When my Dad battled cancer the first time, it was a nearly year-long ordeal before it went into remission. This time, it was only a month from the initial CAT scan until he died. My Mom succinctly summarized what was an incredibly eventful month:

I had planned to travel to Minnesota on May 28th to help my parents drive back home to Texas. Instead, it meant I had a plane ticket to see my Dad shortly before he died. I’ve cleaned things up a bit, but these are the notes I took throughout the day:

• I took a 5:55 AM flight and arrived in Minneapolis shortly after 8 AM. Given the excitement of his hospitalization, we hadn’t discussed whether or not someone would meet me at the airport, so it took a little while before I was able to track down Mom on her cell phone and we decided I should take a cab to the hospital
• When I arrived (and after I initially went to the wrong building), I found Peggy, Scott, and my Mom in the Intensive Care waiting area. They told me my Dad had been intubated in the last hour and, therefore, couldn’t talk, but I could see him
• My Mom and I went to his room where he was sleeping (probably getting his first good rest in a while since he was no longer gasping for breath). He looked awful — the breathing tube was hanging from the corner of his mouth, he’d already lost most of his hair, and his lower eyelids were drooping slightly open. We wanted him to get some rest, so we didn’t wake him
• I called Lisa from outside the hospital coffee shop to tell her what was happening, and we both cried and cried. It upset the kids to see her so sad
• About an hour later, my Mom and I returned to his room so I could let him know I was there. When he saw me, he grabbed my hand and he opened his eyes wide. He tried to raise his head and say something, but he didn’t have the strength and the breathing tube prevented him from speaking
• His kidneys were failing, so they needed to start dialysis and that required surgery. It seemed to take forever (it was probably less than an hour) to get him prepped and wheeled to another unit for surgery. My Mom and I found the other Intensive Care Unit where he’d be taken after surgery — we gave them my cell number so they could reach us while we went downstairs for a quick lunch
• At lunch, I realized how distracted and, frankly, impaired I was. I had trouble finding everything we needed for lunch
• After lunch, we were able to see my Dad again. He was now on continuous dialysis — this would take 24 hours to achieve a complete treatment but it’s less traumatic than standard dialysis. He looked the same, but we were hopeful the dialysis would help him slowly improve. We let him rest
• My Mom and I holed-up in the family waiting area (Scott and Peggy went home around lunch time), and I would visit my Dad every twenty or thirty minutes, and I was trying not to disturb him so he could get some rest
• I counted eleven IV bags hanging around his bed, and I knew my Dad would not approve. He’d been diagnosed with double pneumonia the day before, and he immediately told the doctors he’d let them treat it for only two days. They explained that the treatment might easily last more than two days, but my Dad was clear that he didn’t want any heroic measures to be taken
• After many round-trips to his room, Nurse Sarah took me aside and explained a bit more about my Dad’s condition. In addition to the problems with his kidneys, she said his lungs were not processing oxygen efficiently and he was on three separate medications to keep his blood pressure up (yet it was still dangerously low). Shockingly, she also told me that his blood work indicated that he’d had a heart attack the night before, but they couldn’t treat him with blood thinners or beta blockers because they would further reduce his blood pressure. I couldn’t believe he’d been intubated and had surgery between the time they knew he’d had a heart attach and the time they told us
• Nurse Sarah encouraged me to stay and talk to my Dad. In hindsight, it was the best advice I received all day
• When I spoke to my Dad, he immediately pulled my hand up toward his shoulder, and it was obvious it was taking all his strength to do it. I asked if he was upset about the ventilator and wanted it removed, but he shook his head ‘no.’ I still don’t know what he was trying to tell me. I asked if he was in pain, and he nodded. That told me a lot because my Dad was never one to complain about pain — he had to be hurting a lot
• Later that afternoon, I asked him if he knew how important Grandpa Les was to me growing up, and he nodded. I told him he was the same sort of Grandpa for Jack and Cate, and I explained how much they would miss him if he wasn’t there for them. I put it in terms that didn’t assume he was going to die, but I think we both knew it was looking much more likely. He looked like he wanted to cry (I was bawling), but I don’t think the tears could physically come
• Over and over, I thought about how I had enjoyed nearly 42 years with my Dad, but Jack and Cate would be horribly short-changed by only having him in their lives for nearly seven years
• In another visit, I told him how important he was to me, how much I tried to be like him, and how I always strove to make him proud
• Scott, Peggy, Courtney and Pat came to the hospital around dinner time. My Mom and I drove through McDonalds and returned to the hospital. After dinner, Courtney and Pat had to leave, but Scott and Peggy stayed
• I’d been talking to Lisa nearly every hour throughout the day, and at about 10 PM she explained how much my Dad meant to her too. I told my Dad that her father had never fully appreciated and approved of her, but he always did. In some ways, he was more of a father to her than her actual father. I think he understood, but it was getting harder to tell. He was still nodding or shaking his head, but he wasn’t as quick to respond and he would squeeze one hand while you were holding the other
• At about 10:30 PM, Nurse Phil took my Mom aside and said we could choose to discontinue treatment. He didn’t explain specifically what would be done, but my Mom assumed it meant the dialysis machine would be stopped. My Mom got the impression that Scott and Peggy had overheard her conversation with the nurse, and they might be upset about the prospect of discontinuing treatment
• At about that time, Scott and Peggy started to get ready to leave, but they stayed to chat with the Chaplain for some time. They left around 11:40 PM
• At almost the same time, Nurse Phil told us the blood work from a few hours before indicated that he’d had an additional heart attack — the chemical markers were off the chart. Since they don’t have a cell phone, we started calling Scott and Peggy’s home every few minutes, and we finally reached them around 12:15 AM. They were back at the hospital by 12:45 AM
• We all spent time individually with my Dad, and then we all went to the consultation room to discuss the situation. There wasn’t a lot to discuss. He had had multiple heart attacks, his kidneys had failed, his lungs weren’t working efficiently, and they were over-dosing three medications to keep his blood pressure up. It was obvious to us that he couldn’t survive without these truly heroic efforts, and we couldn’t imagine how he could recover and then continue to battle his cancer
• We agreed that my Dad wouldn’t want to continue treatment. Nurse Phil called the doctor at home to inform him of our wishes, and he agreed that “it was the only reasonable thing to do”
• The nurses disconnected the dialysis machine and removed some other equipment from the room before we were allowed back into his room. Although he was no longer responding to us, I explained to my Dad what was happening. If he could hear me, I was sure he would be relieved. To be perfectly candid, I was worried throughout the evening that we hadn’t been true to my Dad’s wishes, but it felt like we were now doing the right thing for him
• The four of us said goodbye. Nurse Phil stopped the three drips giving him the blood pressure medicine and gave him some additional morphine to ensure he was comfortable. It took about 15 minutes before he died. We were all with him the whole time, holding his hands and caressing his face. He died on May 29, 2008, at 2:10 AM
• After he died, we had to stay and make arrangements with the funeral home. It was after 3 AM before we were ready to leave. He was still in bed, but the breathing tube and all the other equipment had been removed when we said goodbye. His gums a little bloody (he experienced this the first time he had cancer too), but I swear it looked like he was smiling and it made me feel a little better
• Within a couple of hours, my Mom had decided to donate his eyes to the Minnesota Lions Eye Bank and the rest of his body to the University of Minnesota. She stressed that my Dad was a scientist and had no desire to be buried — it seemed like a perfect match