Pancreatic Cancer SUCKS. There I said it again…and I'm going to keep saying it. Far too many people have lost their lives to it before their time. Among some of the more famous celebrities that have fallen victim to this form of cancer: Michael Houser of Widespread Panic, Dizzy Gillespie, Patrick Swayze, and most recently Steve Jobs. There's also someone else very special that was close to me that died of this horrible disease….my Grandfather. While he may have not been a visionary, musically inclined, or a well known actor, he was a very important influence on my early life.
The survival rate according to the American Cancer Society, for all stages of pancreatic cancer combined, the one-year relative survival rate is 20%, and the five-year rate is 4%. If it is caught early enough, there is a procedure that can be done to try and stop the cancerous cells from spreading…but that is a big IF. Basically if the cancer has spread beyond your Pancreas, its only a matter of time until you pass on. My Grandfather got sick before Christmas in December of 1994, he passed on in August of 1995.
Simply put…pancreatic cancer is a death sentence.
A while ago I wrote down my thoughts on my Grandfather's death. I haven't had the chance to re-read this in its entirety … so the grammar, capitalization and spelling might be haphazard at best. Consider yourself warned. It came from what was inside of my heart at one of the worst times of my life so I hope that you don't hold that against me.
11/03/02 – 3:33am
"My Grandfather"
No matter how hard you try, you can not get rid of demons from the past. My “demons” or “skeletons in the closet” are my Grandparents. I don’t mean my Mom’s parents – my Maternal Grandparents are still alive. I am talking about my Paternal Grandparents – my Dad’s Parents. Everytime I talk about them it is hard to not start crying or feeling heartbroken. I cannot help but feel like I was basically screwed out of getting to say my proper goodbyes to them. Yes, they are dead. Both of them. I am still not used to the fact of having only one set of Grandparents. I don’t if I’ll ever get used to it.
My Grandfather, Russell died August 31st 1995. He died the summer after I came back from going to Norway. He was gravely ill. It all started back in December 1994, right around Christmas. My Grandfather (in his 70s) came down with a case of Yellow Jaundice. This came as a shock to me mainly because I vividly remember him saying the doctor thought he was “healthy as a horse” a few months earlier. That Christmas was a little unusual, because “Poppy” wasn’t around, he was in the hospital. After Christmas dinner and exchanging gifts the whole family drove up to see him in the Hospital – Mercy Hospital, as a matter of fact. We gave him our various presents. He seemed in good spirits. If you knew my Grandfather – his normal demeanor was always cracking jokes about anything and everything. When we crowded around his bed he cracked some jokes about how all of the hospital food “tasted like they cooked it all in the same pot”. We all laughed along, but I couldn’t wait to get out of the hospital secretly. Hospitals have always freaked me out, along with Nursing Homes. I really don’t know why. Usually, I’ll glance into someone’s room and see something bad, like a real sick person. I get heartbroken just thinking that someone may be dying at the minute I walk in. We finally left the hospital after staying for an hour or so. My Grandfather eventually returned home only to get worse.
I don’t remember exactly when he was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer. This all happened a long time ago, and I was only a pre-teen at the time. I remember throughout the Winter my Grandfather being in and out of the hospital, hooked and unhooked from various scary looking machines. Sometimes he had so many wires and needles and tubs coming out of him that I was scared to touch him. I didn’t want to accidentally bump one out of place. Sometimes just looking at him was enough to make me want to cry. I hated seeing him (or anyone for that matter) in so much pain.
As time went on, he seemed to go into a withdrawn phase. He would acknowledge you were there. Talk to you briefly then nod off and go to sleep, or just sit there not talking at all. I often wondered what it was that he was thinking about. I also thought about my Grandmother and what she was feeling. Sometimes I think she was hurt by him saying so little.
After the long winter of being in and out of the hospital, my Grandfather seemed to be getting better. They took him out of the hospital for a while in the spring. I can remember because when I went to Norway in May I sent a postcard to both sets of my Grandparents. My Dad even brought the family dog “Dutchess” down to my Grandparent’s house a few times to liven things up a bit. It seemed that some time after I got back from Norway (June-July-ish) is when my Grandfather’s health started to rapidly worsen. That summer, being a good niece, I stayed down my other Grandmother’s house and watched my Aunt Annette’s kids. I did that along with dealing with this pain and fears of my Grandfather dying. I remember there being talks of Hospice’s and a bunch of other things that a 14 year old would not understand.
One night, my brother and I were staying with my Grandmother. Walking into her living room was completely weird. There was a huge hospital bed in the center of the living room. The hospice people said my Grandfather wanted “to come home”. All the preparations were there for him to come home. Since it was a weekend, I think they wanted to wait until Monday to bring him home. I just remember feeling really sad looking around seeing the various hospital equipment. At one point during my visit, I nearly broke down in tears. I went up and hid in one of the spare bedrooms. I didn’t want my Grandmother or my Brother seeing that I was crying. All of the sudden, I heard my Grandmother get out of the tub. I panicked because my eyes were bloodshot and you could tell that I was just crying. “Michelle,” she called out “is that you??”.
