Dad's Service

There will be detailed thoughts to follow later, as well the tributes that Stace and I delivered today, but I will say that dad had the best funeral ever, of this I am sure. Thank you to everyone in attendance and for all my friends who made the music happen!

May the new year bring much joy and laughter to you all. For us, it will be a challenging time of learning to live without daddy physically present, but I take comfort in knowing that his spirit will be with us always.

Douglas Henderson (April 24, 1955 - December 28, 2009)

HENDERSON, G. Douglas

Succumbing to brain cancer at age 54, Doug died peacefully at the Dorothy Ley Hospice on December 28th, 2009. He was a devoted husband and father to two daughters. Born on April 24, 1955 in Brantford, Ontario, Doug was an only child of the late William Douglas and Evelyn (Chalk) Henderson. His formal schooling consisted of a Bachelor of Commerce and a Masters in Business Administration from McMaster University. He spent his entire career in various capacities but all within the human resources field with the last 18 years at a director or vice president level. Doug was a former president and board member of the Mississauga Figure Skating Club and an active member of the Rotary Club of Etobicoke. Doug is survived by his wife, Maribeth (Perez), his daughters Dana and Stacey, in-laws and cousins, and his faithful Scottish terrier, Wallace. Memorial donations may be directed to the Dorothy Ley Hospice Foundation.

Week #7 Roundup and Words from Daddy

The team has now raised $5475.00, and we are 73% of our way to reaching our fundraising goal! This week ended up being a good week for Stacey, who only needs $365 more to reach $2500. Many thanks goes out to Jill for providing a donation that ended in a nine! Looking at our donation thermometer is much more pleasant for all of us.

Yesterday didn't really feel like Christmas. I don't even think dad knew it was Christmas despite our seasonal greetings. He doesn't say it, but you can tell by the expression on his face that he is constantly having headaches. The nurses are going to just keep him sedated and comfortable from now on. Probably within the next little while he will have a pain pump that regularly pumps pain medication into his system. I also suspect that he can't see anymore. He sees spots and he doesn't know who is there unless you speak. Apparently hearing is the last sense to go, so all of us will continue talking even though he is becoming increasingly unresponsive. Lastly, he hasn't eaten in a few days, as he can't swallow. He is under 130lbs. Everyone wants the suffering to end.

One of the things that dad started to do once cancer forced him into early retirement was join the Rotary Club of Etobicoke. As a new member, he was required to give a speech introducing himself. Here is an excerpt from the speech he delivered in September 2008. Hopefully it will give everyone a good idea of what dad is like, what he had to go through/goes through, and what he has learned.

"In May 2006 I became ill, and in August 2006 was diagnosed with primary brain cancer. Specifically, the type of brain cancer I have is a very rare form of non-Hodgkin's disease, lymphoma of the central nervous system, less than thirty cases in Canada.

Following the diagnosis, I was immediately hospitalized at PMH and received 5 rounds of chemotherapy (each round took 4 days of intravenous treatment) followed by three week recovery time to ensure I had adequate white blood cells for the next treatment. Following the four months of chemotherapy, I had 20 "full brain" radiation treatments. Although these treatments themselves only took about five minutes, each treatment session took about one half hour, as a full face mask directing the rays only to marked tumor zones took substantial preparation by the radiation technicians. Following the 4 weeks of daily radiation, I then had two more rounds of chemotherapy.

...Before I took ill, I had strong analytical, communication, problem solving and people skills, and a staff of fifteen. Since my diagnosis I am now in the process of acquiring many new coping skills. The treatment and the tumors have impacted my short and long-term memory, and my general analytical and problem solving abilities, but my communication, mathematics, and people skills remain as prior, and I am grateful for that.

I attribute being alive today totally to the expertise that exists at PHM brain centre. They are recognized as one of the top five hospitals in the world for brain cancer research and treatment.

I have learned many things since my illness:

1. Never to sweat the small stuff.
2. To stay optimistic and look to the positives every day.
3. Don't give up regardless of your diagnosis, as breakthroughs in cancer treatments are happening every day.
4. Don't be discouraged by what you can no longer do, focus on what you can do.
5. Keep in touch with your friends. Although they have busy lives, they also may be reluctant to call, as they may not know what to say. Often it is up to you to make the calls and maintain contact.
6. Longevity with many brain tumors can be reasonably short since many cannot be removed and many others do not respond well to treatment. The most important thing a brain tumor patient can do is to get their affairs in order and ensure a family member knows the whereabouts of bank accounts, life insurance policies, computer passwords, wills, etc."

My daddy has a brilliant mind and spirit, and cancer is taking it away from him. If you want to help, look to the sidebar to our donation links. You know what to do.

I should also add that the staff at Dorothy Ley hospice is wonderful, and dad has received nothing but the most compassionate treatment there. Unfortunately, the government does not provide hospices with nearly enough funding, and they have to get by on the donations of others. If you would like to make a donation, please click here.

