How do I find the words? I can’t seem to move from this spot until I do.

My dad has always been in very good shape. He’s had four sick days in his life and that was for a broken leg. He’s played soccer weekly since he was a kid and continued until a ligament tear stopped him from playing last year. He worked out almost everyday (often with a personal trainer) and was in some of the best shape of his life at age 60. He was strong. Shortly after he turned 58 he had a fitness check that put his ‘body age’ at 38. He was diligent and disciplined about maintaining his healthy quality of life – it would benefit him now and as a very old man. I mention all this because what comes next does not fit this picture.

In late December Dad had stomach pains, on and off. That’s how it started. Occasional stomach pains. In January he was tested and treated with a two week round of antibiotics for what the doctor thought could be a parasite he might have caught on a recent holiday to Barbados. A second round of antibiotics also failed to take care of it and he refused a third round until he could be checked for other possibilities. That weekend he had what turned out to be a blood clot below his knee. After a week of daily outpatient treatment and check ups at the hospital, it was decided that he could easily continue treatment himself with basic blood thinners and therefore be free to travel. My parents had their annual trip to Palm Springs waiting, but because Dad was not a candidate for blood clots, it didn’t sit well with him and he wanted to make sure there was a handle on everything before they made the long drive south. When his stomach pains worsened a week later, he was sent for a CT scan, which (after an agonizing day at the hospital) revealed that he had terminal cancer. Right out of the blue he was handed a death sentence. The follow up with a specialist five days later, on March 20th 2012, confirmed that Dad had stage four pancreatic cancer. Chemo could at best relieve some of his symptoms, but he’d have to speak to an oncologist at BC Cancer about that and the first available appointment was in three weeks time. Dad was given months maybe weeks to live.

We were stunned. And our family was absolutely devastated.

Jan, Thor and I flew home as soon as we got the green light and Thor’s passport sorted out. We arrived home April 6th. It felt so desperately short, the time we had left with him.

It was clear to see that Dad had lost weight but he definitely looked himself. Three days after we’d arrived, April 9th, was the first birthday I’d had at home with family since I’d moved to Copenhagen five years earlier. Dad joined us that afternoon for cake and a song. He’d been in excruciating pain all day but not wanting to ruin the day (bless him) he hadn’t made apparent how bad it was. Dad never complained. Ever. He didn’t want us to worry. Or maybe in my fear, I hadn’t wanted to see it. By evening there was no denying that the pain had become unbearable. Eventually he had to give in to our pleas to call the paramedics. Watching him climb into that ambulance split my heart right in two. We all cried, even though he asked us not to.

Dad spent two agonizing nights in emergency and was scanned again. The doctors where shocked at the rate at which his cancer had spread over “just three months”. Mom had to correct them: his first scan had been taken 3 weeks ago. Everything was going insanely quickly, for us and for the doctors. His prognosis, sadly, was changed to weeks or days. Probably days. Again, we were devastated. Dad was transferred to palliative care, where the objective was to control his pain and stabilize his medication so that we could bring him home to die. It was horrible, what Dad had to endure. We were with him 24 hours a day (Mom ”slept” at the hospital every night in the end to make sure Dad suffered as little as possible) and while we did everything we could think of to make a difference, we were helpless. There was never a safe window for bringing him home, sadly. Somehow he was able to stay himself to the very end: he called his own shots, he gave us courage (even though it should have been the other way around) and he was respectful of the staff at the hospital – even when they made mistakes (which to their credit were few and far between. For the most part they were absolutely wonderful, the palliative care team). Weeks earlier, when Dad had been told that he was going to die, he said that if he was going down, he was going to go down with dignity. And he did. April 18th, 2012, four months after he had had those first stomach pains, just four weeks after he was diagnosed, at the age of just 60, my dear dad died.

Three weeks on and I still find it hard to say those words out loud. Three weeks on and I still can’t quite grasp that Dad (always such a strong man) died of such a merciless disease. We all thought he’d live to be at least 90. What haven’t we begged the universe to do, to make that so. The sorrow is potentially bottomless, and I need to understand what happened. It still feels like one massive mistake and it just isn’t right.

Pancreatic cancer is extraordinarily lethal. It has the lowest 5 year survival rate of any cancer and is one of the most painful. Once you have symptoms – stomach ache, lower back pain, blood clots, or loss of appetite – it’s too late. Doctors can’t always explain why one person gets pancreatic cancer and another doesn’t. Up until the month before his death, Dad still had plans to golf in Palm Springs. My parents still planned to come meet their new grandson in Copenhagen in May. Everything was booked. Dad played golf (with difficulty) for the last time two weeks before he died. None of us had any idea, and we’re still trying to get a handle on how quickly everything happened.

