A daughter helps her father with recovery in a way that no nurse could
The week passed quickly enough; almost too quickly for Pete, who dreaded the consultation that was coming with his urologist. When you start with a cancer diagnosis, he thought, how can it get better? The only bright spot, he thought, was that Olivia would be there with him.
Dr. Richter seemed to find just the right balance; concern and empathy for Pete’s condition and decision-making, but clear, efficient, and to the point. “You have to do something about this, Pete,” he said, “it’s not a slow-moving cancer, the kind we can just watch. The options, frankly, are two: radiation or surgery.”
There was a pause and then Pete said “Ok, can you give more detail?” So the doctor explained the process of radiation and then surgery. “Let’s get to it, Doc; what would you do?”
“Surgery. It gives you by far the best odds of a full recovery, Pete. And if there are still some cancer cells floating around we can use radiation on them. But if we use radiation first, we can’t do surgery as a backup.”
Another pause. “What are the implications of the surgery?”
“Well, it’s a laparoscopic procedure, so there are only several small incisions. It takes about three to four hours and will require a catheter be installed for a week to ten days.”
The Olivia chimed in: “Dad is too shy to ask, Doctor Richter, but what about, well, sex?”
“Ah, the big question. A full removal of the prostate is called a radical prostatectomy and, yes, very often results in full or partial impotence. There are treatments and protocols to deal with that. Another, less total, surgery can be done, that preserves the nerves essential to achieving erection. The surgery takes longer and, I have to say, does not guarantee success. It’s a delicate procedure; what we urologists all “peeling the onion”. There may still be problems of a sexual nature later. How about I give you a few minutes to think about it? And with that Dr. Richter left the room.
Pete remained silent, his gaze almost unseeing. Finally Olivia moved her chair closer and gently placed her hand on his thigh, breaking the silence. “Dad, I don’t think there’s really any hard choices here - sorry for the pun, Dad - but I think you need to peel that onion.”
“What’s the point? It’s a more delicate surgery, takes more time, and has no guarantee of success. And even if it is successful, what’s that point? I have no intentions of, well, you know…”.
“Why close doors that don’t have to be closed? Who really knows? Maybe you’ll meet someone - oh, I don’t know - next years and want to, well, get together with her”. Olivia blushed slightly at the euphemisms that seemed to govern her conversation with Pete.
A minute passed when Pete finally turned to look into Olivia’s eyes. “Meet someone, eh? Get together, eh? You know that your mom is the only woman that I ever “got together” with, right?” Olivia’s blush deepened. Noticing this Pete continued “sorry; too much information. But seriously, Ollie; I’m not remotely interested in sex with anyone that I’m not truly in love with. And I can’t see any woman replacing your mom on that score. But, ok; I can’t argue with you, never could. We’ll do it your way.” And when Dr. Richter returned he was asked to “peel the onion”.
The surgery date approached quickly. Once again Olivia sat with Pete through the pre-operation interviews, read the literature given to Pete, and prepared for the event, and took a leave from her teaching on compassionate grounds. By the actual date she was an expert; understood the details of the laparoscopic surgery, the need for a catheter, the degree of incapacity that Pete would experience for the couple of weeks post-operation, and the slow progress on the collateral effects. She insisted that Pete discuss everything fully and frankly with her and, with that, even after over 30 years, they seemed to reach a new level of understanding, a new level of communication, a directness that seemed to banish any embarrassment or reserve.
“I’ll help you with the catheter; it needs attention every few hours,” she said, “and then you’ll have to be ready when it’s removed; there’ll be, well, leaking.”
“How are you going to help me with that?” Pete smiled.
“Well, I’ll at least make sure you’ve got the right pants; let’s call them speedos, ok?” and both laughed.
The surgery went ahead as scheduled and immediately after Dr. Richter told Olivia “it was successful, we preserved the nerves fully, we think, so fingers crossed on that score. We’ve sent the gland for further biopsy and will have the results in ten days or so.”
