Memories of Max - A Father's Story

Chapter 8 - Allan

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He was puzzled and read through my notes in detail. I had mentioned Max's leukaemia in the forms which had to be completed prior to the examination. He asked me about Max's leukaemia and if Max had had problems with his left leg. I said that he had and that my symptoms were similar those of Max prior to his diagnosis. The physician again told me quite clearly that there was nothing physically wrong. He felt that the problem was psychosomatic. I accepted his diagnosis and the symptoms never appeared again.

After Max’s second cancer and also after his death I also had a lot of physical problems which took a long time to resolve themselves. I am sure these too were caused by stress. In these cases I did not seek medical advice because I became paralysed by the ongoing pressure.

A very common reaction to the news that your child has cancer is that of anger. It can be directed at anyone and anything. Often it is the doctors, your spouse, or anyone that invades the terrible privacy of your situation. I felt very little of this compared to many parents I know.

Generally my feelings of anger were hidden but when they did surface they were very frightening. My directionless and diffuse anger was waiting for a challenge. I needed a focus and a valid reason to release the frustration and fear and hurt.

I needed an excuse which would let the volcano explode. Deep down I wanted a reason to damage, break, even kill somebody. I wanted an excuse for an expression of a blind bloody meaningless rage. I wanted someone to allow me to breach the unacceptable and to do the unacceptable. I wanted to hurt and be hurt. I wanted to beat someone into pulp. I wanted to turn all this turmoil into something real. Real physical pain, my own or someone else’s. It didn't matter.

Fortunately it never happened, but it simmered beneath the surface for some time. My anger erupted twice and fortunately never became physical and very strangely both events involved parking. Static road rage!

We used to place a traffic cone outside the house so that Sara could park her car when she returned from dropping Paula off at school. One day, as she drew up to the house, a man removed the cone and parked in our space. I watched from our bedroom window in my dressing gown. The man, who was in his twenties, was obviously late for work. I opened the window and shouted at him. He replied that he had every legal right to park outside our house. I exploded with rage, swearing and cursing and threatening him and his car with extreme violence. He casually walked away which made me even more incensed. I did not know what to do with myself. There was no way I would carry out the threats I had made but I’d hit boiling point. I grabbed four roofing nails and placed them under each tire deep inside the treads. If the car was moved in any direction there would be at least one puncture. It was extremely irresponsible and may have caused an accident. I just needed a vent and this was my way of expressing it.

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