Pancreatic Cancer claims just as many lives each year as breast and prostate cancer, yet research for a cure and/or early detection remains seriously underfunded – in Canada it receives less than 1% of research and charitable funding*. In Denmark there isn’t even a charitable fund specific to pancreatic cancer. We’re told that part of the reason the percentage is so low is that there are no survivors to fight the cause*. That is so very sad to me. As a direct result of low funding, there has not been any been any progress made in detection, treatment or a cure in 40 years. This frustrates me beyond belief to know. No one given this diagnosis is armed for any kind of battle.

Dad was ambushed. Plain and simple. There was no “battle with cancer” that he “lost”. A battle implies some kind of a chance (even a tiny one) but Dad wasn’t given one. Dad loved his life and reveled in finally having time to travel the world and savour some well deserved joys after all those decades of hard work and sacrifice (I’ve never met anyone who’ve worked harder or with more integrity than my parents). Instead, he experienced just two years of his retirement and was cheated out of the rest of it. Dad deserved so much better.

Out of respect for my dad’s collected reaction to all of this (he didn’t waste his last weeks being angry) I’ve had to shelve my fury about the unfairness of how it ended for him. And for us. Mom was robbed of her best friend and the love of her life, my sisters and I our beloved dad. I have to shelve my disappointment over the way the BC Cancer Society wouldn’t speak to us until Dad had had that first appointment with the oncologist (we couldn’t even get the dietary advice we hoped could prevent us from preparing food for him that hurt him). When you’re dying of stage four pancreatic cancer, three weeks is a long time. A day is a long time. Dad died two days before his appointment. From the day of his diagnosis, we were left to fend for ourselves. We researched frantically – and came up with so many more questions than we did answers. Not once did we find an answer to why.

Why this wonderful man.

I am grateful for the few days my son and my dad had together, and for knowing that Thor got to have a place in Dad’s heart before he had to go. I am grateful that we had the chance to say our goodbyes, even though there was never any doubt about how much he loved us or how proud we made him feel. I am grateful for my mom, my sisters, and for my own little family – they are an incredible source of strength. My dad has always meant the world to me and I still can’t believe I won’t ever be able to call home to hear his voice again. I can’t imagine the world without him – not any time soon, not even now.

*Information source: Pancreatic Cancer Canada, please visit www.pancreaticcancercanada.ca to donate. Thank you to those of you who have donated in Dad’s name. 

Soon doesn’t feel quick enough when someone who occupies such a huge part of your heart and is so central to your life is in trouble health wise – but the day is finally here and we’re off. We’d hoped to visit Melissa during this trip as well – but sadly her passing came far too soon. There is this overwhelming need to be home with family right now, so much that the past couple of weeks have felt like months.

I’m a little apprehensive about how it will go with Thor and the 20 hour travel day, but some big breaths along the way and I’m sure it will be fine. It’s just one day isn’t it. Worst case – we’ll be those passengers, you know, the ones with the screaming baby that every fellow passenger hates. Considering all the screaming babies I’ve sat in front of, beside, and behind in the span of my travelling life to date – I figure I’ve got some credit on that front. But let’s not go there just yet. Thor doesn’t often cross over to the dark side – so there’s no reason to think he will when it’s our turn. Right?

Wrapping up the last of the to-do’s (baby strapped into the carrier) and nearly there.
- Book flights
- Order bulkhead seats (SAS office closed!? Sweet Jesus I hope they’re available when we check in)
- Contact airlines regarding carry-on allowances with infant
- Double check travel insurance coverage
- Order and pay for Esta Visa for transfer via US
- Postpone appointment with sundhedsplejerske
- Purchase larger outdoor suit for Thor
- Test the Ergo Baby carrier (how long before Thor gets tired of it and throws a fit?)
- Attend open house at the day care center across the way (sign up deadline in a couple of weeks)
- Sign up Thor for day care (wait lists are long)
- Photograph frames wall as prep for upcoming photo project (the project that haunts me)
- Pack for myself and Thor
- Thoroughly clean entire apartment (who likes coming home to a grubby apartment, not me)
- Coffee with D and return borrowed books + magazines (forgot the books!)
- Pick up Matador Mix for Helena (and try not to eat it on the plane)

Honestly – this is the most productive I’ve been able to be since Thor came into the picture. I even managed to shave my legs, which is practically a miracle.