Merry Christmas!

Merry Christmas Eve!

So, it's Christmas Eve. Stace, Scott, and I went spinning, and I got a thirty dollar parking ticket for being five minutes late. Merry Christmas to me.

But in sincere Christmas spirit, I leave you with a Merry Christmas from the whole Henderson clan. Here is dad last Christmas Eve, in a sweater from me and Stace.

Wally Hospicedays (Happy Holidays)!

Pictures of the lovely Wallace brought to you by my phone.

Wallace pup sleeping on Daddy's bed

Wallace holding a nice mug of tea

Leonard the Leopard & Tommy the Tomato watching over Daddy

The little monkey

The kids' message to Daddy

Coffee!

I could really use a coffee right now...

Unfortunately, our home has housed something like four different coffee makers since we've moved in here, and I just haven't been able to figure out the way to a perfect cup since the day our trusty Tim Hortons decided to call it quits (most likely due to coffee maker overuse syndrome). Three models later, I'd still much rather try to con somebody else into making me a cup. Usually, that person is mom.

Arguments ("I can drink coffee at night! It doesn't disrupt my sleep!"), excuses ("But mommy, it's not the same when I make it"), flattery ("Mommy, you make the best coffee"), trickery (start to make coffee but screw up so mommy will say I'm doing it wrong and take over)...they don't always work. However, usually mommy complies to coffee requests if more than one person is interested. Cue daddy:

Typical Situation

Me: *yelling* Who wants coffee?
Dana: *muttering* No/ No, I'm drinking tea!/No, I'm going to the gym!
Dad: *with enthusiasm* I could have some coffee!
Mom: Okay! *starts making coffee*

"Would anybody like a coffee?"
That's one of those things he'd say after dinner, and one of those random dad things that I miss. Just like I miss his annoying parody songs, and how he would never fold the tab back all the way on his pop cans and coffee lids, and the games of "bring" (aka fetch) he played with Wallace.

The staff at the hospice told us that he had the biggest smile on his face yesterday, enjoying a coffee with breakfast. Often I'll walk into his room with a coffee of my own, thinking he's asleep, and I'll be startled by one of the following lines:

"Oh, a coffee!"
"Is that for me?"
or "Thanks for the coffee!"

Needless to say, I never mind sharing.

Dad was pretty restless today, tugging at the sheets and moving around quite a bit. He drank a lot but ate very little. He took some of his meds in the afternoon, and by the time Dana and I left, he was resting. Days are kind of blurring together now...gradual declines separated by plateaus consisting of better and worse days. In that aspect, nothing much has changed, and all we can do is continue to prepare and wait.

I was talking to a friend of mine last night whose grandfather passed away around Christmas last year. We were talking about how difficult it is to go through times like these during the holidays, when it seems like everyone else is happy and carefree. Anyways, something she said really stuck with me: "Don't worry, God only takes the very special people away from us at this time of the year". Evidently, she has a point.

Sorry this entry is a bit all over the place. Since I finished exams last Tuesday, I haven't really had any time to sit down and write. It takes me forever to get my thoughts out the way I want them, and I don't like to settle for publishing unfinished work just because I feel pressured to write something.

I've been going to my student placement, doing last minute Christmas errands, visiting dad, and am currently nursing a dog with diarrhea. I also need to find time over the break to study for two tests and write an essay. Busy, busy, busy...

Anyways, to close I just have a little story about Dad and coffee to share.
My dad was always very involved in my skating, taking me to and from practice everyday, for many years, eventually becoming the President of the Mississauga Figure Skating Club. On the way to the frigid rink, we often stopped for a coffee. On the way home, we were both officially frozen from being at the rink for so long, and often stopped for a coffee. This you see, I am certain has in some way contributed to our dependence on hot, caffeinated beverages. Point is, I have witnessed many, many, many daddy vs drive-through interactions. Many of these interactions involved him yelling into the order box (he is a loud talker), and many of these interactions involved him completely driving past the order box. We often arrived at the pick-up window greeted by a confused cashier, with the order for the car behind us all ready to go. After explaining the situation, we always had our order made for us on the spot. I was always embarrassed, but I remember dad sipping his coffee with pride as we pulled away remarking "Look Stacey, It's fresher this way!"

Week #6 Roundup

To date, the team has raised $5331.00. If someone could donate $9, that would be awesome, as the uneven number is really bugging me. Many thanks to the new supporters this week. If you are still interested in donating to our ride, Stacey is 80% of the way toward her goal, and Matt is still at 0%.

Today, Stace and I spent about five and a half hours at the hospice and came home drained. Dad didn't eat, although he did manage to get down some fluids and his medication, which is always good. He still is up and down, but the downs are lower than they used to be, and the ups are less frequent. We also spoke to the oncology nurse, who let us know what to expect in the last weeks/days/hours/etc. I won't share, as it's not fun stuff, but it was nice to know that there will be no pain. The nurse also mentioned that we should be making a list of people to call when it happens. People to call immediately, within the first hour, within the first 24 hours, and so on. So many things to think about and to plan, and all of it is quite morbid. The trick is to try and make all these preparations while still moving forward and living our lives.

