The memorial service for Brian Gothard will take place at 11AM on Wednesday, June 6, 2007 at the Mount Albert Lions' Club hall (5057 Mount Albert Sideroad, Mt. Albert ON)

Following the service we will provide lunch and invite people to fly model aircraft in the field outside, or to watch the flight demonstration. Please bring a lawn chair if you wish for watching the flying.

I lieu of flowers, donations to the Canadian Diabetes Society, Southlake Cancer Care Centre, and Crohn's and Colitis Foundation are requested.

My mom was wild yesterday, we went to Canadian Tire to get gas after leaving the funeral home, and she tried to go in and blow money in the store. When I stopped her she went crazy and Gilly ran off, and I had to have someone phone the police. She almost received a charge for assault with a weapon for hitting me with her cane, but the video cameras didn't catch it. She also uttered a threat against me to the cop and nearly got a criminal charge for that, but she recanted and he let her off. Dorian came and spoke to the cops and they tried to find a way to take her to hospital, but they couldn't find a way. They advised me to do a Form 1 on her, as in get a judge to force her into a psychiatric hospital for evaluation. I don't want to do that right now partly because I don't want to deprive her of the memorial
service, but I'll probably do it right after the service. I'm also going to start the process with Public Guardian for power of attorney as soon as possible.

Anyway, Mom wanted us to go home with her last night but then when the cops were talking to us she drove off and left us there. Ellen and Brian picked me up and Gilly's friend Erin picked her up. I went home and grabbed a few things while Ellen distracted Mom, and I took off to meet Gilly at Erin's. We spent last night at Ellen's and decided not to come home until we left the doctor and could take Dorian home with us.

I saw the family doctor at 11AM today, and Gilly and Dorian were with me. We pushed the doctor for a psychiatric evaluation. Dorian has witnessed so much of her bizarre behaviour first-hand this week, and he's now very concerned for her and believes she should be
in hospital. He expressed this in no uncertain terms, and the doctor admitted to having ignored my numerous desperate pleas for help as he dismissed them as exaggerations from a daughter that didn't get along with her mother. The doctor said he couldn't write her a Form 1 as he hadn't seen her in six weeks, and the Mental Health Act requires him to have seen her within the past week. However, now that Dorian supports our evaluation of her driving, he says he is required to report her to the Ministry of Transport. It really makes me angry that he ignored the legal obligation to report her last summer because it was "just Ali complaining again."

Dorian took us to Chatters for lunch, saying we deserved medals for our strength through all this. When we got home after lunch, Mom had gone out. Dorian called her cell and she was at Addition-Elle, shopping. She really, truly doesn't understand what it means to have zero money. She's going to get a rude awakening when she gets the bills and can't pay them. In fact, just now I got home and Mom handed me the Zellers bill to pay. I'm going to ask Gilly to explain to her that this bill can't be paid by its due date because no money exists in Mom's bank account. Then I'll leave it to Mom to find the money.

Anyway, mom came home and she wouldn't look at either of us and barely spoke to Dorian. Dorian asked us to hold hands and pray, and Mom said "Just a minute, I'm emptying the dish washer." He was momentarily speechless when she did that. Anyway, he said the prayer and then hugged each of us, and told us all to hug each other. We were all tense and it felt like when your parents tell you to say sorry to someone - saying you're sorry when really, you're absolutely not. Dorian sensed this, but couldn't do anything more. He told us to call him if we needed anything else, and he left for another meeting he had postponed in order to referee for us.