{Edit. Thor was an angel. He smiled or slept almost the entire way. As it turned it out, it wasn’t us, but the couple next to us on the long flight that were ‘those’ parents with the annoying child. At one point I looked over to find their kid sucking on Thor’s foot. Yikes}

My dear sweet friend Melissa passed away yesterday, having lost her year long battle to cancer. If you know someone with this disease, or worse – lost someone to it, you know how ruthless it is – and how randomly it seems to strike. If anything – it seems to seek out the good ones. But Melissa was not about her cancer, she was about passion and compassion, and that is what I want to remember here.

Melissa always tipped the scales towards the positive. Always. She overflowed with happiness for other people’s sake – with a tear in her eye that she’d fumble to hide. She was a magnet for good news that way – you just couldn’t wait to share it with her. When you were having a hard time – Melissa was the one who’d listen (and suggest that the offender was a jerk, just so you wouldn’t think it was you). And her sledgehammer wit – man alive she could get you going. Our weekly lunches together were spent laughing till we couldn’t breathe or coffee came out of her nose (3 times!).

So when she finally got the chance to make a reality of her dream to buy a beautiful space for her gorgeous ponies up in the Cariboo – you couldn’t help but feel this incredible happiness for her. She’d worked so hard and had hoped so long and was so deserving of her dream*. She loved those horses to bits. LOVED them. Her photography was inspired by that love and motivated by the passion she had for living where she did. They’re poetic, those photos – and I loved seeing the world through her eyes.

When I moved overseas, she was this incredible life line to home. I’ll never forget that, or the great reunions every Christmas. And when my own dear Dad was recently diagnosed with cancer she was a champion support, even through her own illness. I hope she knew what a light she’s been in my life and that she’ll always be a shining memory of true friendship whenever I think of her. I told her often that I loved her. But what I didn’t get to tell her in time was ‘thank you’. Thank you for your friendship Melissa. I will be forever grateful for it and for the time that we had.

 * Melissa got to live this dream for just 6 months before being diagnosed.

Each of these 5 years I’ve been living in Copenhagen – it’s been all about Spring. Degrees in the teens, blue skies and a city that comes alive almost overnight. Picnic blankets in the parks and sitting cross legged by the water. There’ve been long walks with Thor and a lot of time to reflect while my feet take one step after the other – all over the city that I love. I sometimes wonder what’s kept me away from Vancouver (especially given how much I’ve missed my family and friends back home) but it isn’t that at all. It’s the million small things that have kept me here. Like this day.

It connects over Wi-Fi, and via the free app, streams video of your baby from anywhere you can get an internet connection. You can also talk to your baby through the unit from your iPhone. There’s a 3-megapixel camera with night-vision mode as well as (parent controlled) night light, lullabies, a log for noticing sleep patterns and alerts to let you know if there’s activity when you’re not watching the screen. More info at the Withings website.

For a little balance: there also seem to be some mixed user reviews floating about, mostly with reference to buffering issues and interaction delays depending on the quality of your internet connection. But let’s admit it… the applesque design helps us overlook a glitch or two doesn’t it. 

I could only wish for two things in addition to all these shiny features. 1. a pram unit for those of us living in a land where babies nap outdoors summer and winter, and 2. that I actually needed this technological treat (living in an open loft space makes your own eyes and ears monitor enough).

I LOVE Copenhagen, but oh mama it’s easy to miss Vancouver on a sunny day.
{Thanks to the sweet tone of Tourism Vancouver’s little destination film}

Granville Street between 16th and Broadway. Meinhardts. Ouisi Bistro. Barney’s. Wicked Cafe. Browsing Chapters with a Starbucks latte in hand. Free tennis courts and sunshine. The #10 downtown. Yaletown & lunch with Melissa. Stanley Park. The Sea Wall. English Bay. The bottom of Broadway. Heritage houses and leafy streets. Eating organic. Capers. The Edge Cafe. Naam. Captain Crunch rolls at The Eatery. Burrard and 5th Avenue Theatre matinees. Toe pointing on 4th, creme coffees & hippy cookies* at Elyssian with Lolo. Saturday mornings at Granville Island where the market is bursting with endless choices and the atmosphere is that perfect mix of local farmer’s market/ art college/ industry/ cottage craft/ design/ cafe/ bars/ theatres. Friendly grocery clerks with genuine smiles. Grouse, Seymour and Cypress ski runs lit up on the mountains that cradle the city. The ocean. Kits Beach and The Kings Head. Dim Sum with Betty. White Rock. My lovely family. Sunday pizza & red wine. Home.

Felt good, that.

*and by hippy I mean granola