Coulda, Woulda, Shoulda
When I became a father, I wanted to make sure that I spent every possible moment with my daughters. We took every opportunity for any adventure that came our way. Of course, it also helped having daughters that had no problem asking, “can we Daddy?”
No regrets. Nothing left on the table. Nothing left unresolved. This was an attitude that I developed not after reaching remission for Hodgkin’s Lymphoma thirty-three years ago, though I wish I had. Instead, it was a tragic evening, just before Christmas, now decades ago, my stepmother had been hit by a car as she was crossing the street. Just prior, she and my father were having an argument. He, in a huff and aggravated, instead of walking out together with her, walked out of the house first, to wait for her in the car. He witnessed the entire accident.
My father tortured himself for decades, until he passed, now almost ten years ago. My stepmother is still alive. She has no memory of the accident, never has, yet my father continued to carry the guilt, feeling it was his fault for having the argument in the first place, that they did not stay and work it out. Or that had he walked out with her, he would have seen the car that she did not, and prevented the accident from happening.
Common sense tells us, we cannot change the past, what has happened. There for, we need to prevent regret and the need for remorse. Have you ever heard the expression, “don’t go to bed angry?” Do you know why that is? In case either you, or the person who was mad, does not wake up, permanently, never having had the chance to resolve that issue, like my father. Even though my stepmother had no memory of the accident, he could never resolve what happened.
My first experience with this situation personally came with the passing of my grandmother who was terminally ill from ovarian cancer. The last day that I saw her, just two days before she was to start chemo, we parted very akwardly, as my grandmother had been distracted clearly by the upcoming treatments. There was no hug or kiss goodbye. There was no “I love you Grandma.” She died the next day. I missed that last chance the day before. That has haunted me forever.
Several years later, when my survivorship world would get turned on its head, emergency heart surgery, I found myself helpless to resolve the one thing I needed most, a last hug from my young daughters, age 3 and 5 at the time. When I left them the prior morning, I was just going in for a simple procedure, one that would keep me overnight. But I told them that I would see them when they got home from school and daycare the next day, not to worry. That never happened.
The procedure that I had done was called a catheterization. It was supposed to be a simple, go up through the leg, through an artery, and place a couple of stents at my heart. When they got to the location, they realized my situation was much worse, near fatal, and I was scheduled for open heart surgery the next morning. I would not be allowed to go home, I would be admitted into the hospital. I could not see my daughters.
This devastated me. I was going to be undergoing a surgery there was a fairly decent chance I would not survive. I wanted just one chance to hold and hug them one more time, forever, in the event it would be my last time. With the hospital more than an hour away, my (then)wife was not willing to go pick them up to bring them to see me. At best, when my wife arrived home, she would call me and put the girls on the phone to talk to me. Spoiler alert, I did survive the surgery, and eventually got to see me daughters in person four days later.
Later on, this situation would happen again, three more times, where I would be unable to see my daughters prior to major surgeries I needed to have, related to my cancer treatment late side effects, because of Covid-19 risks. All three needed to be done as the risks of doing nothing were higher than the risks of the corrective surgeries. A Covid-19 exposure, would delay those surgeries, something time was not on my side. But different from my bypass surgery, I was at least able to see my daughters via video. Not the same as a hug, but at least I could see their eyes and expressions. More importantly, they could see that I was okay.
I am at one of those moments again. Though not for my health this time. My older daughter is travelling abroad for her next semester and will leave in less than a week. The plan was for her to visit me just before Christmas, for me to spend some time with her, as I will not see her again, likely until Father’s Day. But as I said, there is/was that need, I wanted to give her the biggest hug, tell her in person how proud I am of her, and to not only do well, but to have a great time, a great experience, perhaps a once in a lifetime experience. But two days before she was set to fly to visit with me, someone in her house tested positive for Covid, resulting in my daughters both having enough concern for me, to cancel this trip.
This time is much different for me. There is a very dark reality in the corner of my mind. It is an issue that most “healthy” people cannot understand, but it is a reality that I have accepted long ago. I have great doctors that handle all the issues I face in my survivorship, so it is not a concern, should something happen in that regard before my daughter returns. Currently I am not aware of anything imminent.
But… and this is a big BUT… as I am long into my survivorship, decades, a shortened lifespan really is anticipated because of the damages done through the years. So, if it is not one of the health issues that ends our story, it is likely going to be an unpredicted event, and/or complications from that event. For the next four months, I have to hope that this is not my fate until she returns.
I want to be clear, I do not spend my days thinking or worrying about dying. Not at all. I go to bed each night, with my plans actually written down on paper for the next day. I plan to wake up and get things done. But what does not help, is the common comment, “aw, come on man, you could get hit by a bus crossing the street tomorrow.” And while that may be correct, there is one difference. The average “healthy” person, does not have someone pushing them into the path of the bus. And that is what it is like for a cancer survivor with this late side effect issues. Yes, I could get hit by a bus, but there is a crowd of “people” waiting for the moment to give me that push.
I am doing all I can during this time, with our distance, to make sure she knows how proud I am of her, how excited I am for her with this opportunity, and how well I want her to do. I am hoping for tons of photos of her journey that she is sharing with several of her close friends travelling with her. I will be talking to her multiple times over the next few days before she gets on that airplane, and I will tell her I love her each time.
I just wish I could have one more hug before she goes.
Paul's Heart 