Hospital, Cancer and Chemo

Okay, so where to from here? My Aunts specialist informed us, that the prognosis was not good. However with a combination of surgery and chemo, there was a slim chance that she would beat it. My Aunt was terrified, she had never had a day of illness in her life and had never spent a day in hospital.

The surgery went to plan and when she was ready to be released, I took leave from work to care for her at home while she recuperated. Once her surgical wound healed, chemo started. A good friend of her's drove her to her weekly chemo appointments and family and neighbours checked in on her daily as she lived alone. I would drive from work Thursday afternoon and stay with her until Saturday or Sunday afternoon, depending on how she was feeling.

The chemo continued for weeks, but once it was finished, her blood tests showed that there may be some hope. The chemo clinic presented her with a chemo graduation certificate and advised her of her ongoing checkups. While my Aunt tried to get back to her normal life prior to cancer, I decided to continue working only four days a week. This gave me a regular day to schedule my psychiatrist, psychologist and GP appointments as I had been juggling them while my Aunt was ill. Plus it was one less day of work related stress that I had to deal with.

As I was diagnosed with Bipolar around the same time my Aunt was diagnosed with cancer, I hadn't told her about my diagnosis, for two reasons:- 1. She had enough to worry about and 2. I didn't want her to feel that she couldn't count on me for support.

Over the next couple of months, life continued as it does. My Aunt was feeling stronger and I continued trying different medications. I had decided that I wouldn't tell her about my Bipolar until it was completely sorted, as sometimes the medications played with my head a bit, and some days I really didn't feel like discussing anything, let alone talking about Bipolar or how I felt. I knew that she wouldn't be happy that I had kept it from her for so long, but I would cross that bridge when I got to it.

One night, three months after my Aunt received her chemo graduation certificate, I received a phone call from a family member, who advised me that they had just taken my Aunt to the Hospital Emergency Department. As it was late and my Aunt was now asleep, my wife and I traveled to the hospital early the next morning.

When the Doctor arrived at my Aunts bedside, the news was what I had secretly feared, yet I was hoping I was wrong. The cancer had returned and there were no surgical or chemo options available. In a total of ten months, my Aunt had gone from a strong, healthy and independent woman without a care in the world, to being offered palliative care.