“Yes.” Trying to hide my sniffles.
She could tell that I had been crying. She asked me what was wrong. My Grandmother always had a great way of comforting me. I felt so scared and I just blurted out “I DON’T WANT POP TO DIE.” And with that, I started sobbing furiously again. She held me tight and she said “Me Neither”. That was all we said. We sat there for what seemed like an eternity just hugging and crying. My brother eventually came up to see what we were doing. We quickly dried our eyes and my Grandmother came up with a good excuse and we went back downstairs to watch a movie and then went to bed.
The hospital bed in the living room always comes back to haunt me. Why, you ask? Well, remember how I said that the Hospice Workers told my Grandmother and family that my Grandfather wanted to “come home”. They misunderstood him. After my Grandfather was told that everything was ready for him to come home, he just shook his head. He said “I want to go to my other home”. He meant heaven. One day when my brother was staying down my Grandmother’s house one of the people from the Hospice came by and filmed the front of the house and the surroundings of Lee Park – where my Grandfather grew up and lived. He apparently had asked the Hospice workers to do this so he “could see his real home one last time”.
I remember particular, this one week. It was mandatory for my brother and I to stay down my other Grandmother’s (Mom’s Mom) house. My mother explained to my brother and I that “Pop was getting very, very sick.” And they weren’t going to be around much to cook and watch us that week. I was getting very scared. Every night I’d find somewhere to spend alone for a few minutes. I’d think to myself. “Oh god. I’m so scared. I don’t want to lose my Grandfather. He and I are so close.” The one night, I made a plan. I found this picture of my Grandfather and I together when I was about 4 years old. We were standing on a porch together next to a big deer he got while hunting. I decided that when Pop dies, I wanted this picture to go with him. I didn’t want him to forget me on the other side. I also decided that I should get him a little something else…so he isn’t scared while making his journey to the other side. While out shopping with my Grandmother later in the week, I managed to scrounge up enough money to get a small white teddy bear. The teddy bear was so small and cute that I figured he would be the perfect thing to get.
Thursday came around. Thursday of that week. – the 31st. I was baby-sitting my cousins and then all of the sudden my uncle got home early – around 5. I was pretty much off the hook from that point on. I didn’t have to watch the kids anymore. I stuck around anyway because my aunt had some cats. The cats were fun to play with so that is what I was doing. All of the sudden my Grandmother walked out on the porch and called me over. She told me to come inside because she had something to tell me. (Sidenote: My Aunt and Grandmother were neighbors at the time). I was sitting down on her porch when she told me the news. My Grandfather had died. I know I mentioned this above, but my heart broke, literally. All of my emotions and feelings came pouring out in the form of tears. I broke down really bad. My Grandmother just held me. She was crying too. I didn’t know what to do. I didn’t know what to say. I had a 2 Grandfathers when I woke up in the morning, but now I only have 1. How could this be? Suddenly I felt so guilty, I felt like I should have spent more time with him, I felt like I should have went to see him more in the hospital, I should have hugged him more, and I shouldn’t have taken him for granted.
I some how managed to sleep that night. I really don’t know how. I think I may have cried myself to sleep. The next day came quickly, and funeral arrangements had to be made. The very next day I was go to and get my hair cut so I looked presentable for the funeral and also school which started in a few more days. The next thing I remember was going to the viewing. My Grandmother, Dad, Aunt and Mother were all seated in the first row. I was in one of the rows behind them. This was the first viewing I was ever at, and I wasn’t really sure what normally happened in funeral homes. My Grandfather was layed out in a Casket in a very nice suit (picked out my Grandmother). I remember looking down at him and thinking that he just looked like he was in a deep sleep. If you stared for too long at his eyes you’d swear that you would see them blink. After the night of the viewing was over, I went home for the first time a few weeks. I slept well that night and woke up semi-refreshed the next morning. That morning we were to report to the funeral home and close the casket and then go to the church where there was going to be a burial mass. Then we were going to the Cemetery to the actual “funeral”.
Closing the casket was the hardest part of the ordeal I think. I remember just standing around it with my family and we were all praying and touching him. I stroked his hair. He was really thin, and looked a lot different from the “Poppy” I was used to seeing. I thought that it wasn’t really him, that my Poppy was going to jump out from behind a door saying “Surprise” like he’d always joke around. It was real, and it was him. I started crying furiously again. I didn’t want to say goodbye.
At the burial mass, I sat next to my Dad. For the first time in my entire life, I seen my Dad cry. That really touched me. My Dad and Grandfather were really close. I think losing him really tore my Dad up. After that, we attended the actual “funeral”. I don’t really remember the burial process really well. I didn’t take that long. The wind was blowing and I was exhausted. I wanted to go home and sleep or cry more. The day of the funeral was the first day of school. I didn’t go. It was the only “first day” of school I have ever missed.
I still go to visit his grave. I still miss him terribly. I will never forget him and the impact he has had on my life. He will always be there and I really do hope to see him on the other side some day. I miss you Pop.
PS – Donate to Pancreatic Cancer Research here: http://www.pancan.org/