I was just stepping into my room when Gilly said, "Ali, we have to leave RIGHT NOW." Grampa and the child molester were walking up to the front door. We took off out the side door and discovered Mom had parked me in. I used my key to move her car and she yelled and screamed at me to give her keys back. Even then she didn't figure out I had my own key. I moved the cars around and took off in the van that is now mine, for the first time since it became mine, now that I think of it. We spent the afternoon running paperwork from the lawyer to the bank and so on. I booked an appointment for a formal will reading for Thursday, and asked Dorian to attend. Nowadays people don't normally do formal will readings, but Pauline (the lawyer) said it would be a good idea in order to explain to Mom that she is NOT executor of Dad's will, nor does she have access to the estate funds until everything is tied up and I release the funds to her. So it sounds like I have a method of limiting damage in that even once I get everything sorted out (which could take a year or so) I can choose not to release the funds until I have obtained power of attorney. Pauline said Dad was adamant that Mom be given no power to administer his will, as he didn't trust her to follow his wishes. Pauline knows Dorian well, and she said with my permission she would like to have him involved in all this. I agreed, and it looks like we have a way to keep her under control a bit. We just have to manage for the next week, at which point we can apply for the Form 1. This will result in a court order to have her held in hospital against her will for something like six weeks for observation and evaluation. Pauline will help us with the public guardian forms, and unless Mom manages to get proof that she's not a dangerous driver, she will lose her licence. I just hope the psychiatrist sees the truth and she doesn't manage to fleece her yet again. Perhaps I should have Dorian write a letter to Dr. Ulic with his observations, so she doesn't do like the family doctor and assume it's just me being the bitch my mom says I am.

Thank God people are finally stepping in and supporting us in trying to get Mom under control. I'm not looking forward to all this, but when the dust settles and her finances are in order, she's in a place of her own with a weekly allowance, and she's accepted not driving any more, hopefully she will be happier and I have a relationship with her that isn't abusive.

It is with a mix of deep sorrow and relief that my father, Brian Gothard, passed away this morning, May 30 2007. He went peacefully about 11:10AM with his wife Sandra and daughters Alison and Gillian at his side, and with the comfort and support of Rev. Dorian Baxter. He had been in great pain early in the morning and morphine was administered to keep him comfortable. In the last hour he was delirious and unable to speak, and barely opened his eyes. However, when he passed he opened his beautiful blue eyes wide and slipped away quietly. Rev. Baxter said it was the most peaceful passing he had ever seen, and that when he looked into my father's eyes my dad seemed to be thinking "Is this it? Is death really this easy?" I felt his pulse
fade in my hand as he left us with a dignity and calmness I did not think possible.

Brian's remains will be cremated and a memorial service will be held, details to be arranged.

"Do not stand at my grave and weep;
I am not there. I do not sleep.
I am a thousand winds that blow.
I am the diamond glints on snow.
I am the sunlight on ripened grain.
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you awaken in the morning's hush
I am the swift uplifting rush
Of quiet birds in circled flight.
I am the soft stars that shine at night.
Do not stand at my grave and cry;
I am not there. I did not die."
- Mary Elizabeth Frye

Thank you all for your messages of support. It is 7AM and after a long night staying up with my dad Gilly and I have come home to shower and run back. My dad spent last night begging us to "take me out of here", meaning he doesn't want to suffer any more. He has indicated he doesn't want the antibiotics, and is now only getting morphine to control the pain. The fever began about 5AM today, and he is becoming delirious. Without the antibiotics, the infection is expected to take him from us within 24 hours. - Ali

My dear friends,

I am sending this out by e-mail as I don't have time to call the people I wish to know. Most of you know and others who are away do not, but my dad has been battling cancer since January. He was home for a couple of months, and took a very bad turn a week ago Friday and had to be rushed into hospital. After two blood transfusions and several days in isolation, he appeared to be stabilising, although still extremely weak.

Yesterday morning he phoned my mom about 8AM. He has not felt pain during the entire course of treatment, but early yesterday he suddenly felt excruciating pain in his abdomen and up into his back. His belly is very distended from lymphatic fluid buildup, and the doctor did not want to drain it out as it takes the proteins and fats out of his body along with it.