Olivia was surprised to feel the tears in her eyes as she thanked Dr. Richter and again several hours later when Pete was moved to his recuperation room. She sat patiently as he slept, keenly aware of the tears and the changed feelings she was experiencing. She couldn’t stop her hand from reaching out and gently stroking her father’s chest, rising and falling with it as he slept. Finally, groggy, he woke up to her smile as she hastily wiped the tears away. “Mission accomplished,” she smiled, “100% success, Dr. Richter says. And those all important nerves are still there” and with that she gave him a roguish wink. She leaned down over him and gave him a quick, warm kiss on his lips. He smiled, and was soon asleep again as she returned to his house to make preparations for his return the next day.
Well armed with more literature from the hospital Olivia managed Pete’s return with grace and efficiency and had him settled in his own bed quickly the next day, catheter properly arranged, and Pete made comfortable. Pete lay quietly and when Olivia asked “can I get you anything? The paper? A book? Your laptop?”
“No. No thanks.” And staring at the ceiling he was quiet for a moment and then said “there’s really only one thing missing” and with that his right arm reached out and patted the empty side of the bed; Jenny’s side.
Olivia stood for a second deep in thought and then “well, maybe we can help with that” and slipping her shoes off, then her sweater, slipped on to the bed. “Better?” she asked, turning her head to Pete.
“Yes, better.”
She moved closer, close enough to cuddle Pete, to lay her arm across his chest. “Still better?”
“Yes, still better. Much better,” and neither seemed surprised when she leaned over and kissed him lightly on the lips.
“I know I can never replace Mom, but maybe I can make it a little better.”
“Yes, I think you can,” and with that, and with Pete’s hand lying lightly on Olivia’s he drifted off to sleep.
Recovery and a new routine quickly began; on the very first night at home Olivia could hear from her room Pete struggling as he got up and tried to deal with his catheter, so without any discussion the next night as Pete prepared for the night Olivia slipped into the other side of the bed, pyjamas on, night time book at the ready. “All right?” she asked, glancing over at Pete.
“Yes. Good,” came his quick reply. And, hearing Pete’s rhythmic breathing as she read, she quietly turned out the light, slid just as quietly across the bed, spooned up against Pete and wrapped him in a gentle hug, and fell into her own soft dreams.
Neither spoke of the new sleeping arrangement, silently accepting it as what it seemed; comforting, supportive, and loving. At Pete’s slightest unrest in the night Olivia was instantly alert, helping him with his catheter, confused blankets, or simply hushing him back to sleep, gently caressing his chest, quietly whispering soothing words to him. And neither spoke of the fact that almost every morning they awoke in a close embrace, usually with one spooning the other, but not infrequently in a face to face embrace with Olivia’s head against Pete’s chest.
But words aren’t the only form of communication. There was a new language being spoken between them; sitting closer together on the couch while watching TV, Olivia easily fitting into a snuggle with Pete, his arm protectively holding her close, one or the other’s hand occasionally resting on the other’s thigh. His hand lightly on her shoulder as she sat at the table and as he passed by. Random hugs that happened through the day, always lasting longer than they used to. This new language sometimes tried to surface in Olivia’s mind and tried to make itself understood, but Olivia ignored it, pushed it down below her consciousness. She didn’t want to understand it, she just wanted to enjoy the new pleasure it gave her as it grew.
And Pete felt it too. As his preoccupation with recovery lessened, as his mobility and independence increased, he also wanted to speak this new language. Cloistered off from the world by his recovery and Olivia’s leave from work he was happy that their home was almost hermetically sealed. There seemed only Olivia and Pete in this world and he was happy with that, too. The hospital kiss was repeated; it became their habit to give quick kisses as the awoke, fell asleep, or on the rare occasions when Olivia went out to shop.
The catheter was removed and the biopsy results were good: in all likelihood the surgery would mean complete and permanent remission and in a few weeks the side effects should be resolved. It was all good news and by all rights it would have allowed Olivia to return to work, but when Pete first mentioned it Olivia laughed and said “you’re not fully recovered, Dad; you’re stuck with me for a while yet.” There was a pause and, almost shyly, she glanced out the window and said quietly “and there are other things we have to deal with.” By now their unspoken language had many words and Pete felt his heartbeat rising with her words.