We Are In This Fight

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On December 1, 2017 a nurse met me in the lobby where I was waiting for my dad to finish with his doctor’s appointment. She had a look of panic on her face when she said, “Take your dad to the emergency room now and don’t make any stops. They will be waiting for you at the front door!” I remember being confused and frantic but had to play it calm not to alarm my dad. On the way to the ER I called my brother and husband to meet us there but had no idea why. About an hour after our arrival and getting dad checked in to the ER, a doctor walked in and dropped a bomb on all our lives. She said, “Mr. Twichell you have a brain tumor and we are going to have you transported to Vidant Medical Center right away to meet with a brain surgeon.” I will never forget the look on my brother’s face when we heard the news and at the time I am not sure my dad could even process what the doctor had just revealed.

On December 8, 2017, dad’s brain surgeon met with my brother and I just minutes after completing my dad’s brain surgery and said, “Your dad has terminal brain cancer. I couldn’t remove all of the tumor and I’m estimating your dad has about 12 months to live.” WHOA! I didn’t move a muscle and couldn’t say a word. Again, my brother and I were left to process what this all meant? How would dad handle the news? How were our lives going to be impacted? How were we going to tell our friends and family? Should we get a second opinion? Should we enroll dad in a trial study? Little did we know our lives would never be the same again and we were entering a world of complete chaos.

On December 15, 2017, dad’s doctor told him the horrific news and my dad went silent. After several deep breaths when he finally found his words he looked my brother and I directly in the eyes and said, “We are in this fight.”

From December 1, 2017 through March 6, 2019 I gave my dad my all. I made countless trips to doctor’s appointments, multiple trips to the pharmacy, infinite trips to the grocery store and anywhere else my dad needed me. I handled all his financial and legal affairs which were things I had never helped my dad with in the past because he is such a private person. There were nights I would come home from a day with dad and literally say to myself, “Just a few more steps Sarah and you will be in bed.” Days when I told myself, “You can do this Sarah, just find a way to put one foot in front of the other.” Times when I looked at my planner and had to say, “Just take one day at a time.” I can even remember times when I could barely turn my neck to drive because my neck muscles were so tight from the emotional stress. Most days it was physically exhausting to put a smile on my face and easier to just cry it out. I have never in my life experienced a struggle as exhausting as this battle and have never had a situation effect my emotional, physical and mental health the way this has. But no matter the struggle I tackled it because I had to show up for my dad and I refused to give up.

Until March 3, 2019 when I struggled to make it up my back steps exhausted from a day of taking care of dad; fixing his meals, helping him to the bathroom, and doing it all with a smile on my face so he wouldn’t see the sadness in my eyes. When I finally made it in my house I found my husband standing at his closet when I said the words I had forbid myself to ever say, “I can’t do this anymore.” There I admitted it! I said the hardest five words I have ever heard come out of my mouth. I felt defeated, guilty and helpless. How could I quit on my hero who had always been there for me and never once given up on me? I thought at the time I had finally hit my rock bottom by admitting my dad needed more care then I could physically provide. I thought I was a failure and had let my hero down.

On March 6, 2019 I helped my dad out the door of his home for the last time and drove him to his new home, The Crystal Coast Hospice House. We left his home of 20 years, the home he raised his children in and the home where we created a lifetime of memories as a family. The house I laid my head down at night through middle school, high school, college breaks and the year Chris and I built our first home. The house I learned to pitch a softball. The house my brother and husband broke all the furniture wrestling. The house where my dad addressed every single one of my wedding invitations by hand. The house where my brother shot his first deer. The place I would go to cry when life wasn’t going my way, the place I went in search of advice, the place I learned a lot of tough lessons and the place I was always loved unconditionally. On March 6, 2019 we walked out of the house that built me for the last time together.

A few weeks later, my brother and I decided dad would probably not be returning home and since dad rented his house we felt there was no sense in keeping a house no one was using, and it would help dad financially to not pay bills at two places. I began the processes of going through dad’s belongings and cleaning out my childhood home. A few hours into the torture, I found myself sobbing on the floor surrounded by pictures, newspaper articles, trophies, notes my dad saved that I had written him over the years and a lifetime of other memories. It was then and there I realized I had given my dad my all and it wasn’t enough. There wasn’t anything I could do to fix his illness, it was out of my control. I was laid out on the floor sobbing over a situation I couldn’t change. There wasn’t a to-do list I could tackle to improve the situation or even a medicine I could go pick up for dad to take. For the first time in my life I was faced with a situation I couldn’t change or work harder to improve. I sobbed until my muscles ached, my eyes almost swollen shut from the tears and my physical strength was at an all-time low. I was laid out on the same carpet I had tracked dirt on so many times, the same carpet I spilt multiple drinks on as a kid and the carpet I vacuumed a thousand times to get the hair up that my dogs had shed. I was laid out sobbing on the floor and helplessly hit my rock bottom. This was the lowest point I have found myself, in my whole thirty years of life. It was on that floor at my lowest point that I remembered the words my dad spoke on December 15, 2017, “We are in this fight.” It was on that floor that I decided to get back up and keep fighting. I had to do this for me. I had to gain control of my life again and let go of the things I couldn’t control.

Prior to making the decision to get up and keep fighting, I was showing up to work but not one part of me was present. I would sit in my office with the door closed and pray no one would call my phone. For months I went through the motions of life but was never actually present anywhere. When I was on the floor at my dad’s house not only did I decide to let go of the things I can’t control but also it was time to start showing up for me again.  I was tired of crying and I was tired of feeling like a rain cloud. I missed my energy and I missed my sparkle. Most of all I missed being me. Yes, I still get sad about my dad’s situation and yes, I still cry but that is just part of going through this difficult time. I made the decision to get back up and live my life again but that does not mean everyday will be rainbows and flowers. Some days I roll through the day and get everything done with a smile on my face and other days I struggle to get out of bed because of the heart ache I constantly feel. But no matter how I feel when I wake up I still put both of my feet on the floor and find a way to show up for me. It’s not always easy but that doesn’t mean I can just throw in the towel and give up. I only get one shot at life and I can choose to lay in the floor and cry or I can get up and be the best version of me.

The day after I made the decision to get up and keep fighting, I walked into my office and called a meeting with my staff. I stood in front of my whole staff and admitted I need to take a leave of absence for me. I promised them when I returned I would not only be at the office, but I was going to be present again! This was hard for me to admit to a group of people I was supposed to be leading but I like to think good leaders know when to ask for help or admit when they need help. My staff was supportive of my decision and I think they admired me for taking the time to work on becoming a better version of me. To be honest I didn’t want to take the leave of absence, but I couldn’t sit in my office with the door shut anymore and my staff deserved a leader who was present.

The truth is I already miss my dad even though he is still here with us. But he isn’t the same dad I am used to having. Yes, I can still sit and rub his hand; yes, I can tell him how much I love him every day and yes, I am so thankful for every minute I have with him. But I miss going to ball games with him; I miss the way he used to light up when I would come to visit and most of all I miss hearing him say my name.

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I didn’t share this story to make my readers sad or to make you feel sorry for me. I wrote this to let you know I am still in this fight and as long as I am here on this Earth I will continue to be a fighter. I am not the only person going through hell and I am not the only person struggling with one of life’s battles, WE ALL ARE! How we choose to respond is what makes us and breaks us. If you are going through hell, struggling with one of life’s battles or have found yourself in a low place do yourself a favor and get back up! Find a way to show up for you. DO IT FOR YOU!