would see him, he would not be able to speak anymore. I didn’t even know when I could see him again, as I am not in a position at the moment where I can buy tickets to go over. I rely on the generosity of my parents to come and visit them. Christmas came and went and I had this gut feeling that I had to go and see him as soon as possible. So I used my credit card and bought a ticket. For the first time In my life, I didn’t even ask my mother if I could come and if the dates suited her. I just had to go. And it had to be the day after my parents saw the consultant to find out what next.

And so my mother broke the news that I already knew intuitively, that his days were counted, in weeks, not months. I was so glad I was there to support her through this very painful blow. My father has been sheltered from this truth, although I believe on some level he knows. He is a doctor, he had been told that all medication is being discontinued. No more chemos. No more blood pressure medicine. And gradually they will stop all his meds. No more little pills to swallow. No more visits to the hospital. He feels relief.

And so at the end of that visit, I just broke down. I had no idea when I would be able to come back. I thought I was saying adieu. And It nearly broke my heart. So this time around, and although I was blessed with some memories that I will cherish until the day I die, I decided to lie to myself. I couldn’t bear to cry my heart out again. I couldn’t face to feel the pain, so I pretended that I would see him again, very soon. And I pretended in my mind that he would still be able to walk and talk to me. That I would take him for a walk by the lake. That we would wine and dine and laugh until the evening. I had to. I dived into the bliss of denial. And to be frank, I can now see there is nothing wrong with it.

I am actually surprised at how easily I tricked my mind.

I would recommend denial to anyone. Don’t use denial to slip into laziness or mindlessness. Use denial actively to enable to live each hour as it comes with as much joy as you can. Be aware of what is really going on, but don’t put it at the forefront of your mind because it might just ruin the precious moments you have with your loved one. I don’t know how I managed to do this: be aware and not aware at the same time. But it worked.

At the bottom of my heart, I know that the next time I visit, I shall be preparing the energies to help him cross over to go back to the creator. This is what I know. It’s not making me sad, though, because I have had two chances more than I thought I would. I am grateful beyond measure. These moments are mine to keep. They will never go away.

Blessings

Ange de Lumiere

A paradox

Last night, we had the visit of my father’s favourite sister, of her son and daughter, who I hadn’t seen in fifteen years.

In the afternoon, I had taken Dad to the library to see a photo exhibition, borrow a few art magazines (one of them was a special edition in Frida Kalho) and went for our walk by the lake. Despite the fact that it was pouring in the morning, the weather soon cleared up and by the time I wheeled Dad out of the house, it was sunny, if a little cold. These are the little things that I am extremely grateful for. I still find it odd that in the middle of the winter, the three times I visited my Dad, we were blessed with sunny weather and almost warm spells. People might say “What a coincidence?” But me? No, I don’t believe in coincidences. I had prayed to the angels for mild weather. It might seem like something vane to ask for but given the state of my Dad’s immune system (does he even have one anymore?), it is no small prayer and the fresh air does him so good.

I cooked a vegetarian moussaka for the family diner and everyone commented on how delicious it was. It might seem like nothing but my family is definitely not vegetarian. It was surreal. Especially since I didn’t even care what they thought. This is what can happen when you reach forty and beyond. Definitely something to look forward to, if you are not there yet. And although I hadn’t seen my aunt and cousins in probably fifteen years, it was like we had seen each other yesterday. We chatted and laughed, and Dad soaked it all in and just beamed all the way to eleven o’clock.

It’s interesting that since the fatal day two weeks ago when he was given a death sentence by his doctor, he has seemed to come back to life. This is a man, whose brain tumour has become so big that his doctors, after trying every possible medical route and chemo, decided to stop everything. And who on the back of the news that they had exhausted all medical options (may I remind you he is a medical doctor), feels relieved, has renewed energy and laughs on every occasion that is offered to him. To me that is a delicious paradox. Granted: he doesn’t know that the consultant said he only had a month to live (thank god for that), but still.

This is so delightfully bizarre, but I am the last to complain. He is full of energy. He laughs and smiles. He feels relieved. He is serene. The doctors are stopping his medication one by one. Part of his relief is not having to go to hospital for chemo. Now my mum doesn’t ask him to take his vitamins anymore (which he refused to take anyway). She doesn’t try to control his eating (he is obese and that has always been a subject of quibbles). She doesn’t complain about his anymore. This has got to be a better life for him.

So can dying be a relatively happy journey? I know not every moment is a bed of roses for us but I have witnessed more laughter than I ever thought I would in the past few weeks. And last night was one of them. It was a delightful evening of friendship, good food and good wine. My cousin is the life of the party. And I even enjoyed the company of my aunt:  she was very cheerful (I am sure the whiskey helped) and rather lovely. We haven’t got along that well in the past. So is it that in adversity, we humans drop the petty grudges and make it work? It works on me. I came with an open heart and an open mind.

As my father seems to be better, my brother said to my mother last week that he just didn’t believe the consultant who gave my Dad one month to live on the 16th of January. We are two weeks down the line. He thinks there must have been a mistake because Dad seems better. I think part of this is denial. But the other part could come from the myths we entertain about death and dying. Myths that we explored in my training at the hospice that I took when my Dad was first diagnosed with his brain tumour. People who are dying do not necessarily look ill. They can be full of life. My aunt looked absolutely beautiful and vibrant when I saw two months before she died and she knew she was dying, Perhaps we have been conditioned by Hollywood’s cliches. I don’t know.

So here is to the paradox. I am willing to have all my beliefs shattered about what it is like to witness a loved one die of life threatening ilness. It’s nothing like I expected it to be. I know there is still a long way to go. As mum reminded me last night, we don’t know what tomorrow awaits. But I said to her “One day at a time. Let’s take the good times whilst they are here”. And later today, when I wheel my suitcases out of their flat, i will say to myself, who knows, maybe there will be another time?

Blessings

Ange de Lumiere