Mom and I rushed over, and he had just been given morphine. He still felt pain but it was bearable, and he was pleading to have the fluid drained off. We tried to get the nurses to call the doctor, but they said the doctor would get there whenever he got around to it. My dad suffered this way until 6:30PM, at which point the doctor drained off 3 litres (a small fraction of the fluid inside him). The discomfort lessened greatly, but Dad's albumen (blood protein) level dropped drastically, and his blood pressure was 60/40 (normal is 120/80). He was given albumen transfusions and more morphine. That morning, the nurses asked if we wanted a Do Not Resuscitate order, and although we didn't want to have to sign it, we knew it was what Dad wanted. We signed it and I had to spend a long time in the visitors lounge trying to get myself under control so I could go back in and see him.

Today he says he's not feeling pain. He has had two abdominal x-rays, and we finally spoke to the doctor. He said my dad has air in his intestines which indicates a perforated bowel, something we knew was a risk and that I had been pushing the nurses to mention to the doctor all day yesterday. He said there's a very small possibility it's not perforated, that the air got in while he was inserting the needle to drain the fluid out, but it's unlikely. Surgery is not an option, as Dad is so weak he wouldn't make it.

The treatment plan is to give him nothing by mouth, continue running IV antibiotics, and see if the perforation heals itself. The prognosis is not good, as his immune system is so low he is unlikely to survive the infection. Even if he does survive the infection, he is very unlikely to recover from the cancer. He may only have a day or two, or he may have a couple of months. Nobody can say. I am taking a leave from work and will not be returning until this is all over.

When we were going to tell my dad, I said I would tell him that there is air in his belly and the doctors aren't sure whether it's from the draining needle or a perforated bowel, and then explain the treatment plan. I told this to Mom and Gilly as a way of telling him the truth without taking away all hope. Of course, my mom then rushed into his room ahead of us, stood over his bed with her face inches from his, and said "The doctor says you have a perforated bowel and if the antibiotics don't work, you're going to kick the bucket." I honestly could have punched her. Dad didn't respond,although he clearly understood. He just lay quietly and perfectly still. Since then he has kept the blankets pulled up over his face except for the rare moments when he peeps out to try to speak. He is very hard to understand and gets one syllable out per breath.

This is all the information I have for now, and I will send more when I know more. I am urgently trying to get his affairs in order in between intervals at his bedside, and hope to get all the urgent items taken care of today so I don't need to leave him tomorrow.

Thanks for the support you have given me and my family through all this extreme difficulty. - Ali

Dad had started his morphine when we arrived this morning, and it reduced the pain but didn't eliminate it. Nobody has a clue what's going on, there was no sign of the doctor, and they just pumped him full of morphine all day. Dad was begging and pleading to have some fluid drained off his belly, as he was so swollen he couldn't shift in bed or roll over or even sit up. His chest is full of phlegm and he couldn't take a deep enough breath to cough it up. Aside from that, he's so weak he can barely cough anyway.

Soon after we arrived, the nurses asked Mom to go out in the hallway for a moment. I let her go alone, but followed after a minute as I really wanted to know what was going on. Mom saw me and waved me over, and said they wanted to know if we wanted a Do Not Resuscitate order. Mom asked what I thought. We agreed we should sign it as he's told us many times he doesn't want life support or to
live like this if he's not going to get better, but it was still horrible to think we're that close to the end that we have to discuss such a thing. I cried and cried, and had a very difficult time getting a grip on my emotions so I could go back in to see Dad. Mom stood up from the rolling office chair she was sitting in during the discussion, and promptly lost her balance and fell on the floor. It took four nurses to pick her up. once she was up, I took off to the washroom so I could cry out of Dad's earshot.

Mom asked the nurse to page the social worker, and Dad asked why. Mom didn't respond, and he asked again why we need a social worker. I just said "because we're scared," and turned away to try to hide my face. I grabbed my purse and excused myself to phone Gilly. When I had asked the nurses if I should be calling my sister to come home, they said no. I called her anyway, and she came home within a couple of hours. We all sat around his bed all afternoon, handing him water when he asked for it, adjusting his pillow, sliding him across the bed a few inches when he became very uncomfortable in the position he was stuck in. The nurse wanted to wash him and change his clothing and diaper, but he didn't want to be touched.

