My Dad, as you know, has been having some health problems over the past few years. It started with his aortic aneurysm 5 or 6 years ago, and it has gone downhill from there. This past couple of years it’s been his lungs. They’ve collapsed, he’s had trouble breathing, he’s been diagnosed with COPD and his lung function has gone down. This past Spring he had some surgery to have a stent put in to repair his aorta. The surgery went perfectly well – but his lungs collapsed, which started a chain reaction that ended with him dead on the table and then, after hours of the surgeons working on him, in the ICU for nearly 3 weeks. Kidneys failing. Fluid through his body. We were terrified (he says “I was in a coma so I had no idea what was going on — I wasn’t worried at all. I think I had the best deal in this whole situation”).

Now. My grandpa, Dad’s father, had similar problems. Mainly with his lungs though – he was a coal miner. Years of Export A’s and coal dust left him with solid tissue where sponginess should be. He lived the last 10 years of his life with just 28% of one lung – his left one and most of the right had to be removed. To go from a guy who once knocked out the Cape Breton Boxing Champion to being stuck in a chair and unable to walk up stairs was devastating to him.

My Dad was thinking that this was going to be his fate. After his stent surgery, he had scans which showed masses on his lungs. He’s been back and forth to Halifax for scans and biopsies, because the surgeons weren’t sure what was going on there. Dad’s been terrified. He’s been discussing with us for the past couple of months whether or not he would have the surgery done if it was recommended. “Sure, it might make me live longer, but what kind of life will I live?”, he’d say. I would say “It’s your choice”. In my heart I would scream “You’re my daddy! Please, please, please stay”. The prospect of this surgery was constantly hanging over his head, and you could see in his eyes, even when he was playing with my nephews or joking with my brother, that it was always on his mind.

This morning I was at my parents’ house. They wanted me to come over because Dad had decided to sell his car and buy a truck, and they wanted me to check it out (not that I would know whether or not it was a good truck, I guess they just wanted me to look at it). We were in the livingroom talking about the roadside assistance plan that my parents have when the phone rang. Mom answered, then handed the phone to Dad. She came and sat next to me on the couch and held my hand. I looked at her. “C’est le docteur,” she whispered. Then I knew – the results of his latest scan were in.

“Okay,” he said. “Thank you.” He hung up, and turned to us and you could see his shoulders rise with relief.

Benign. No surgery for that. Continued scans and checks on his stent. Continued medication for his COPD. But. He gets to keep his lungs.

He will still have health problems. He will still need medication. But the spectre of yet another traumatic surgery has gone. And we can breathe just a little easier.