Finally, the doctors put in a morphine drip to control his ever-increasing pain, but we all knew and agreed that it would eventually end his life. It was the most painful decision I’d ever made. My brother and I were in the room when the doctor came in with the drip, and dad looked at Scott and asked him, “Do you agree with this?” Scott managed to say yes. And then he asked me the same question, and I was about as inarticulate as Scott in agreeing.
“All right then, I agree too,” he said. The doctor assured us that he would be asleep within an hour or two — at most. My wife, Pam, and I took a break to get some lunch, and when we returned, someone ran up to me and said, “Dad’s sitting up in bed eating lunch.” I ran to his room, and sure enough, he was acting as if they were pumping sugar water into his veins.
When I found the doctor and told him that he wasn’t asleep, he first thought I meant he wasn’t dead, but when I said, “No, he’s sitting up in bed eating lunch,” the doctor told me that was impossible. He went into his room, confirmed that we hadn’t been hallucinating, turned up the morphine drip, and, as we walked out, he looked at me and said, “You’re father’s an ox. We could put the entire hospital out with as much as he’s getting.”
However, even an ox has to give in to the inevitable. He went to sleep that afternoon and all medical procedures were stopped. At around 10 or 11 that night, just when I thought the morphine drip had let him slip into a deep sleep for good, he somehow woke up and called for me. His mouth and nose were filled with mucous to the point where he could barely breathe. I screamed for a nurse, who informed me that there was an order to discontinue all procedures — that is until she saw the look in my eyes and ran to get the equipment to clean out his mouth and nose. I also ordered her to turn up the morphine drip...a lot.
Article comments
1 - John Spivey
Mark,
Very touching; painful but complete. It would be a cheap god that would order us to believe in a particular faith. Clear-headedness and kindness. What more could be asked of us?
2 - NR Davis
I know your dad's departure was eight years ago, but you have my deepest condolences. Reading the piece made me think about losing my father in late '03. Yeah, it's the journey. How blessed are we that ours included our dads...
3 - Mark Schannon
John & NR, thank you for your sentiments. I never intended to write this, but I was commenting on Chantal's blog and it all just flowed out. Then I knew I had to enhance it and write what's been inside me for so long.
And John, wait until I review your book. It's magnificently written with a complexity that slowly becomes clear as one reads on.
4 - chantal stone
Mark.....
Thanks for the mention ;)
One of things that stands out for me is "the end doesn't matter; it's only the journey that's important."
I think that is so true....one of the things that always bothered me about Christianity, and other faiths for that matter, is that sometimes people can become so consumed with the idea of heaven, "treasures in heaven", that they often neglect to live their lives to fullest here and now.
It sounds like your father lived his life to the fullest, and he passed that gift down to you.
This was beautifully written and I'm really glad you expanded on your thoughts from my blog.
5 - Bliffle
Not many of us can say with truth "I fought the good fight" when we come to the end.
6 - Ruvy in Jerusalem
Mark, your father was one tough and hard to beat man. I'm willing to bet that the Angel of Death is still out of breath from dealing eith him, and its been eight years.
And he said the most important words you could possibly hear from a dying man:
"I fought the good fight."
May I only be so lucky to be able to say something like that near my death, and mean it.
It strikes me that a book about a man that struggled that hard to live would be read as an inspiration. If you get it published, I'll be glad to review it.
7 - Mark Schannon
Bliffle & Ruvy, those last minutes with my father are the clearest and most powerful memories in this mess of neurons I call a brain. I'm not a very visually-oriented person, but I can see it so clearly. I hope too that, at my death, I can go without fear and believing that I fought the good fight.
And Ruvy, the Angel of Death, at last report, was still in a clinic recovering and muttering to himself. God had to name a temporary replacement.
But a book!? Yikes. One of the issues would be the issue of complete disclosure/truth vs. hand selecting events to make a philosophical point. I don't think right now I could write the former--I'm not sure I'd ever be able to. The latter would be a bear--it's an interesting idea and at least I have a start. (Thanks--like I needed more to do, LOL.)
And that's the truth!