 |
| Canada Day 2011, Rogers Centre Stadium, Rick Hansen & Charles Griese |
NOTE: If illness details will distress you, bypass the blue paragraphs.
The speed of the main tumour's growth was amazing. We could see the changes almost daily. The mass on the right side of his chest stretched from sternum across to his back and down his side.
It was nearly as large as a football by the end. This was only apparent as a bruise in February, as thick as the palm of your hand in March, the size of a grapefruit in April, a cantelope in May. By June there were countless tumours visible under the skin all over his body, a tumour the size of an orange in his stomache. In April, a tumour the size of a lime was removed from his brain. This helped to restore the paralysis in his right arm caused by its rupture. The tumour on his side was unable to be excised since too many nerves and blood vessels were already throughout.
Charlie had to hold out his arm at a 90 degree angle and the pressure of the tumour on the nerves caused him to lose most of his motor control. The stomache tumour prevented him from eating very much at all, or keeping down what he did manage to eat. He was very weak, and struggling but resisted pain killers until the last few weeks. He did not want to be "foggy-headed" so he preferred to manage the pain and be alert.
Charlie waited eagerly for our visits. He was always ready to be up and apologizing for being so weak and tired. The doctors had told us months earlier that there was no way to turn things around; there were only weeks to months left.
We wanted to enjoy a family day at a Blue Jays/Phillies game on Canada Day. Sisters, nieces and nephews traveled up from NJ to see their beloved Phillies. Local family supported the Blue Jays. Charlie, well we are Yankees fans anyway, we were there for the fun of it. Fifteen of us planned to attend the Canada Day game in Toronto.
By this time we were traveling with a "Do Not Resuscitate" (DNR) certificate, a special "end of life symptom relief" kit and enough doses of morphine to help ease the pain. We borrowed a wheel chair from a friend since Charlie could not walk very far. Mom, Charlie and I traveled to Toronto by VIA RAIL so that he might be a bit more comfortable than in a car. The rest of the family met us at the game.
All medical professionals involved in his care agreed that we should do this if we could. We all know that he could collapse at any moment, and that would be his last. He was clear that he wanted no further medical intervention, no more laying in a hospital bed waiting. He had enough of medical care throughout his 51 years and just wanted to die peacefully, in his own bed. Charlie wanted to be living every last of these minutes left. I was determined to make sure that he could.
Arriving at Rogers Stadium, we manouver our way to the "will call" ticket windows and then on to an handicapped accessible entrance. We missed the first one but I saw another ahead.
As we roll up to the door so does another wheelchair. The familiar smile of Rick Hansen lights up with a thumbs up to Charlie. Charlie has a broad smile of recognition, thumbs up to Rick. They chat for a few minutes. Rick had enough time for a few words, a hand shake and a quick photo. This made Charlie's day. Rick was actually there to throw out the first pitch.
He managed to watch most of the game, spending only a few innings inside. He asked if we got a picture and was so pleased that we did. We made it home that night. He was so weak, exhausted and could barely speak by now.
We brought him a framed photo of the Rick Hansen encounter amd Charlie was so pleased. We hung it at eye level for his bed. Charlie told me that he wanted to write Rick a letter. Rick Hansen had been a major source of inspiration in Charlie's life - and we always wondered where he found the strength to overlook his challenges.
Charlie dictated the letter, signed it and I mailed it to Rick. I also tweeted a thank you for taking the time to talk to a man who really only had days left to live. To his great credit, Rick Hansen and the Rick Hansen foundation acknowledged the tweet and the letter, Rick thanked us and also sent us his personal condolences when Charlie did pass away.
Rick Hansen
Rick Hansen Foundation
300-3820 Cessna Drive
Richmond, BC, V7B 0A2
Dear Rick:
Before I saw you I did not have a focus, and you came along and shifted my thoughts. I did not have a clue about things like “basketball wheelchairs” and cross-country tours.
In March 1994 I had a hip replacement. In April 1995 I had a kidney transplant. I started to spend my first time in a wheel chair. When I saw you on your tour I focused on the things that you said. You made me think about the positive – like the Olympics.
It April 2011 I woke up and my arm was paralyzed. They thought it was a stroke. I was told that I had a cancerous tumour. It weakened my body. I followed what you did, seeing you on TV shows (like Danger Bay) as you told your story.
Now you have me thinking, after I saw you at the Rogers Centre Stadium on Canada Day. I can see how much you can do in a short time and how far you can go.
It was nice, shaking your hand. Thank you.
Sincerely,
Charles Griese
This day brought a few very special gifts:
- A great Canada Day family reunion
- Charlie met his hero
- Priceless memories with Charlie
- Donations in Charlie's memory are asked to be directed to the Rick Hansen Foundation
to be continued:
Part 1 - The Journey
Part 2 - The Man
Part 4 - The Goodbye
I stopped at your blog when I read the subject and I went back to see the earlier posts on the subject and had to tell you how happy I was to read your brothers story. I fought melanoma and won but two friends diagnosed at the same time lost theirs. My life since then has been to spread the word of how deadly melanoma is. Thank you for helping to spread the word.
ReplyDeleteThank you. I am glad to hear your story. I know that finding the cancer early is the best rate of success. Charlie's primary was already 11 mm thick when it was found.
ReplyDeleteI want everyone to be careful and to keep a check on their moles.