No More Treatment
In the past 37 days I made the 1 ½ hour round trip to the Creighton Medical Center 37 times. I won’t be going there today, and I won’t miss it. I don’t want to go there ever again. My Dad is coming “home” to Fremont today, coming to Merrick Manor adjacent to the Fremont Area Medical Center. He is coming home for hospice care-i.e. no treatment other than to keep him comfortable. He won’t be receiving antibiotics, he won’t be receiving insulin, he won’t be receiving respiratory therapy, and no one will suction his lungs.
No, we did not give up on my Dad. On Wednesday he had a CT scan. Yesterday we learned that sometime in the past two weeks he had a stroke. We also learned that his kidneys are failing, they are shutting down. He fought like no one else and continues to fight, despite the lousy hand he was dealt.
Cancer is one of the most frightening words I know, and Dad fought skin cancer for months and months. When he thought he had it licked, a large tumor was discovered in his head. His options were simple, have it removed or die a painful death. The surgery would be risky, but any chance was better than the certainty of death without the operation. So my 84 year old Father underwent 23 hours of surgery in a 36 hour span. He spent the next 34 days in the ICU at Creighton Medical Center trying to heal from the trauma of brain surgery, trying to purge his body of anesthesia, and fighting lung and bladder infections that are common to ICU patients. Only a fool wouldn’t have folded, dealt that kind of hand-well, a fool, or someone with a desperate will to live. My Dad did not fold.
My Dad fought and fought and fought. For weeks my family tried to will all of our energy to him in his battle. He kept playing the hand he was dealt, but the stroke card trumped all. It doesn’t seem fair, it doesn’t seem right for someone to struggle so valiantly and be defeated. It sucks. But saying this, I feel guilty. My Dad has lived a long life, a good life. There are soldiers in Iraq or Afghanistan who lost their life and left behind a wife and a baby who will never know a father. I knew my Dad and I am better for it.
Last night, late, I told my Dad thank you for all he taught me. His eyes were open, and he was looking at me when I said it. . I told him that without him and my wife Jane I don’t know where I would be today. Despite his stroke I will always believe he heard me and knew it was me who said it. I mentioned on a blog post earlier this week that I had heard Neil Young’s “Old Man” on the way to the hospital. I am not a Neil Young fan, have never really paid much attention to this song, and likely switched to another station when it came on in the past. I listened all the way through this time. The lyrics were a perfect fit for me now, hand and glove. “Old man take a look at yourself, I’m a lot like you.” I hope so; I could have done much worse.
Despite his ordeal, my Dad’s vital signs remain strong. I don’t know how long he will be with us-my Mom says “until God has room for him in heaven,’ Some times I question such comments; this time I know it is true.
I so appreciate all of you who have prayed for my Dad, who have extended good wishes, and who have allowed me to use my blog as therapy for my grief. Right now I am a little angry at doctors and nurses and hospitals. I am tired, sad, and emotionally used up. But I have no doubt your kindness has helped me through this struggle. Thank you.
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