avatarFrancine Fallara -

Summary

Francine Fallara recounts the emotional journey of caring for her father with idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis, the impact on her family, and the solace found in writing novellas during this challenging time.

Abstract

In late October 2017, Francine Fallara's life takes a significant turn when her father's health rapidly declines due to idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis, an incurable lung disease linked to his past exposure to asbestos. Putting her career on hold, Francine becomes a primary caregiver alongside her mother and nephew, transforming their home into an intensive care environment. Throughout this period, she copes with the stress by writing novellas, a creative outlet that provides comfort and a way to process the experience. Despite her father's eventual passing in April 2018, Francine finds a silver lining in donating his corneas, allowing him to symbolically continue exploring the world. The narrative is a testament to familial love, resilience, and the power of creativity in the face of loss.

Opinions

  • Francine expresses a deep sense of duty and instinctual need to care for her ailing father, prioritizing family over her professional life.
  • The act of writing novellas is seen as therapeutic, serving as a coping mechanism for both Francine and her nephew during the difficult period of her father's illness.
  • Francine views her father, Thomas Fallara, as a symbol of strength and courage, and his illness and passing deeply impact her perspective on life and independence.
  • The decision to donate her father's corneas is highly symbolic and meaningful, representing a way to free him from the confines of his illness and allow him to continue experiencing the world through another person's eyes.
  • Francine extends heartfelt gratitude to the healthcare professionals, her employer, family, and friends for their unwavering support during this challenging time.

Medium Curated “Family”

Expressing the Essence of Moments

There’s a little lighthouse in each of us (Denise Adams)

Expressing the Essence of Moments_FrancineFallara_2018–08–13_Peggy’s Cove, Nova Scotia_There’s a little lighthouse in each of us (Denise Adams)

Late October 2017, I was having supper with my childhood friend at her home in Ottawa when I received a text message from Mom saying, “Your dad’s health has deteriorated and he was brought in an ambulance to the hospital and placed in the emergency ward. He has been tagged red code”. Dad was officially diagnosed, in January 2017, with idiopathic pulmonary fibrosis, an incurable and degenerative illness, directly linked as an industrial illness caused by him being a “maçon” and working with asbestos materials back in the sixties. I told my friend that I had to go to Montreal as soon as possible since dad was in bad shape in the hospital. The next morning, when I arrived at the hospital, I understood that the red code was placed on very ill patients who could have heart deficiencies anytime.

Instead of going back to my normal working schedule of 14 days in an isolated geological exploration camp and 14 days off, I called my employer saying I could do remote work on my laptop but since my dad’s health was so fragile, I could not go back to camp for a while. For me, it was the natural thing to do I, did not take any time to think about the situation. It was my instincts completely dictating what to do. I kept repeating to myself that I could not leave Mom in that mess. My dad stayed the entire month of November 2017 tagged with a red code on the pulmonary floor.

In December 2017, once his lungs were stabilized with high doses of cortisone, the hospital wanted him out and gave us two options — transferring him to the hospital palliative care wing or sending him back home and setting up a palliative care team at home. Dad answered right away, saying that if he was transferred to the hospital palliative care wing, he would stop eating and that he would die. Mom had no choice then but to strongly continue her stressful journey as the official natural caretaker for Dad; i.e. the main crutch. Again, instinctively and without questioning my choices, I became my parent’s solid second crutch. I continued full time, helping Mom with all the hospital’s equipment, transforming their apartment into a controlled atmosphere intensive care environment. Multitasking and learning all that I could humanly do to help alleviate Mom’s tasks and help Dad through both his physical and emotional pains. My life was put on hold and placed on a shelf for the next few months.

My nephew can officially be nominated as the third solid crutch. Present and helpful from the start, he was greatly helpful while Dad was at the hospital and most importantly, did not flee when Dad was at the most fragile time of his life. On the contrary, my nephew was always there. Never missed a week and so attentive to everyone’s needs.

For Dad’s care, we had a working shift between seven in the morning through seven at night. For me, it was the same as my 12 hours a day working schedule. I thought Mom was strong and fragile at the same time. She lost a lot of weight through all the work and the stress she went through.

One night, my nephew seeing me surfing on the net suggested that we should write novellas together to ease our pain and stress and create something out of all this experience. Both, being very creative, I thought it was a great idea. The writing process every night was very important for both of us to help us ease our minds and bodies from all the pain Dad and Mom were going through.

In December 2017, I wrote a total of ten novellas. My nephew tried to make me write extra short stories during the winter 2018 but I did not feel like it. End of March 2018, Dad’s health deteriorated again and the palliative home care was not possible anymore. He was brought, at his own demand and out of love for mom, to the hospital palliative care wing. Dad died ten days later, April 8th, 7:20 PM, accompanied by both me and my nephew. We both held one hand, caressing his forehead and arms, talking and comforting him through the last 15 minutes of his life, witnessing his last handshakes and breaths.

My nephew ran out to get Mom whom my brother had brought out because she felt she could not witness his departure. I continued to hold his hand and caress his forehead and talk to him. When Mom arrived, I gave her my place, my brother stayed behind Mom and I moved to the foot of the bed. At that instant, when Mom took his hand crying, a tear came out of Dad’s right eye halfway down his cheek. It was our unique spiritual exchange with him.

Once out of the room, a nurse asked Mom if she wanted to donate Dad’s corneas. We all looked at each other and said yes, nodding simultaneously. For us, it was highly symbolic. Dad loved to travel and since he had been diagnosed with his disease he had been confined inside “attached as a dog”, as he used to say, to his oxygen machines. Donating his corneas was our way to finally free him and let him live and travel through another person in need.

I would like to send out my personal acknowledgments to the following people: Janie Charbonneau, Karine Pelletier, Dr. Luc Courtemanche, Marina Landais, Josée Laférierre, Marie-France and Gina, and all the palliative home care team (CLSC Rosemont). My employer and supervisors for their complete support and flexibility, my nephew Michael, my cousins and aunts in France who sent out great support despite the distance, all my friends whom I pushed away temporarily but still stayed at a close distance to me to assure I stayed strong all the way.

Dad, Thomas Fallara, after being diagnosed fifteen months ago and going through the extreme sufferings of the last five months, you have been released to a better world. You will remain in my life as another angel to watch over me. You have been for me, the perfect symbol of strength, determination, and courage. You have taught us to be and remain strong independent individuals. Most importantly, you have taught us to keep having dreams and to believe we could do anything our heart desired. Thank you for all your sacrifices to always ensure that we never lacked anything. Dad you will be highly missed but will always stay in my heart. Big kisses!

Your daughter, Francine Fallara (April 8th, 2018)

There’s a little lighthouse in each of us. (Denise Adams)

© Francine Fallara 2019

Medium Curated “Family”

Death
Life Lessons
Family
Fatherhood
Philosophy
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