As my step-son came through the dining room on his way out for some fresh air, he was leaving his sobbing sisters in the girl's bedroom.
He stopped when he saw me, this thirteen-year-old boy who I have cared for since he was three, and with tears running down his face asked me .... "Dad has Stage 4 lung cancer, how many stages are there?".
I choked a little and told him, "There are 4 stages, Mikey", then gave him the longest hug I have given him in these last ten years. Meanwhile, my wife and the girls were still in tears. The youngest is only eleven, and her Dad is only forty six.
Let's go back a few weeks ...
I need to paint a brief picture of life in and around the twigg household, that this tale might make sense.
Since April 2005 I have been living with a woman and her three children in Oklahoma. I have written about my life here in some detail and those pieces are available in my list of Diaries. In July 2005 we married and I became step-father (a title without distinction), to three wonderful children who were aged six, four and two.
Relations with their father were ... ahem ... strained for the first couple of years. We can skip over the time he tried to run me down with his truck, because people do crazy things when they are temporarily upset, and fortunately he missed. We made progress. We made so much progress that for a few years I even did his taxes for him, and life proceeded along an expected course.
There was never a great deal of money around, but Dad did his bit. The one thing I would never criticize him for was his preparedness to meet his obligations, but it went further than that. While he probably resented having to pay child support, he loves his children and he never missed. He has regular access, every other weekend and Tuesday evenings, and he has rarely missed that either. For our own parts, my wife and I have rarely asked him for anything much above the basics. We have supported his relationships with his kids, and plan on continuing that support for as long as we possibly can.
Dad has made some very poor choices in his own life, not least a succession of terrible choices of partner, and two more children, neither of whom were planned. None the less, they are brothers to our kids and will always have a place in their lives.
He is a machinist in a local engineering firm. He has worked there many years, is decently well-paid and. to my knowledge, has never had more than the very occasional day off work. He works six days a week and has always been a reliable employee.
About six weeks ago he got sick. That he had a week off work was remarkable, and when that stretched to two weeks we were genuinely concerned. When he went to the doctor, the tests ordered discovered a tumor, type unknown, on his spine. It had been causing pain and was the reason he had missed work. Scan followed test followed scan until the tumor was declared malignant, and secondary, about three weeks ago.
The kids were devastated, but with no real knowledge of his actual condition, and some research around tumor on the spine there was no need to immediately descend into panic. We carried on as normally as we all could, going to work, going to school, band practise, soccer practise. All the things you do with a smile on your face, while burying the growing sense of dread. We got news that they had found several tumors, one on the skin, which was not good news but almost neutral. My personal thought was that the poor guy seems to be riddled with cancer. Beyond sharing that with my wife I kept quiet.
Then he went for a third scan, and returned to his doctor for the results yesterday.
He called the kids and on speakerphone, with my wife sat with them, he told them that their little lives just changed forever .... and there is nothing we can do to stop it.
The oldest girl didn't cry, and felt guilty for not doing so. She also told her Mom that the crying of the others was driving her nuts. It's okay. There is not correct response, we are all different and no one is judging. The younger two were inconsolable. They wanted to go see their Dad so I drove them over and sat in the car while they visited with him for an hour. I had Mikey tell Dad that his sister wanted to come but she was too upset. She'll see him tomorrow. As I said it I wondered how many tomorrows there were going to be, the numbers aren't very good.
As best as I can tell, because Dad's current girlfriend won't let him actually talk to us, the diagnosis is not promising. It appears that many lung cancers remain undetected until they have reached stage 4, as was the case here. By this time, and depending on a number of factors, treatment is more in hope than expectation. The five year survival rate is maybe 1% or so, and 50% don't make it more than eight months. That sucks. No one deserves that and while I am not Dad's biggest fan, he doesn't deserve it either. He's been as good a Dad as he knows how, and he has earned from me a great deal of respect, and my unwavering support of his position in the lives of our children. So natural is this arrangement for them that the youngest child very happily admits to having three parents. I'm good with that.
We have no idea where we go from here. As a family we are strong, and we will work hard to stay strong. We will suffer financially, and that doesn't matter. We will cope, we will go on living, and we will enjoy life. We owe it to the kids, and to their Dad that life be not frittered away or taken lightly. Life is precious and, as it might be in the case of the kids Dad, much shorter than it really should be.
As an individual, my life has never really been touched by the cold, dread hand of cancer. Not in friends, family or other relatives. I have often watched as others bear that cross with dignity, on behalf of their own friends or family, but I have escaped.
Until now. Now I face three children who could lose their Dad in a matter of a few weeks, months or at best a few years. Somehow, as parents, Jodie and I have to find the resources to be strong for our kids when we need to, be understanding when they need it, and instil in them forever that whatever crap hand life deals them, we love them and their Dad loves them too.
Dad will be forty seven next week. I hope he sees forty eight, but the odds are not good.
Thanks for letting me vent. My oldest daughter felt guilty for not crying, although I am sure she will when she is ready. I felt guilty too, because when I heard the news and had given the kids what comfort I could, all I wanted to do was write. It's what I do, it's who I am and while many will understand that, some won't.
I don't pray, but if you do please think of Dad, and the boy who asked me how many stages are there?
8:14 PM PT: I just want to add a note, really for the benefit of my own family who may read this. I have not forgotten that my brother, Karl, died aged 34 from a tumor of the brain. The reason I said that I have largely remained untouched by cancer is that the circumstances of my brother's death were so swift, so final and so very tragic that it had none of the features most commonly associated with such an illness.
My brother was loved very dearly, and to this day is missed, but he died only three weeks from the first symptom. He was admitted to hospital two weeks after diagnosis, for a biopsy. Despite living for a week following the surgery, he never recovered. He was half a world away, and it was very tough on our parents who had flown to be with him. Rest in peace, brother.