I asked the nurses if the pain might indicate a perforated bowel, and after much urging she listened to his belly with a stethoscope and then vanished. Later she said they didn't think it was peritonitis, but they wouldn't say anything else. He was confused and begging to have his belly drained. His chest is full of phlegm and he can't cough it up. Every time he coughs it hurts so much his eyes bug out. The fluid in his belly made it impossible for him to sit up, move position or roll over, and he wasn't able to take a deep breath to cough. They hadn't drained him in 3 weeks.  The doctor decided not to last week because it takes all the fat and proteins from his body, and weakens him a lot more. His back also hurt today, which meant the pressure was too much. His blood sugar is quite high today too; 10.9 this morning even though he hasn't eaten a thing. It's really hard to watch him coughing and in pain. At least the nurses seem to have no problem asking for more drugs. They always offered them to him before he even buzzed to ask for more. He said it still hurt with the morphine, but it was bearable.

About 5:30PM I came home and called my cousin in England to let him know. He asked if there are any hotels nearby if they come over for the funeral. I had come home for a nap, but I felt like I need to tell certain people. I talked to Luc online, phoned Jess and left a message on her cell, and spoke to Austin on the phone. There are just certain people that I feel like I want them to know, even though they're not family. Dorian visited three times today, and said he'd be back again tomorrow.

Mom and Gilly came home while I was still home, and said the doctor had finally been in. We had some dinner and returned to hospital to find Dad delirious. The doctor had drained 3 litres of fluid, just a small amount to relieve the pressure. Dad said it helped. However, it made his blood pressure drop to 60/40 (normal is 120/80) and his albumen (blood protein) level was really low, so an albumen transfusion was started right away. A catheter was inserted so he doesn't have to try to get out of bed any more. It's awful to look at him. He looks like something  out of a horror movie, skeletal and white, eyes rolled back in his head, lips dried and curling inward, teeth caked with some sort of brown coating that  looks like decay, sores and bruises all over his arms, bags and bottles dripping into tubes snaking around and into his body.

We left him after he had a sleeping pill that knocked him out for the night. I am terrified that his heart will stop from the low blood pressure, and that will be the end of him.I really, really hope my fears don't come true.

I just printed out EI Compassionate Care forms to take with me to the hospital tomorrow to discuss with the social worker at my 8AM appointment. I will definitely not be at work tomorrow.

My dad just phoned to say he's been in horrendous pain since last night and is asking for morphine. Until now he has has discomfort, but no pain. We are afraid he has a perforated bowel. Mom and I are going over there now, will update when we know anything.

I got to hospital and Dad had extra blankets on him, pulled up over his face but not covering the top of his head. He was visibly shivering, and said he had started to feel cold just before Mom left.I offered to wrap the extra blanket in a sort of hat around his head, but he didn't want that. Instead he mumbled to me from under the blankets. He kept coughing as if his chest was congested, and I asked if it was because of drinking milk. He said no, but later I found out he had drunk milk with his supper and the resulting phlegm finally cleared when he sat up for a pee as I was leaving.

The nurse checked his vital signs and said his oxygen level was excellent, and his blood pressure was finally in the low end of normal range. His pressure has been dangerously low for months, since before he started treatment. He still looks terrible, and the wounds on his arm are looking pretty gross and pus-filled, but it's good to hear his overall statistics are coming up to normal.

Dad told me he wouldn't be very talkative but he was glad I was there anyway. I told him about lunch with Tara, Melanie, Laura, and Neil this afternoon, and about Gilly drinking too much rhubarb wine and getting gut rot.

As I left the house, Mom said she'd be returning to hospital at 8PM as Dorian was supposed to go see Dad and she wanted to be there. Dad was unaware of this. When Mom arrived she stayed in the hallway a while, I guess because I had given her such an ear-bashing about not leaving me alone with Dad. She walked into the room about 8:30PM, and we chatted quietly for a few minutes. Then Dad said he had to pee, and Mom started fussing. I had to tell her at least six times to sit down and not touch anything. He's so unsteady, and she tries to rush him and makes things more difficult for him. I managed to get him up, change his diaper, get some medication into him, and get him settled back in bed. From the exertion of all that, he finally felt warm and asked me to take away the extra blankets. I asked the nurse to check the wounds on his arm. It was 9:15PM by this point, and visiting hours were long over. We gave up on Dorian coming and said good night to Dad.

