I blame myself for my dad’s death

It’s been a handful of years since my father died of cancer over just a short timespan. After his first initial surgery, he was eventually put on chemo.

I don’t know what exactly was the difference but he was on multiple things for chemo, with one infusion that was also done at home. His first day of this treatment, I came home from work around noon, peeked in the room and saw what I thought was him asleep. Made sense to me, from what I’ve heard with chemo being exhausting. I shrugged it off, and went to my room to unwind after work.

I have no idea how much time passed, but my mom came home early from work, and told me my dad was unconscious. After calling an abulance and finding out later at the hospital, he had some allergic reaction to his medication and wasn’t likely to make it. Multiple weeks later, and a good reaction to whatever reversal agent, he was conscious and somewhat himself.

This experience, understandably, put him off from chemo for a while. By the time he started it, the outlook was not good. I wonder if I had just noticed how he really was when I came home, what would’ve been different. Would he have recovered faster? Been more open to chemo again? I don’t know. Maybe he’d still be here.