No need to read or comment today. I just need to write. I went to Krohn Conservatory this morning with only a macro lens to walk around the Christmas show. I love it there and lost myself for an hour or so. Today is a hard day for me. My father died on December 6, 2001, up at Cleveland Clinic. He had Relapsing Polychondritis (collapse of connecting tissue) - a very rare disease. Nobody in Cincinnati knew quite what to do (and we have top notch medical care) . His esophagus was closing in on itself. So, as a last ditch attempt, we went to Cleveland to have a stent placed to open his airway - much the same as a stent in the heart. We were supposed to be there over night. They ended up operating three times - but it didn't work. Two weeks later I lobbied for him to die.
Cleveland Clinic is set up just like the shows on TV. There is the main doc in the full length white coat, followed around by all the little docs in shorter coats that take orders from him. Dr. Maindoc (I think he should remain nameless) ended up treating my like I was visible after a few days and began answering all my daily questions. He knew I was in Cleveland all by myself. Tom came back and forth 5 times in two weeks - but he had to work. My mother was at home (paralyzed from a massive stroke the year before) cared for by two old aunts and a lady I had hired, and hardly knew. The nurses in the ICU started watching out for me. I was staying at their guest house, which is on campus. But they warned me never to walk the two blocks over, always take the shuttle. Tom had been there overnight. He took me over to the hospital and dropped me off at the main doors to the place. We saw that it was busy but thought is was something for Christmas for staff that I had seen on the schedule. He kissed me goodbye and drove away (we didn't have cell phones then). I walked through the doors to a lobby smeared with blood and the paraphernalia of trying to save a life. A man had followed his wife, a nurse, to work that morning and shot and killed her there in the lobby. I don't even know how I got to the ICU that day.
Dad's situation just kept deteriorating. They didn't even make me leave any more when they did things. Finally the day came that they wanted to put in a chest tube. He was already on a ventilator........I started asking the intern what good it would do. He was saying it would make my Dad more comfortable and that it was painless. The nurses that had helped me hold whatever part of me that was present together, were shaking their heads "No" behind him - God bless them for caring. I told him he couldn't touch my Father. I wanted the main doc and I wanted him now. Maindoc was in surgery but they got him on speaker with me. I asked him all the same questions. He got all of the updated numbers from the nurses and got back on the phone with me. He told me he would help my Dad die - no more studying the "interesting case." He wanted to know how long it would take for my husband to get there - and he set up a timeline. Work was able to get hold of Tom and tell him the situation. He and Andy left Cincinnati for Cleveland. As the afternoon wore on my Dad was given more and more morphine. I asked them to remove as much of the tubes and stuff as they could for Andy. I didn't want him to see his Papa like that. Tom and Andy made record time to Cleveland that day. The folks in the ICU gave them the time that they needed to say goodbye and then they called the doctor. He asked if we were ready and turned off all the machines. It didn't take long for my Father to die.
I don't remember a lot of what happened after that. Just the guilt. I know I did the right thing - but it was the hardest thing I have ever done. That was the first time I had ever spent a night alone in a hotel. The first time I was the only one to ask the questions and decide care for someone else. That was the first time I was ever present during that sacred moment of death.
A very moving story. I think you're so much stronger than me.
Thanks for taking the time to share it with us. It makes me think, "notice when you are happy" as Kurt Vonnegut said.
Saying a prayer for peace for you today. I said goodbye to my Mom in a hospital room and five years later said goodbye to my Dad in an ICU room. Most difficult days of my life... sometimes decisions based on love are the hardest ones. I know my parents are in heaven, and I plan to join them there someday. A lovely reverent photo.
I read the whole thing. So touching. Love the inside of that flower.
My mom, 94 has signed her papers that say don't do anything for her. will be hard when the time comes but she is still ticking thanks to her pace maker.
The anniversary is always hard isn't it Cathy, and all the old feelings come rushing back along with the pain of the day itself. You did the right thing, suffering to no avail is no way to end one's days, I'm sure your father wouldn't have wanted that..... Sending warm wishes and thoughts your way.......
Such a moving story Cathy. It is so good to write things like this down, even if they are just for yourself.
I don't really know what to say, but want you to know how much I admire you for how you coped with that terrible time. Your father was a lucky man to have someone as strong and brave as you to take care of his best interests. I hope I would have the same strength if I were to be in the same position xx
Oh Cathy... sweetheart I can feel all this. Well done for being so strong when needed. I'm so glad we are here for you to let it out to when you need to. x Lovely shot too
Such hard decisions but you were right...NO GUILT ! Somebody has to do the deciding bi, usually the same woman in the family but never easy, your dad would be proud of all you did for him Cathy! This is why i love 365 you can talk to complete strangers & know they will understand!
Tough love is the hardest kind , Cathy but it is still love! I am so sorry you had to go through so much, but your eloquent accounting of it gives testament to the fact that you are a very loving and caring person! this is a beautiful shot to accompany this moving tribute to your father!
What I wanted to say, Cathy when the computer rudely deleted my comment, that I think it would have been the hardest part of your life - alone, your mother not able to comfort you, the decision, the agony and the end! You must have cried your heart out at that time.
It's great that you can remember this without too much pain in writing what happened!
a beautiful shot to go with your story! thank you so much for sharing it. I hope and pray that when and if my time comes to make such choices, that your example and strength will help me to do the right thing too. I am sure it was so hard to go back home and tell your Mother on top of all you had already dealt with. xo
Oh, dear. . .such a heart-wrenching story. Having held my mother's hand through all of her last days and understanding that we had all decided not to use life-extending measures (her wishes) such as tube-feeding, the hardest thing was explaining to my father over and over with his Alzheimer's just WHY we weren't "doing something" to feed her. I thought all the tears inside were just going to eat away at me until there'd be nothing left. Please know that I'm holding you close in my heart right now.
Cathy, you know my connection with hospitals with my son Ben. Your story is an all too common one of trying to make the right decision at the end of a loved one's life, balancing hope with dignity. It sounds to me that you gave your dad the dignity that he deserved. You are so strong, and telling us about the last days of your dads life can't have been easy. I know that you will remember him with fondness, much love from across the pond.
Thanks for taking the time to share it with us. It makes me think, "notice when you are happy" as Kurt Vonnegut said.
My mom, 94 has signed her papers that say don't do anything for her. will be hard when the time comes but she is still ticking thanks to her pace maker.
I don't really know what to say, but want you to know how much I admire you for how you coped with that terrible time. Your father was a lucky man to have someone as strong and brave as you to take care of his best interests. I hope I would have the same strength if I were to be in the same position xx
It's great that you can remember this without too much pain in writing what happened!