There's still no word on what's wrong with him. Hopefully the vital signs are an indication that the antibiotics are helping him with whatever was making him so weak. He should probably be up and walking around a bit by now, so hopefully the nurses will work on that with him tomorrow. I'm not about to try it myself until I know he can walk across the room without falling.

Mom found a $35 parking ticket on her car when she left the hospital. It said she was parked in staff parking. However, the parking attendant had told her the disabled spots in that area were not staff parking and that she was allowed to park there. She has parked there many times, and has never been ticketed. I told her to call the hospital parking authority first to check it out before trying to reason with the town by-law office.

The other Mom story from this weekend is that her eating is even more out of control than before. Gilly brought home a loaf of raisin bread on Friday evening, and I found one slice and two crusts in the bag  around noon on Saturday. So in twelve hours, she ate a whole loaf of bread. She also got another giant apple pie out of the freezer, one of the three she bought a couple of weeks ago. She only just finished the previous giant pie, which she ate 3/4 of by herself. Today she ate 1/3 of a 1 kilogram pie, and she will have eaten it with ice cream as she was pestering me to bring some upstairs. For supper she ate 8 breakfast sausages, and to my knowledge had nothing else with them except pie. She won't tell me what she weights, but to look at her she certainly appears larger than she was before she went on Dr. Poon's diet. I told her if she kept this up she'd be diabetic again. She swore up and down she was never diabetic, but I remember that right before she saw Dr. Poon the first time she was told she was pre-diabetic and would soon need insulin. The weight loss took her away from the edge, but now she's diving right off it like a lemming.

This morning I told my mom that if she was going to visit Dad this afternoon, to make sure she came home at a reasonable time so I could go visit him afterward. So I've been sitting here for the last four hours, since I got home from lunch with friends, waiting for her to get home so I know she's not there with him.

I just called her cell, which once again she forgot to turn off before entering the hospital. I told her I want her to leave so he can rest before I go visit him, and she said no, she didn't want to leave, and I should just get over there. I told her I did NOT want to see her there when I walk in, as it only upsets Dad when she gets all crazy. She insisted she didn't want to leave, and she hung up on me.

So I'm sitting here crying, wanting to visit him but feeling so angry at my mom for being so fucking selfish. I called his nurse at the hospital and asked her to throw my mom out. She went in to ask her to leave, and she said my mom had left. Of course, now I'm so upset it will be hard for me to be positive to go see Dad. I hate how she sucks all the positive energy out of me and won't let me help Dad. Heartless bitch.

To my surprise, I got a phone call at 8AM on Friday saying the van was already fixed. It cost me $301. Yay. But it's running.

Mom asked me to go in and ask the mechanic to look at her air conditioner quickly as she said it wasn't putting out much cold. Looking at her controls, I noticed that although she had the fan on high and the dial turned all the way to blue, she hadn't pushed the A/C button, labelled with a snowflake. I pressed it, and Mom got all mad at me. "That's the rear window defrost, you idiot! Don't push that!" First of all, I don't know why she thought that was the defrost when there's a button nearby with a picture of a window with heat waves coming off it. Second of all, I don't know why it would be a huge tragedy if it WAS the defrost button and I pushed it. It would just shut itself off anyway because the window was warm enough. Anyway, after a minute of arguing, I convinced her to humour me. Lo and behold, it got cold in the car and she was amazed.

