Tuesday, 16 December 2014


Yesterday was one of the harder days. 

On Monday, Dad arrived home from Paris.  It was a work trip.  He felt generally manky, as you do when you have been in transit for approx. 24 hours, give or take a few.  However, he'd had an incident in the airport in Paris when he went to check in.  He couldn't speak.  He could think the words, but there was a disconnect and he couldn't get them out.  He was sped to the airport's medical centre and over the space of about 15 minutes, the ability returned.  He was monitored but otherwise fine.

While he was in transit, Mum made him an appointment for yesterday morning at the GP.  He duly turned up and was sent straight to the hospital for evaluation.  You were probably thinking, as were we, that he'd had a stroke.  At hospital it was confirmed he'd had a mini-stroke (a TIA, a Transient something Attack).  They wanted to do some further tests, which seemed fair enough - there's a heightened risk of having another within the space of a month, and you always want to know what damage has been done, I guess.

Dad had a CT scan on his head.  It showed a tumour. 

We don't know much more at this stage.  Dad had a further CT scan on his chest to check for other tumours and when I spoke to him last, the results hadn't been communicated to him.  He'd been put on steroids to start chemically shrinking what they'd seen in his head.  This morning at 10 he's having an MRI to check the tumour, to check for anything else and to put together a plan with the specialists, I assume.  I think he's having a skype session with the specialists (who are based in another hospital about four hours away) sometime this morning - possibly both prior and subsequent to the MRI. 

Mum called with updates during the day.  I think she's pretty scared but holding it together, because she has to.  I spent an hour on the phone with them last night, helping alleviate the boredom of an internal room in a hospital that isn't home.  We made jokes and chatted about my day.  Dad was pretty realistic, not downbeat but saying the conversation he'd had with the registrar was in hushed tones and suggested that things are pretty serious. 

My Dad is 58.  I love him.  I am trying to block out the noise and just take it as it comes.  God knows Mum and Dad don't need me to freak out.  I've been calling and texting my sister, who doesn't have a husband to hold her when she's feeling scared. 

Yesterday was one of the harder days.   


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