My father died of cancer.

There. I said it. The big “C” word. The word that shattered my whole world.

My dad was diagnosed when I was ten years old. I was too young to understand how serious his condition really was, but I remember feeling scared and alone. I had so many questions I didn’t know how to ask, so I didn’t ask them. I regret that now. Maybe understanding what was happening may have helped soothe my panic. He was rushed into hospital when his diagnosis was confirmed. It was in the middle of the week. My mum made my twin sister and I go to school, to try to keep things normal. Of course things were far from normal, and pretending that life was the same didn’t make it any easier.

When Dad went in for the first operation, I naively thought that that would be it. That the nightmare would be over. Unfortunately it just went downhill from there. I can’t even write this without crying, but the hospital messed up. They did the operation wrong the first time and had to redo it. Then to my horror and shock, they made fatal mistakes during the second operation and had to repeat it a third time. You cannot imagine how angry and upset I was.

I thought it couldn’t get much worse than that.
Boy was I wrong.

It sounds impossible that one hospital patient could be failed so many times. However I assure you I am not making this up. The hospital made yet another mistake. A mistake that almost cost my father his life. After going through three operations in less than a week my dad was too weak to eat, so he was put on a feeding tube. The nurses responsible for his care didn’t clean out the tube properly while Dad was using it, and it became septic. He almost died from blood poisoning. He was put in a drug-induced coma to preserve his energy, and was taken by ambulance to another nearby hospital. This was because the hospital he had previously been in said they weren’t equipped to deal with the situation.

My dad survived that harrowing experience despite all odds. He recovered from the blood poisoning and the operations, though doctors claimed it unlikely. All my family wept when he was discharged. We knew he had a long stint of chemotherapy ahead, but we were overwhelmed with relief that he had made it. As for the hospital, after what happened to my dad a thorough investigation was undertaken, and it was shut down. I am forever grateful that no one can ever suffer in that place again. My hate and bitterness may never fully leave me, but I have now come to terms with the time Dad spent in that place.

The chemotherapy was a rocky process. It is not something I would wish on anyone. Dad was always ill, barely ate, and lost his hair. He felt like he had to “be a man” so didn’t say how much everything was getting on top of him. However, I could see the exhaustion in his eyes and posture. I didn’t know how to support him, and that made me feel helpless. He was so strong and I am still in awe of his resilience and determination. He was truly the bravest person I have ever known.

Around two and a half years later he was given the all clear. I was overjoyed! I felt like the luckiest, most blessed person in the world. My dad, mum, sister and I could finally start to rebuild our lives. We had all been shaken by our experiences and decided to move to New Zealand. We all wanted a fresh start. We believed a new country would give us that. We thought we could finally live happily ever after, like in the fairytales my mother told me when I was young.

I should have known it was not meant to be.
I should have realised that after all we had been through, we couldn’t escape.
We couldn’t possibly be this lucky.

Midway through our first year in New Zealand Dad’s cancer came back. I was beyond devastated. It was around that time I started suffering with depression and anxiety, although I didn’t receive treatment until years later. I was so hurt and furious that my family were going to have to go through all the pain again. Although there weren’t the devastating mistakes made by health professionals the second time around, in many ways it was worse then it was the first time. One significant challenge was that since we had moved country, we had no family around. We were cut off from any semblance of a support network. This was especially challenging for my mum who had to juggle caring for my dad, trying to run his business, and raising two teenage girls. I didn’t appreciate how much she did for me at the time. If I could go back and help out more I would in a heartbeat. I was so caught up in my own grief, I became selfish and shut myself off from my mum and sister. They worried about me a lot, and I shouldn’t have put them through any of that. I will regret my actions for the rest of my life.

My father became sicker and sicker as the cancer took hold and spread. He was severely depressed and started threatening to commit suicide. He was in so much pain my mum looked into euthanasia, but this is illegal in New Zealand so was a dead end. I know it sounds terrible that this option was looked into. However if you haven’t been through a similar experience, you will never understand the helplessness of watching a loved one deteriorate right in front of you. He used to beg me to help him end his life, and he became addicted to his pain killers, and would sometimes hallucinate. I have no words to describe how horrifying, and terrifying this was for me to experience. I was just a child, and I had seen things I didn’t have the maturity or life experience to comprehend. The last few months of my dad’s life were the worst times of my entire life. I still have nightmares about it today.

My dad died a month after my fifteenth birthday. I felt hollow and numb. I did not feel like Dad had just died. He had died inside months before his heart stopped. There was so much crying, but I could not shed a single tear after his funeral. My energy had been truly spent. My depression took a hold of me and I gave up hope. I just wanted to forget everything. Nobody really understood what I had been through. Some people even told me I was “lucky” to have got to say goodbye before my dad died. They didn’t understand I had five years of memories and fear to deal with. Getting to say goodbye seemed like small consolation. I went on various grief courses, and even the counsellors acted like my loss was less important than other teens whose parent had died suddenly. I knew my dad was going to die years in advance, so I must have had time to prepare and feel better they claimed. I felt belittled, like my experiences counted for less. I gave up on professional help and became increasingly more depressed and isolated.

I was almost sixteen when I attempted suicide. I couldn’t escape my past, and I couldn’t see a future. I just gave up completely. I was forced into therapy. It didn’t help because I wasn’t ready to admit I needed help. However the next year when things got worse, I finally admitted I wasn’t okay. This time when help was offered to me I didn’t refuse. I didn’t argue. I didn’t get angry.

I said yes.
It was the best decision I have ever made.

I was accepted into specialist outpatient care after being diagnosed with severe depression and anxiety. I was put on medication that helped stabilize my mood. With therapy my life started looking up, and I began to enjoy things again. I can honestly say I know I will have a future I can be proud of. I have been through a lot, but I am coming to terms with the loss of my father, and the impact his treatment had on me. I want to implore anyone who is losing a parent to seek professional help, because things can get better. Therapy is scary but it will make the tough times easier. I am now part of an organisation that helps young people who have had a cancer experience. Many of their stories are similar to my own. It helps to express myself to people who truly understand my loss.

To all of you who can relate to my story I have something to say to you. Your experiences are important. You are important. Most importantly however, know that you are never alone. I felt alone for so long, because I didn’t realise all the support I had right in front of me. Please don’t make the same mistake. Realizing that help is out there can make your difficult journey that little bit better.