If only it was so easy to convince her of other things. Thursday and Friday the house was in utter chaos, more so than usual. Garbage bags of clothes were strewn everywhere, and clothes on hangers hung from hooks on every doorway making it impossible to move around the house without knocking some off. Friday night Gilly came home and suggested to Mom that we get some large plastic boxes to store her clothes in. Mom because extremely angry, and voiced her violent opposition to any method other than garbage bags. Never mind that they are easier to store, reusable, environmentally friendly, and don't tear when you drag them across the floor. Nope, she wants garbage bags "because that's the way I do it." I'll have to call the CCAC and ask to have the occupational therapist talk her into plastic bins.

Gilly and I visited Dad last night, and he was happy to see us but quite tired. he was content to lie in bed and listen to us discuss movies we had seen recently. The CAT scan and chest x-ray yielded no information about why he's so sick. The blood cultures aren't back yet, but he's getting antibiotics as a precaution. His feet are still incredibly swollen, but his legs now look somewhere in between too fat and too thin. His arms look slightly thicker now although still bony, and the sores look like they're healing with the help of a special plastic dressing. He's wearing a diaper now as he doesn't know whether he has to pee until he sits up, at which point it's too late. The doctor has prescribed preventative Imodium use at two tablets per day as a way to keep his diarrhea under control. I guess it's working, because there's less laundry coming home.

Today Gilly and I went to the winery I visited a couple weeks ago and had a bunch of samples. We went to visit Dad when we returned and wanted to show him the stuff we bought. However, Mom had gone in about 1PM and stayed there ALL FRIGGING AFTERNOON, so when we arrived Dad was too tired to see us. Gilly or I would ask him a question, and Mom would try to answer. I had to keep telling Mom we were talking to Dad, and that we wanted to converse with him directly. She didn't get it. Then Gilly asked Dad if he had to pee, and Mom piped up that he didn't because he'd just gone. We said we wanted to hear Dad's answer, and Mom got all mad and said she knew the answer. When we got her to shut up for a second, Dad whispered that he did need to pee, that he hadn't just gone, Mom had only asked him and he said he didn't need to yet. Even when he said that, Mom kept arguing that he didn't need to pee. We told her to cut it out, just let the man pee. So of course she started jumping around, getting in the way, moving things around, trying to be helpful and only pissing us all off. She wouldn't leave. I told her afterward that I was angry at her for not leaving, as Gilly is only home once a week and Mom took away from Gilly's visiting time with Dad. Mom said she had a right to be there because the whole time she was there he was asleep. It means nothing to her that she's there every day and could see him tomorrow instead. As always, everything has to be about her and fuck everybody else.

This morning was the church yard sale, and Mom took several bags of clothing over to be sold. When I went over to take a look, she presented me with a gift of a lingerie set. It was a black bustier with really high black tummy-control girdle-style lacy panties. I put the bustier on over my dress, and it fit. Mom started calling to everyone to look at me. Apparently the bustier had been tried on by a number of people running the sale, including an old man. When Mom bought it saying it would fit me, they didn't believe her. They thought it was hilarious that I managed to fill the cups on the thing. LOL When I got home I changed into the bustier and a pair of black pants, and wore it to hospital to make Dad laugh. It's reasonably comfortable, but I'll have to find  better pair of pants to wear with it, or possibly a skirt.

Tonight I violated my own rule against evening naps, and went to bed at 8PM. I slept until midnight, then got up to do laundry. Well, mom had gone and fucked up the laundry again. She overloaded the washing machine with a load that should have been three separate loads, and left me with a quarter load of my underwear that I'll either have to wash on its own and waste all that water an electricity, or wait another week to wash. She then put her giant load in the dryer and turned the dial so far it would have run for days if we hadn't checked it. (Our dryer timer doesn't work properly.) Given that she put it on about 10PM, it would have been burned by the time anybody returned to notice the load was still running. At least she didn't touch my underwear and ruin it, but I'm still pissed off that I have to choose between two crappy options because she was too fucking impatient to just ask me to wash certain things for her. I told her off for meddling in the laundry again, and told her if she touches it again I'm putting a lock on the basement door. I already have the hardware, and I'll follow through on it if she doesn't listen.