I feel as if a combination of songs could better express the roller coaster of emotions that we as a family have endured, as of April 17, 2019. Our lives changed that day. I changed that day. We all did. It is with the heaviest of heart that I come out and say to all that know me, that my Dad was diagnosed with stage 3-4 cancer. Yes, my Dad has CANCER. For those of you that have really gotten to know me over the years, you know exactly what kind of bond I have with my father. He is the first man I loved, my role model, and my best and oldest friend. As a child, he was the man who woke up every Saturday morning with me to watch cartoons, even if he was tired. He is also the same man that would condone doing summersaults on the large sofa we had downstairs, and then break out into tickle wars. He taught me how to climb trees, make mud pies with earth worms for my Mom, clean our fish tank, roller skate, ice skate, fish, properly set up a tent, climb ladders, use a hammer and nail, and to be an independent young lady. He always made sure that education came first, and did not end at the end of the school day, as a matter of fact, I probably learned more from him over the years, than I ever did in school. He taught me about other countries and their politics, religions, and cultures, always encompassing how important it is to always be respectful and mindful of everyone and their beliefs. My Dad always made time for me, even though his career path was demanding and required him to frequently travel, I never felt as though he was an absent parent. He joined Indian Princesses with me as a young girl. We went on many camping trips, and always enjoyed the outdoors. We traveled as a family. He was always present for both myself and my mother. He is the best man I have known, in the almost 37 years of my life. He has the biggest shoes to fill, if that is at all even possible. 

There is a lifetime of stories, laughs, and tears we have shared. My father was there for me when my mother died almost fourteen years ago today. He picked up all the pieces and helped put me back together again. He is the one who took me to the mirror one day, and asked me to look into it. I had no idea what he meant, but he then said, “look at yourself, it’s like looking at your mother. That is something you will have forever. You are her exact image, and will always have her in you, and carry her in your heart. It's the memories we take with us through life, and not the objects." He was there when both myself, and my son fell victims to domestic violence. He was there when our apartment burned down, and I lost my mothers ashes, as well as every sentimental item I had. He was the one who assured me after the fire, I didn’t need all the letters, cards, and trinkets that I had valued and mourned over, but instead he explained that those are things I will always carry in my heart and soul, and that no one could ever take that from me, not even the fire. He has always been my safe space, my backbone, and my mentor. He has never failed me or let me down. He has always said that once you hit rock bottom there is only one place to go, and that’s up. Words can not express the person my Dad has been to me, and to others that have crossed his path in this lifetime. I feel like I am the luckiest girl in the world to be able to call that man my father. I feel that because of him I've had one of the best childhood’s a child could have. It is because of that, and him that I am the woman I am today. 

My Dad has been the one and only father figure my son has had. The bond they share is one of a kind. I am reminded of my childhood every time I would hear him tell my son a bedtime story as a young boy. It’s as though it all comes back, and reminds me of my memories with him as a young girl. He has been the same father to him, as he was to me. He joined Cub Scouts with Gabriel, once we moved to Georgia. He has been extremely involved in his education. He has never missed a moment. He has gone to every performance and/or function at my son’s school, and every class party. He’s gone to every soccer game and tournament to cheer him on. For that, I will always be eternally grateful. He is my son's biggest fan! I feel that is what makes this all so very hard on all of us. The fact that for the last eleven months my Dad can not participate in any of those things. He has missed numerous soccer games and tournaments, birthday's, Halloween, Thanksgiving dinner, Christmas, New Years. We were not able to travel over this past summer, as we had planned to see my grandmother in Miami, since his health had tremendously diminished. 

With all of that said, this is MY DAD'S story. This is how we ended up where we are at. My Dad was misdiagnosed by a gastroenterologist in February, 2019. I will not waste time or energy with the grand explanations, but it saddens me, and rattles my bones that my father would not have gotten to the point where he is at, if so much time hadn’t lapsed, and been wasted in treating him for something he did not have. I chose to resign from my job in April, 2019 to be my father’s caregiver and advocate. I did so because he became septic and was hospitalized for seven days in April. While in the hospital he had a colostomy surgery performed, as to prevent further infection and/or risk for becoming septic again. He also had an abscess drained that the tumor had created. He was discharged home after seven days. In May he became septic again, and was hospitalized for another seven days. The infectious disease doctor was trying to get ahold of the sepsis, so my Dad could potentially endure the chemotherapy and radiation treatment, which was his only option at that point. Again, after another seven days at the hospital he was discharged home. Unfortunately, in June it happened yet again. This time I decided that I would change hospitals, even though it is a fifty minute drive from his house. I took him to Emory University Hospital. To this day, I firmly believe that the only reason my father is still alive, is due to the caliber of tending physicians they have on staff at Emory University Hospital. You do not just get one physician assigned to your case, instead you have a team of them working for you around the clock. They were able to control the sepsis, and discharge him home six days later. He was then able to proceed with the chemotherapy and radiation treatment that was recommended, as the tumor was too large to operate on. He endured six and a half weeks of chemotherapy and radiation, which were performed simultaneously. There were days that I was at the Emory Winship Cancer Institute from 1:00 p.m. until 8:30 p.m. He had follow up appointments with his Oncologist every Monday, as well as with the Radiation Oncologist every Thursday. He had labs once a week, every week to ensure that his blood cell count and platelet levels were within normal range. I thought that would've been the hardest part, which was watching my Dad in constant agony during the radiation treatment. The wounds from the radiation were beyond impressive. There were days that he would cry because he thought he could not handle the pain anymore. His whole body would shake at times. He could not sit, but only lay. He was very limited with walking around, as the pain would become unbearable. After completion of his treatment, he had a repeat PET Scan that took place October 21, 2019, in order to see if he was cancer free. He was not, but there was a sixty seven percent reduction in the size of the mass. Radiation continues to work four to six months after the last date of treatment, which was July 31, 2019. 

