Melanoma - a warning

Next weekend is Father's Day in the UK and it will be the first one that Dad misses out on. He is in my thoughts every day anyway, but I know that Father's Day will be especially hard for me to face.

I came across this melanoma awareness video today and wanted to post it on My Dad and his melanoma because although I can no longer help Dad it could help someone else to avoid falling victim to this deadly form of cancer.  I miss Dad so SO much and want to help others avoid losing a loved one in this way.

Thankyou for the donations

Enormous thanks to everyone for your donations made in Dad's memory. We have now been told that the total amount donated was £1150, which went to The Heart of Kent Hospice and Macmillan Cancer Support. A bit even managed to go to an Australian cancer charity. So, thank you everybody, you have all been really generous.

Thankyou all so much

A bit of time has passed now but i just wanted to say thank you to everyone who made the time to come to Dad's funeral. We were overwhelmed by how many people came. I want to also say a special thank you to everyone who donated in Dad's memory. We were collecting in aid of the Heart of Kent Hospice, who are the organisation who helped us care for Dad. Soon i should know the total amount and i will of course post it here.

Dad's Funeral

Dad's funeral will be held at 11am on Monday 6th December at St Peter's church. Everybody is welcome, so if you want to come, please do. Dad loved nothing better than a gethering, except possibly one well-furnished with rum, so we will then adjourn to a nearby pub, as per his instructions.

Dad has left the building

The undertakers, having neatly avoided the ditch and made an impressive five point turn on the drive in their long vehicle, have now taken Dad. We are going to collect his death certificate and register his death. When the funeral details are confirmed I will post them here. We welcome anyone interested in coming.

Goodbye Dad

Mum, my brother and i were all sitting with Dad tonight when he quietly took his last breath and left us forever. He was calm and peaceful in life and he was in his death. He did not seem to suffer, but simply slipped away from us and out of reach. I saw a tiny flash of Dad yesterday when he seemed to respond to me speaking about his childhood dog, but i saw none today. It is better for him that his illness is over. If he was in any distress or any pain that we could not recognise then he is not now. I wish i could have done more; I would have given anything to save him, but although i loved him dearly i could not make him stay.

Driving on

After finding Dad the way he was this morning, while Mum was stocking up at the shops ahead of tomorrow's forecast snow, I called the surgery and asked Dad's doctor to call when he had the opportunity. I talked him through everything and he decided to come and visit Dad. He said Dad is tachychardic and has the beginning of bronchial pneumonia. He went back to the surgery and sent the community nurses to us to rig-up a driver to give Dad medicine, now that he can no longer swallow oral medicines. They came and set to. It is a tiny needle that is inserted just beneath the skin on his upper arm. It was the calmest he and i have ever been in the face of a needle (i inherited Dad's needle phobia) The driver has been set up to give Dad Midazolam, to prevent further seizures, and Glycopyrronium Bromide, to ease the infection in his lungs. The Midazolam sedates Dad too and his pain is managed entirely by the Fentanyl patch now which the nurses seemed confident was enough. He has been hooked up to the driver for about four hours now and is lying very still. We can hear his breathing which is quite fast and shallow still. We can also hear a little mechanised 'whirr' noise every 15 minutes or so which is the driver administering another dose. The purple tinge to Dad's knees is common in people whose bodies are starting to shut down and his hands and feet are much cooler now. Dad has been almost entirely unresponsive today. We are desperate to interpret an eyebrow twitch as an effort to communicate, but we are painfully aware that it is most likely a random twitch. Dad's eyes look cloudy now as he stares past us. My brother has come down from London tonight, so we are all here together.

Pale and Purple

This morning Dad is breathing very rapidly and his breaths are shallow. He is very warm and clammy and  had some blood in his mouth when i came downstairs; I think he must have had another seizure in the night and bitten his tongue. I've also noticed that although warm, his hands are a ghostly white and his knees look purple, while his shins and feet are a bit pale. The nurse who came this morning washed him and remarked that he did look different from yesterday. Early on the nurses declared what a 'lovely bottom' Dad had, but this morning the nurse found a pressure sore on his bum. So we have put some cream on it, in the hopes it doesn't burst and become even more painful for Dad. He is lying quietly now with the radio on and i am going to light a fire as it is freezing.

Seized

Just as i posted that last entry Dad had another small seizure. We haven't seen him have any seizures since he had three in 24 hours about ten days ago, despite watching him like hawks since. During the seizure his head stayed firmly to the left this time, but his jaw twitched, opening and closing his mouth, as he stared straight ahead. He fell asleep straight away and i have let him rest and waited a little while before trying to rouse him from sleep just enough to give him another dose of morphine, but he is so deeply asleep that i cannot wake him even pinching his earlobe, so i will head to bed.

A day of visitors but few words

Mum's cantankerous old cat excelled herself this morning by vomiting all over the lounge moments ahead of visitors arriving. She has been in disgrace all day since. Dad has been almost mute today. These visitors were a work friend of Dad's and his wife and although Dad communicated with hand-grabs, looks and eyebrows he didn't actually say a word. As soon as they left i said to Dad "It was nice to see them again wasn't it Dad?" Of course, it was at that point that Dad spoke and said "Yes". The Macmillan nurse came during the afternoon and couldn't really evaluate the effectiveness of the patch we put on Dad yesterday. She said it was better to reconsider the dose when we replace the patch (which will be Thursday) so we have seen it at its most effective. We are continuing with the oramorph too. I asked her if Dad is in the sort of condition that she would expect at this stage from her experience of melanoma (and other cancer) patients and she said he is. Dad's head is still fixed looking to the left. He doesn't seem in pain when he is still but when the nurses move him to wash him and change his pyjamas he makes such a face it looks like he is in agony. I find it really hard to see him like that, but the Macmillan nurse said not to worry that he is in a lot of pain as it is quite likely also an expression of displeasure at being moved around and messed with. He has never been a very touchy-feely person, so although that makes sense, it still worries us. He only does it when his head and neck are moved and the only other thing he said today was "Ouch!" when moved by the nurses in the evening, so i hope the full strength of the patch comes into effect soon. Partly because of the position of Dad's head and partly because he cannot understand verbal directions anymore we are now feeding Dad liquids only and through a plastic syringe. We have been told we can continue like this as long as he can reliably swallow, which he still can. Once he can no longer swallow a line can be hooked up to give him medicine and fluids.

Patchwork

I held the fort this morning while Mum played tennis with some friends. I like to give her opportunity to do something other than look after Dad. She has been looking after him for longer than i have afterall. After thrashing her opponents on the court, Mum went to the pharmacy to collect the patch prescribed by the doctor last night. We decided to put the patch on Dad as soon as we could. The packet was really fiddly to open and after struggling to get into it we pulled out a tiny postage-stamp-sized little sticker which we applied to the top of Dad's arm. Each patch lasts 72 hours but we have been warned that it will take about 24 hours for the patch to have any effect, so in the meantime we are continuing to give him the liquid morphine (six spoons a day) He is still holding his head firmly to the left and proving difficult to feed in this position; which must be uncomfortable. He hasn't said much again today except when this morning's nurse asked how he felt today Dad's response was "downhill"