Gang of Seven
The mobile phone in
my hand suddenly felt too heavy to grasp, like the information being conveyed
in a matter of fact way down that very same phone. The words, whilst just 7 of
them, seem innocuous enough individually, but as a team were powerful. There
were of course many, many other words, but that gang of seven packed the
heaviest punch!
I was standing
outside the Hydro Majestic Hotel in the Blue Mountains in Sydney. It was a
cloudless, blue kissed day. Together with my husband, sister and nephew, we had
sort respite from Blacktown hospital, in the suburbs, where my dad had been
diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. He was dying. Our strong and seemingly
invincible dad. The man who at 89 would
still climb onto the roof of his modest home in 32 degree heat to replace an
errant tile, or fix the guttering. No safety gear, just his shorts, t shirt,
bandy legs and thongs. He was stubborn, as was the generation from which he was
born. He had a job at 6 years of age, after school on the back of the fruiter’s
truck. Life was challenging and he learned early about responsibility and
hardship.
Now he was in a
hospital gown, in a sterile hospital room.
A cannula in the back of his large hand for pain relief and a bevy of
health professionals all telling him the same thing. Life was going to abandon
him, soon, and they could not halt its withdrawal. He didn’t look surprised.
But something else. Resignation, tinged with fear perhaps.
We waited until the
sedation they offered, journeyed him to blissful unconsciousness and then
headed for the car park.
‘Should we get a
coffee, or something to eat?’
‘Yeah, I guess’, came
a lack lustre response.
‘Let’s drive up to
the Blue Mountains and get some fresh air to clear our heads,’ my husband
suggested.
It was an hour’s
drive. Plenty of time to repeat in our minds, and with our words, the news we
had just received from the doctors. Was it unexpected? I guess not. He had been
unwell on and off for the last 12 months, but now there was an unwelcomed
intruder knocking at his door. We had been told two days before that the
prognosis didn’t look too hopeful, but still...
Now reality was here.
Clear and clinical. Keep him on medication to make him comfortable, transfer
him to a nursing home and get his affairs in order. Let the rest of the family
know. Feelings swirled around ill fitting and persistent. There was a flock of them all jostling for
our attention. Fear, denial, anger, sadness, grief and more. It was impossible
to feel them all at once, so one stepped forward to stake its claim. Its name
was Fear and it had a job to do.
We stopped at the
famous Three Sisters’ rock formation, teasing Blair that it was his mum and his
2 aunts! We felt small and invisible in the open spaces of the mountains,
witnessing the vastness of the nonstop sky, misted slightly by the blue hue
caused by the eucalyptus from the trees. It was awesome and majestic.
Perhaps a bite to eat
at the appropriately named Hydro Majestic Hotel, someone offered.
The Hotel had been a
grand old dame built in 1904. She was perched dramatically on an escarpment of
the mountains and commanded unsurpassed views. The “Jewel in the Mountains.” She was iconic, elegant and timeless.
We felt the chill as
soon as we exited the protection of the car. The wind was now cold and calling.
It had the feel of anticipation or was it foreboding?
‘Let’s have a look
around the front at the view first, before heading inside’, Katie suggested.
At the front of the
building overlooking the ancient valleys beneath, the wind was stronger, more
urgent, tugging at my coat and unsettling me further.
My phone vibrated in
the pocket of my jeans. I was tempted not to answer it, but then wondered if it
might be the hospital.
Looking at the
screen, I saw it was from our youngest son Christopher, whom we affectionately
nicked named Critter.
Was I ready to convey the latest information
about his Pop just yet? He was at home in Adelaide and might the news not best
be delivered face to face? I baulked. I thought ‘I’ll let it go to the message
bank, and deal with it later’, but the radar in my subconscious was ON and I
felt compelled to take the call.
‘Hi Critter,’ I said
as breezily as I could muster.
‘Hi mum,’ he
responded, ‘how are things with Pop?’
I felt my jaw
tighten. Definitely not the conversation I wanted to have over the phone. “Well
love, they are doing some more tests, but it may not be good news. We will know
more in a few days”
He held the silence longer than I expected. “I
am sorry to hear that mum, but Pop is strong, He will be OK” came his voice,
small, hesitant.
“Are you OK love? I
know it’s sad news but Pop is comfortable and we will have more information in
a day or so.”
I felt dreadful
minimising the situation. “Tell him when you get home,” my mind spoke to me.
The swirling wind
howled, calling me to alertness, focussing me on the words my son was now
speaking.
“Ah, look mum, I just
wanted you to know that I’ve been to see a Dr about the nausea and headaches
I’ve been having. They did some tests
and, Mum, I don’t want you to worry but...”
And then those 7 words!
“I have something growing in my brain”
There it was. A
trifecta of Fear circling, full and forceful in the wind, licking at my mind,
clawing at my heart.
The fear an old man
faced leaving the woman who he had married 66 years ago. He knew there would
not be any words of goodbye, because she had all but forgotten him.
The fear of a 25 year
old man who was yet to know the full implications of those 7 words and the outcome that was
written somewhere in the Book of Life (and Death) far beyond his comprehension.
The fear of families,
loves ones, friends and work colleagues. Each trying to process the concept of
mortality and its finite form.
It’s easy for Fear to
take hold. It requires almost no effort on its part. The word strikes at our
human core, accelerating the heartbeat, flooding the body with adrenalin and
crushing our serenity. It is the thief of peace.
On the heels of Fear however,
entered another player.
Courage.
It’s the antithesis
of Fear. It does not take you hostage. Courage holds out its strong hand and
offers its warm heart. Courage speaks calmly and with compassion. Asking “How
can I help you” and ‘Shall we walk this path together”
There is no
grandiosity in being courageous. No Ego. It trusts you to be the person you
are, beyond the disease. It asks you not be defined and possibly remembered by
your illness, but rather to be emboldened to live the Life you were born to
navigate.
For the bystanders
and the loved one watcher, Courage may ask different questions. It might be to
allow the patient to have their own experience, without the weight of
expectations of recovery or wellness. You may be asked to be courageous enough
to allow them to leave, and to respect their courage to release and surrender.
The courage of my Dad
was to draw a ragged breath and whisper,
“Enough, I am ready!”
The courage of my son
was to face his horror with honour and to be present to his mantra
“Strong enough to live.......”
.........Until he had
the Courage to die.