Unfortunately, the day after Thanksgiving I had to call the local EMS to come to my father's house to pick him up. He was short of breath, had a fever of 103.1, and was in a lot of pain. I had him transported to Emory University Hospital. He was diagnosed with a blood clot to his left leg, but they still had to figure out why he continued with the high fevers. On December 3, 2019 they performed an emergency surgery, after a CT Scan revealed the source of the fever. At that time, the doctors prepared me for a worse case scenario, which was that the infection could've potentially gotten into his muscles, which would cause gangrene, and could affect other limbs and major organs. There were no guarantees. I will NEVER forget Dr. Sullivan’s face when he came into the surgical waiting room to advise of the outcome of the surgery. All I could ask him was, “Is he alive?” He explained that my Dad was lucky to have gotten to the hospital when he did. He further explained how essential time is. He advised that my Dad had necrotizing fasciitis in this left leg, and that he was able to perform a debridement surgery, but that he would require further debridements in the operating room. The incision runs from the bottom of his left buttocks, down and across to the left knee, and then down to the top of his left calf. He further explained that this would be a long and harsh journey for him. Dr. Sullivan’s final words to me that early morning were, “It’s not impossible, but it will get a lot worse before it gets any better. It all depends on how well the patient handles the procedures, as well as the therapy.” Dr. Sullivan, is one of the most empathetic individuals I have met in my life. He genuinely cares about his cases. He is kind and has a heart of gold. I have had numerous conversations to date with him, and every time he talks to me, it is with honesty, and compassion. 

My Dad was taken to the ICU after the first surgical debridement, and remained there for about a week. They then transferred him to a surgical floor, as his vitals became stable. In total, my father has underwent nine surgical debridements performed in the operating room, as well as the placement of two drains in his leg to allow further drainage. After that, the wound care team would continue to do wound vac changes at his bedside, as it was tolerable for my father at that point. They would do the wound vac change every week twice a week, so that there was little room for any infection, and to allow that large area to drain and dry up, so it could properly heal. On January 13, 2020 the surgical team felt my father was in a position to close the wound up, so they took him into the operating room once more to perform a skin graft, which would entail removing skin from his right leg, which is the donor site, in order to place it on the large wound on the left leg, which is the recipient site. They additionally placed two seton drains to help aid in draining, and preventing further infection. I was also explained that there are no guarantees that another infection couldn’t occur. On January 21, 2020 they again had to take my father to the operating room, as he stated over the course of a week to develop low grade fevers. They found that what was left of the mass had perforated the wall of his rectum, and crated and access. As to prevent buildup of fluid in the surgical site, and setting him back even more they placed a penrose drain. 

I want to explain what I mean by “set back.” My father still has a mass inside of him, which is about the size of a grapefruit. It must come out if he has any chance of living, and most importantly it will allow him to have the quality of life he deserves. My father has literally learned how to walk, regain strength, and perform everyday tasks again through physical and occupational therapy. He has been through so much, but still faces one final surgery God willing. That surgery would entail removing his bladder, prostate, colon, rectum, and the majority of his intestines. They would just leave enough at the top for him to continue to have his ostomy bag, and place another bag for his urine. This is a major surgery. We are aware of the risks, but agree that we both have faith and a desire for him to live and overcome this. My Dad’s words to me the other day were,”I am fighting this fight not just for me, but for you and Gabriel. I am not done yet. I have had a conversation with God asking that he allow me to see my grandson graduate from high school. If he allows me that I will be a happy man.” He then went on to say that, “He’s a Tellechea, and we are warriors. Even if I don’t make it though this, I will die fighting it to the very end.” I love my father with all my heart and soul. I believe in him more than anybody. I also believe that if anyone can overcome this, it's him. He is and always will be my hero, my first love, and my everything. 

I am starting a Go Fund Me for my Dad. He has had numerous hospitalizations and surgeries. This last hospitalization has been from November 30, 2019 to present date. He has yet to be discharged, and God willing he’ll be able to have that last surgery, which will have him in the hospital for at least another month. He will need physical and occupational therapy once he is discharged. Additionally, he has a home, which if in the event he passes will not be paid for. There are no types of life insurance policies or mortgage insurance policy in effect. I alone can not pay for the mortgage, and it’s the one thing when moving to Georgia he wanted to do for me. He told me that he wanted to know that he could die one day knowing that me and my son would have a home to live in, and were taken care of. He never wanted me to have to depend on anyone to do that for me. I am not the type of person to ask for handouts, but I would love to do something, if at all anything for him, as he has done for me. I ask kindly that you share this and my story…OUR story. Pray for him, and for what is yet to come. I thank you all for even just reading this. I feel extremely vulnerable for pouring out such personal matters, but if I have learned one thing in life, it’s that we’re all fighting some sort of battle. 

On a final note, I want to thank Dr. Sullivan, Dr. Hack, Dr. Elwood, Dr. Green, and Dr. Losken, as well as all the residents that have worked under them at Emory University Hospital. If it were not for them my Dad would not be here with us today. This is an amazingly talented group of physicians, which are all so very different. Combined, they have been able to collaborate and perform various surgeries on my father. Words can not express my gratitude to them all. They will forever hold a very special place in my heart.