I wrote this a couple of weeks ago but never posted it...I couldn't seem to find the strength to come back and finish it but here it is now.
Last week was difficult to say the least...I lost an irreplaceable person in my life; he was a hero, a role model, a guiding light, a voice of reason, a strong shoulder to lean on, somebody to call when I needed to know how to work on something or borrow a tool from, but most of all, he was my Dad.
Anybody can be a father but it takes a special person to be a Dad, and he was one of the best. He helped me immensely with so many things and at so many different times in my life. I always wished I could repay all the favors and things he did for me, but it just wasn't possible. Or perhaps I did in other ways; he was very proud of me and my accomplishments, as a great Dad should be. But, I am not alone, I have a brother and a sister who are equally indebted to him; as are a numerous friends, family, and acqaintences that he has helped in some form or fashion; and he's helped a bunch of people.
Gary LaDon Watson, "Don" to most everyone that knew him, was called to rest on Tuesday, June 12th. Read his obit,
here. I was there when he passed; it was peaceful. But his fight with cancer was not! He was diagnosed in late September of 2006. I can remember it vividly. I was 500 miles away and it hit me like a ton of bricks. Dad had begun to have some back pain that was unusual. Pain wasn't unusual for him; he'd already lived a hard life and had lots of arthritis; but this pain was different; unrelenting. They performed some standard tests and eventually realized that his pain was from
CANCER...The doctors said that he had stage 4, malignant prostate cancer; it had already spread to lymph nodes, bones, and other major organs when they found it. This meant his prognosis was grave...he only had 2 years to live; even with the best treatment. I think, although my wife and I had been married for 7 years, this was the first time she'd ever seen my cry like a baby.
The diagnosis didn't slow Dad down much though; he continued to work as a construction superintendant while recieving additional testing and initial chemo treatments. He told me that he was gonna do whatever the doctors asked him to do to fight it and that he would never give up. I was proud of that. I was proud that he was gonna "take the bull by the horns" and give the ol' middle finger to cancer.
He was told that the very best oncologists for prostate cancer were in Houston, Texas at
M.D. Anderson Cancer Center. So that's where we went. His oncologist,
Dr. John Araujo , was realistic with us, giving us no false hope, but yet very compassionate and caring, and always hoping for the best possible outcome for Dad's cancer. Dr. Araujo thought that Dad would benefit from a clinical trial. We understood that because it was a double-blinded clinical trial, that 50% of the patients would recieve a placebo, and the doctors could not pick and choose who got what. The upside was that this particular drug being studied was to be used in conjunction with prednisone (a standard chemo and anti-inflammatory drug), which he had already been taking since his diagnosis. So worst-case scenario, he would at least be recieving the pred. Not a bad deal...we took it.
After Dad's standard battery of tests (bone scans, MRI, blood work, etc.), it was clear to Dr. Araujo and us that Dad had recieved the real drug; his cancer had shrunk in size considerably, in all areas of his body. He began to feel better as well. The clinical trial drug had been very helpful. However, his cancer remained.
For 5 years, Dad flew to Houston and recieved whatever treatment and clinical trials that the doctors would offer him. The treatments were always helpful in causing remission of his cancer, but it always came back; a little harder and a little more aggressive each time, and his treatments began to be a little harder on him each time. Yet, he never complained; not once. He took his medicine, his treatments, and still managed to smile. He worked as long as the cancer would let him; about a year or so, then he was forced to retire from his job due to the slow but steady decline in his health. He may not make it out of the house all week, but he'd always make it to church on sundays. He taught sunday school for many years and he eventually had to give up his class to another teacher.
In August of last year, my nephew was married and Dad was doing well enough that they attended and participated in all the ceremonials. Promptly afterwards he began what would be his last round of treatments. He was getting weaker and weaker and the treatments were almost ineffectual against the cancer this time. By December he was done with the latest round of chemo treatments but the cancer was getting more aggressive. The doctors said that there was one more chemo drug that he hadn't taken; unfortunately, he was just too weak to take any more treatments and the cancer was so aggressive that more treatments would cause more harm than good.