I mentioned in a previous post that I felt like spinning was okay and not necessarily fun. Now I'm addicted, and I think that it ties in with this whole experience. One of the worst things about cancer is being without control (speaking of control, I really wish Wallace could control his bowels a little better this past day). There is nothing that I can do and nothing that dad can do to make this better because believe me, if it were possible to beat this, dad would have done it already. That's just the kind of persistent and determined person that he is. As a result, cancer is a big reminder of how vulnerable the human body is, which can be an impossibly overwhelming reality to face. I think a lot of people think I'm a crazy person for training so hard when the ride is six months away, but it's like this: when I spin, I am in control. I set the resistance, I determine what kind of ride it is going to be, I work hard. I hop off the saddle feeling strong, and that's a hard feeling to come by lately. It shows me that yes, the body is vulnerable, but it can also handle incredible amounts of physical and emotional stress, and you can find stores of energy and power that you didn't know you had in you. And that? Well, that's pretty great.

Week #5 Roundup

We are already at week five. I can't believe how much time has past since we decided to participate in the ride. To date, the team has raised $4951.00, meaning we are 66% of the way to our fundraising goal.

It's been two months since dad was transferred into palliative care - that's a long time to be in palliative care. To be honest, I think all of us thought it was just going to be two weeks at the rate he was declining, but now no one knows. I think it's worse this way, as we've all gotten accustomed to visiting and expecting him to be there.

There are a lot of days where dad has trouble taking his medication, so he won't. As a result, he's been having hallucinations lately. The other day he was reaching for an imaginary baby. At the same time, he was asking for eggs, toast, and bacon, so it seems like nothing has changed. The brain works, or doesn't work, in strange ways.

On Friday, dad let us me and Stace know that he was proud of us, and he thinks the family will be fine because we are all close and get along well ("I haven't seen any fights this year...well, there have been a couple fights..."). The difficult part left for us now is to tell him that we are proud of him, and yes, we will be fine, and he can leave us knowing that. Easier said than done. Or, more accurately, easier written than said.

'Tis the Season

Tonight, we bake. It's a longstanding Christmas tradition in my family that every December, we bake hundreds (seriously, hundreds) of individually wrapped boat tarts: boat-shaped pastries topped with caramel and icing. If you're Filipino, you know what I'm talking about. Mom used to do the baking by herself, with me and dad spreading the caramel, but eating half of it along the way. This year I've promised dad that I would bring him some caramel since he wouldn't be able to easily eat a whole tart. Speaking of daddy, we are visiting tonight before the baking commences, so there will be an update on him soon enough. That said, it's getting harder and harder to provide updates. "Today was a good day." "Today was a bad day." "Today he slept a lot." Nothing really changes except for his shrinking frame.

One of my favourite boat tart memories (it wasn't at the time) of me and dad occurred last year. As I became older, I started accepting more boat-tart-baking responsibilities (except for the icing - mom won't let anyone try that, as it is a tricky business). Last year, since my holiday break started very early, I was going to make all the pastry. Mom had some volunteering to do, but dad was home, and I enlisted Scott's help in doing simple tasks to make the production line move a little quicker. I should also remind readers that Wallace was only four months old at this point and still a little Scottish Terror.

As the day wore on, everything was proceeding pretty smoothly. Sure, my help sort of disappeared to watch Iron Man, but hey, I was baking! Fast forward to early evening: Wallace has to be taken out for a pee. Wallace used to go on the balcony - sometimes, anyway. It was always a guessing game as to when and where he would go, and he was still pretty prone to accidents, which is why he was only allowed to roam the kitchen. Since I had my hands full, I didn't think much of letting Scott watch him on the balcony. Dad was on the phone with Stacey when Scott yelled out that Wallace wasn't peeing, so I gave him the go-ahead to bring him back in. However, Wallace proceeded to run around the living room and dining room area. Oven door down and hot baking tray in hand, I frantically yelled out, "CATCH HIM! CATCH HIM!" It was too late. Wallace had come to a halt on my mom's very expensive and CREAM-COLOURED dining room carpet and let a steady stream go while I watched helplessly from the kitchen, screaming, "NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Stace could hear the commotion on the other end, and dad and I spent the next hour scrubbing the carpet, wondering who was going to get in more trouble, him, me, or Wallace. Everyone can laugh about it now, but it was a scary wait for my mom to come home. I learned a very valuable lesson that day: if you want something done right, do it yourself (or let your mom do it for you).

Week #4 Roundup

The team has now raised $4851.00, meaning we are 65% of the way to reaching our fundraising goal of $7500.00. And, you know what they say, it's the season of giving, so let's try to see that reflected in our numbers, okay?

Real blog to follow later. I won't be functional for another two or three hours.