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My mother died of lung cancer at 69 just last year.
She was coughing up blood for months, but chose to hide it from everyone. My dad discovered some bloody rags and carted her off to a doctor. Diagnosis: Advanced lung cancer. My mom was too weak from other illnesses for chemo, so they began radiation to try to control the tumors until some strength returned and she could go the chemo route.
The cancer metasticized into her brain and, on my father's birthday, she had a massive siezure. My dad rushed her to the hospital and they hooked her up in the ICU, a half dozen tubes running down her nose and throught and "twilight sedated" so she would not rip them out. There she lay for three weeks, with family by her side (those that could be there). Every couple of hours they'd siphon off a mixture of blood and lung tissue as the cancer was literally liquifying her lungs. They told us she had less than 5% capacity left.
At one point they tried to raise her from the anesthesia and give her radiation (to control the brain tumors), but she refused, so it was back to the ICU.
After the second week, we'd walk into the ICU and I'd see nurses and doctors at the nursing station look at us seriously and just shake their heads. One day a Dr. Kill-daire (I call him that) came in, did some cursory examination of my Mom, then announced she is irrevocably terminal, with near zero lung capacity and a brain full of tumors (I think there were 12 separate tumors). He suggested slowly taking her off the respiratory machine while upping her morphine. He said she'd take one or two breaths, then be dead. Peacefully. But leaving her as she was, with no hope, amounted to cruelty.
My mother, too, always said she never wanted to die hooked up to machines that way, but my father was not ready to make a decision. He kept saying, If there was a God, I'd pray to him just to have one more chance to talk to my wife. Hmmm. I am a Christian (I know that's not too popular around here). I stood in the gap and prayed for him, for what he desired.
After the doctor, they sent around a nursing specialist that helps families with the transition to death. She told us the facts, she'd most likely die after one or two breaths, and she had zero chance of living more than two days. With the tubes, she'd die uncomfortably in a week or two. She says the staff and doctors conferred, and based on their collective judgment they say this with professional certainty. She advised removing her from the tubes and letting her die comfortably off the machines. My father was still not ready to make that decision. But he repeated, if there was a God, he'd pray to Him that he be given one more chance to talk to his wife (of 51 years). Again, I stood in the gap and prayed for him.
I prayed all night, giving it to God, knowing whatever transpired in the room the next day would be His will.
The next day, we walk in, I see the heads shake again out of the corners of my eyes, I hear the hushed conversation. It was clear they thought we needed to let go. Still my father could not make the decision. While standing next to my mother's bed, I saw the thought arrive like a comet landing square on my head and I said boldly, "Take her off the respirator!" With that we agreed. My father was just looking for someone else to take on that responsibility. And I, of course, a prayful Christian, gave that responsibility to the Lord.
Arrangements were made to pull the machines in the evening. We decided to minimize the morphine so her lungs, what was left of them, would have a chance to kick in. And then it started. She came to ... breath one ... breath two ... breath three ... breath four ... she sat up and slowly pulled the feeding tube from her nose (ouch!) ... breath ten ... breath elevyn ... then she talked. To all of us. My father's proxy prayers were answered!
After another week in the ICU they were calling her Carol the Miracle. She was eating, gaining wait, gaining strength. No apparant mental deficiencies (from the seizure). Finally they suggested we move her to Hospice, which we did.
We has Easter Dinner together in her room! She even battled with my father for control of the TV remote (just like days of old!).
(I took several opportunities to minister to her while down there. While in the ICU she accepted Jesus Christ -- OK, you aethists out there, just leave this alone for now.)
I had to go back north to work, so seeing she was growing stronger, and seeing my father (who slept with her in the hospice every night) got his prayer answered, I left them. She continued to grow stronger until Hospice said she's not dying, she should be sent home. So she was -- united with my father and her wonderful puppies. She always said when she dies she wants to die at home, surrounded by those she loves.
Three months later she had another seizure and knocked the temple of her head hard against the corner of a bathroom vanity. She was dead.
I drove down again. The funeral was lovely and we cremated my mother (her wish). She now sits in an urn on my father's bedroom dresser.
When driving north again, late, my daughter asleep and the radio on, I kept hearing a young female voice. It was persistent. I turned off the radio and heard, "David, David, I'm here. I made it, I made it, David, and it's everything you said it would be and more. I'm here David, I made it." It was not audible, but from the internal witness (those of you who know what that is) -- but it just as well could've been audible as it filled the car and my head. The voice, my mom's, was not infirmed, but sounded young and healthy and overflowingly happy. Wishful thinking, you doubters will say; believers understand that this was the Holy Spirit letting me know that my mother is in Heaven with the Lord. All is well with her.
I have almost no grief at the loss of my mother, just joy, and hope I see her again after I pass.
And, as for the cancer doctors, they did the right thing, they tried to end the unproductive, uncomfortable care to let my mother die with dignity. And she died with dignity, just several months after they thought!
Coda: When I said to my father that God answered his prayers, that he returned my mom to him for three months, he said -- "f*ck God, I don't believe that; the doctor's just didn't know what they were talking about!" Ah, prayer life never ends! Now I pray that God sends him a devout Christian old lady to hen-peck him into salvation!!!
And finally, if you're wondering (those of you who have seen other posts from me), I'm an anarcho-syndicalist-neo-Buddhist-charismatic-Christian, not cookie cutter liberal at all. On the spiritual dimension: I have a PhD friend quite knowledgeable about current brain science. He reports that we now know the structure in the brain where experience of the Godhead occurs, and it can be stimulated with electrodes, implying complete determinism and biologic cause of all things of the mind. What my thick-headed PhD friend doesn't get is the mind-event occurs simultaneously with its representation in the brain. Neither lead, both dance together in synchronicity. So much for deterministic materialism.
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