Kenny was diagnosed with stage IV rectal cancer in June 2009. We visited oncologists and surgeons in Olympia, Seattle and Renton. We decided that the care he could get in our own backyard was as good as what was offered in the big city. And not one doctor sugarcoated our situation. From the get-go we knew all options were palliative not curative. That meant that we would try to prolong Kenny's life but there was no cure. He would not survive this.
He endured two and a half years of chemo, radiation,surgery and ablation. He suffered through every chemo treatment which he received every 2 weeks with the exception of a one month break period. We knew the chemo nurses and the oncology floor staff better than we knew our extended family. We saw these professionals regularly.
He fought the good fight. More than I wanted him to. I thought the agony he endured was too great a price for him and for us. He had physical pain with constant nagging nausea, an abscess with a drain that persisted for weeks,no months. It was awful.
Yet he didn't want to give up. I once asked him what his goal was. It was to see Jack graduate high school. We had 5 years to go at that point. Kenny died when Jack was in 8th grade.
I often say that his dying was much harder than his death. Seeing a once stubborn, quick to anger, not afraid of anything man become frail, tender and humble was overwhelming. The time he was given definitely helped ready him for his passing. While he never wanted to die, he did become accepting of his fate.
So renal failure was his ultimate downfall. Or so they say. The last time we went to the oncology care and saw Kenny's oncologist, his lab work was off. He was in kidney failure. Needless to say, his chemo was cancelled and we were told to get him directly admitted to the hospital. Once there, his kidneys never completely recovered. They hydrated him with IV fluids and his numbers rallied a little bit before we were finally told there was nothing more to be done. Kenny's mental state was poor at that point and I became the decision maker and spokesperson.
They talked to us about hospice. He had never wanted to die at home. I asked for an inpatient situation. There was none. So against my will and Kenny's wishes, he was sent home to die. His biggest fear was that he would die in pain so I knew I could help with that even though I often felt powerless in his end of life care. They told me it would be fast.
He came home on a Saturday. Hospice admitted him on Sunday. The nurse told me that based on his heart rate and mental state, she thought he would be gone in 48-72 hours. He hung on for another 36 days.
That time was awful. We were richly blessed by friends and family that sat with Kenny, fed us, distracted us, prayed for us, let me sleep, let me work, let me out for a day of Christmas shopping. I will forever be grateful for all those that ministered to us.
Kenny's death was quiet and seemed peaceful. His last breath was taken during a Beatles' tune, very fitting for him. There was no struggle, no gasping for breath, no furrowed brow. He had Cheyne-Stokes breathing for about 2 minutes and then he was gone.
And now three years have passed. Some moments on his final days seem crystal clear as though it happened last week yet most is a blur. I suppose that eases the heart a bit.
My family has survived. Keely is on her mission in Orlando, FL, Jack as a junior in high school. And me, I work days at a computer. Our lives have changed, mutated. We have for the most part found that new normal of life without Kenny. Most days are good. Some days like this one are hard.
We were sealed as a family this summer. We have the opportunity to be an eternal family. I hope it plays out the way that I see in my mind's eye and feel it in my heart.
I pray that Kenny has found peace. I believe that he is being taught, just as I am, of the Lord's plan for us. I pray that he accepts that plan. I strive for a forever family and will try to live each one of my days living up to my end of the covenant.
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