My Story: Part 3

Never did I imagine that 18 months after the loss of my mother I would be sitting in the emergency room with my father receiving news that he has cancer.  Christmas of 2017 was a rough time for our family as we were still trying to understand the what the holidays would look like without our mom. January 2018 came with a terrible flu season during which we saw lots of friends and family knocked down for weeks.  With a 40+ year history of rheumatoid arthritis and psoriasis, my dad’s pain level was never zero and he had always felt the side-effects of the many medications that came with his conditions.  During that January he was nauseated and vomiting all the time.  We begged him to go to the doctor. In his mind it was life as usual with a touch of flu on top.  

He is Yellow

At the beginning of February, we realized that he had lost twenty-five pounds over the previous four weeks.  After further pleading, he agreed to go to the doctor. The urgent care doctors looked at him and immediately called for an ambulance. Dad was yellow! We didn’t even notice it, because I suppose he had been jaundiced for a while. I sat with him in the ER where a doctor ran tests; x-rays, blood work, ultra sounds, CT Scans and more. 

 That day was difficult, not just because we were in the emergency room, but because my dad was an incredibly stubborn man. He had an unquenchable thirst and was demanding a beverage, which it turns out is a common symptom of diabetes.  The nurses said no to getting a drink, that he had tests that needed to be done and they didn’t want him to get sick.  My dad yelled at me and, of course, I gave him a drink.  He vomited up blue Gatorade as they were doing a contrast CT Scan.  After, he denied drinking the beverage to their faces!  He always got his way. After more questions, one doctor casually mentioned that dad had cancer. 

Cancer…again!

After a total of 14 days in two different hospitals, we left with the understanding that pancreatic cancer is really bad.  It’s so bad that the secondary finding of another unrelated cancer in his kidney wasn’t concerning.  The tumor in his pancreas was restricting his common bile duct, which made him jaundiced, nauseated, and caused him to lose weight rapidly.  Because his pancreas wasn’t functioning properly, my dad was now diabetic.  We walked out with referrals to surgical oncology and medical oncology, but we knew that dad wouldn’t pursue treatment.  

He was given six months to live and told that surgical intervention could extend his life, but even if it was successful that his best day after surgery would likely not be as good as a normal day before surgery.  Truthfully his baseline good day was bad. He had suffered from debilitating arthritis his entire adult life.  He missed his wife, and he was just tired.  But to appease me, he went to all of his appointments, and agreed to a short course of proton therapy.  Dad’s only goal was to live well as long as he could, and when his time came, he prayed that the process would be short.

Dad the Teacher

My dad taught us and his friends a master class on how to die.  He made all of his own arrangements, pressed into friendships, poured into his grandchildren, and never stopped parenting my brother and me.  What’s crazy to me is that in our quiet alone time together he would coach me, “Kayla, lets talk about what you’re going to do with my ashes. Please don’t keep me.” “When I die don’t be sad for too long.  I won’t be sad.” “Promise me that you and your brother won’t fight.”  This one always got to me.

He and my aunt Gail (his sister who gave her first year of retirement to him and to helping us throughout the duration of his life) kept telling us, “One day you and your brother will be the only ones who will share memories of your childhood and parents.” I mean dang…so true.  One day my brother will be the only other one who remembers our parents, their crazy, their silly, their love, and their strength. One day it will be just him and me, so we need to do our best to preserve our relationship.  This is so hard, because we have a tumultuous past and we don’t often see eye-to-eye.  It was in hope of honoring this desire of his that I chose to give that relationship over to the Lord.  The Lord is the only way that Brandon and I will survive the times that are coming.  

The Routine

In May of 2018, dad decided that he would move into my house part-time, and the other part of the time he would spend at his house with his sister.  Dad would have several good days, but every now and again a bad day would pop and leave us wondering if this is the set back of set backs.  The bad days usually followed 2 good days in a row. We settled into a pattern.  He resolved that he wouldn’t miss a gathering with his friends.

He pushed himself on Wednesdays and Thursdays with his friends, only to have a very hard Friday. Then he’d push again Saturdays and Sundays, because missing a sporting event for the grandkids was not an option. Monday was always a difficult day. He developed this pattern and we understood that he was making tradeoffs and they were worth it to him.  When friends would ask me how he was doing, my response was “its hard to explain.” The bad days were really bad, but he always thought they were worth it for his grandkid’s baseball games or shooting competitions with his friends. 

The Setback

Time pressed on, August came and went.  Six months passed and dad took his oldest grandson hunting.  He never stopped setting new goals.  But when November rolled around, we noticed the bad days were beginning to outnumber the good.  He was sick. After one very scary morning I called 911 and he was hospitalized with bacterial and viral pneumonia at the same time.  He spent close to a week in the hospital receiving antibiotics.  When he left the hospital we all wondered again…is this the set back?  Looking back I believe it was.  Christmas was wonderful.  Everyone got along and Dad spoiled the grandkids rotten.  It was like Oprah’s Favorite Things in our house that morning.  There wasn’t a want or need unmet! It was straight up crazy.  Dad loved every minute.  

Dad never regained his baseline good.  He started having problem with balance, falling more times than I’d like to say. He had a hard time remembering to take medicines. While he’d previously always been mentally sharp, he began to have difficulty holding a coherent conversation. On Wednesday January 23^rd, dad went to a shoot and won $600.  He later told me that his vision was blurry and he was off balance, but he still won. HA!

The next Wednesday he went to a shoot, even though I asked him not to.  I was worried that day. There was a tightness in my stomach. I called his friends to let them know that I was feeling extremely uneasy.  The next day he seemed off as well.  On Friday February 1, my brother and I took him to breakfast, where we both noticed that he wasn’t right.  He woke up on Saturday unable to talk, walk, or swallow.  This guy was just eating breakfast with us the day before…how is this possible? I kept remembering the words he spoke over and over, “When its my time, I pray that it is fast.” The Lord honored my dad’s request.

It was Quick

I made the phone call to hospice Saturday morning, and dad passed away on Tuesday at 4:45 in the morning.  It was so fast…just what he prayed for.  My friends, when you experience death and really watch it happen, there comes a point where you are crying out to the Lord to take your loved one. The sounds are indescribable, the emotions are a roller coaster, and all you want is for the Lord to call your loved one to heaven.  I woke up at 2:30 Tuesday morning, I went to my dad’s room, where he and his nurse were, and I pleaded with Jesus for TWO HOURS.  

I suddenly felt the need to give my youngest a quick cuddle, and the moment I closed my dad’s door he took one of his final breaths.  The nurse came to get me; I got my brother and aunt.  Loved ones surrounded my dad when he took his final breath.  I was stunned…I felt like I straight up witnessed a miracle, an answer to prayer, and a blanket of peace fell over this place.  The sounds that were so difficult to hear, were gone in the final moments, the color that he lost returned.  He looked good, the best I had seen him in weeks.  And best of all he was with Jesus.

I just want to note that the above retelling of my dads last year and final days omits some serious strife. When families are placed in a pressure cooker of stress, we tend to lash out at those closest to us. And for some I was their person. I wish I could say that I handled it all beautifully, but honestly when someone pushed my buttons, I pushed back too. This is the area that I most regret and will address later.