On Monday, January 30th, after some concerns were voiced by my sister about Dad's condition, I promptly left after work to go check on him. When I arrived, he was trembling, unable to speak, very weak, and his blood pressure was extremely low. I didn't want my wife or especially my Mom to see me panic, but I knew this was serious; it was the worst I'd ever seen him. We rushed him to the ER. It so happens that one of the best ER physicians in the state is a family friend and was on duty that night. Dr. John Brooks said that his pelvic lymph nodes were so enlarged with the cancer that they had occluded his ureters; his kidneys had become hydronephrotic and as a result he was severely dehydrated and in kidney failure. After a couple liters of IV fluids, Dad began to talk and was more aware of his surroundings. It was a miraculous recovery, indeed!
We all were cautiously optimistic that he would improve even more but he spent about 2 weeks in the hospital and recieved nephrostomy tubes to bypass his ureters. Basically, the nephrostomy tubes drained his kidneys directly into a collection bag. His kidneys responded some but he remained in kidney failure, as his kidneys had been permanently damaged. The doctors said that he would only have 2-3 weeks to live and recommended we take him home on hospice care to enjoy whatever amount of time he had left. So we did; and we prepared for the worst. This was difficult for us all to take, especially for Mom.
Dad was now bed-ridden, too weak to stand unassisted, and could talk but he wasn't very lucid; he would talk about things that didn't make sense; his mind was very clouded by the toxins resulting from his inefficient kidneys. And then about 10 days or so after going home on hospice care, our prayers were answered and Dad's condition improved greatly. So much so, in fact, that I recieved a phone call from him...My cell phone rang that Sunday morning out of the blue; I looked down and my caller ID said
"Dad cell"...I was shocked, initially, then I thought Mom was just using his phone because hers had died or something. So I answered..."hello"....the voice on the other end of the phone was familiar but it had been almost a month, since I had heard it; it was, in fact, my Dad's...."Hey, son. What are ya doing?" Wow! I almost dropped the phone, in shock! It was as if I had heard a ghost talking. I hadn't expected to ever have a meaningful conversation with him again, let alone hearing his voice on the phone, but there it was as plain as day! I promised him right then that I'd be over to see him ASAP.
For about 14 days or so, we could hold a conversation, he could make sense, had sound judgement; he even began to build enough strength that he was able to walk, with the aid of a walker, from the bed to the next room to sit and have dinner with us. In fact, the last "good moment" I can remember was an evening in late April when we got together for my birthday dinner. I vividly remember being surprised to see him walk to the dinner table to eat with the family. Then as quickly as Dad's condition had improved, it seemed to decline almost as rapidly again. It was extremely sad and devastating to see. The doctors said his time was short.
We loved on him and tried to visit each day to check on him and mom. It was hard, though, to see him just deteriorate before our eyes. He hung on for a few weeks just barely eating and drinking, and muttering words that we couldn't understand or hear clearly. He had gotton so weak that he couldn't even move his hands or feet. The last days were difficult; he had basically fallen into a coma and the only signs of life were the sounds of his breathing. And then, on the morning of Tuesday June 12th, I went over to relieve my brother and cousin, who both had spent the night to help care for him and give comfort to my mom, Dad's condition was mostly unchanged from the day before; his breathing heavy and his otherwise calm body lay peacefully still. I sent my brother and cousin home and encouraged mom to go into the kitchen and get herself some coffee and maybe a bite of breakfast; she reluctantly did so, as she had hardly left his side to do anything for herself in fear of losing him. At that moment, as mom was pouring coffee in the kitchen, I found myself alone with him, and that's when it happened...His breathing became erratic and he stopped for a breif moment then gasped long and hard, then stopped again and it was as if I could see his spirit rising from his body and at that moment I found a little peace in that he was no longer fighting and suffering through such a horrible battle. It was as if he knew that everyone else had left the room and he could finally just let go. It was as if he didn't want to leave mom, as long as she was there beside him; so he waited until it was just me.
Cancer is a horrible thing, it destroys everything in it's path until it's done or beaten, for the fortunate few. My father lost his battle with cancer but he never lost hope. Don Watson never gave up, never complained, and always smiled through even the worst that cancer could deal to him. He was a brave and rightous soul.
I am proud to call Don Watson, my Dad.
Re-reading this now, I realize just how much this helped me to get through the dark days after his passing. I wrote this mostly for me, but also to tell the story of his battle to anyone interested in reading.
This was my second triathlon ever! ...and boy do I know how to pick 'em. This was a great race. Stayed with a friend of mine down there and we had a great time. I definitely will do this one again. My buddy finished 2nd in his AG, I think, and I, well, I didn't have a great race but still had a great time! I did finish...you can read my race report for more.
