Living With a Terminal Illness

I woke up today thinking about my dad, born on this date in 1916. He died in 1999, but I still learn from him.

He faced his death the way he lived his life: as a practical thinker with a curious mind, who was quietly stubborn with a huge generous heart.

Dad was diagnosed with multiple myeloma on his 80th birthday. During the next three years he paved the way for others to talk with him about living with a terminal disease as he went through a range of treatments, hospitalizations and kidney dialysis.

He kept detailed records of doctor visits, lab results and weight/appetite changes. Education and compliance were as important to him as chemotherapy. The more he understood his condition, the more empowered he felt to make informed decisions and suggest additional treatments to his health care team. He was determined to live as long as possible, but didn't deny his own mortality.

"Death is a natural part of life", he told me one evening as we reviewed his most recent physical changes. He was hospitalized for kidney failure, which necessitated starting dialysis. The day I had feared had come. My heart was broken.

"I've had such a good life" he said, as he listed the things most important to him: his family, his home, his friends.

I asked him how we could help him now.

"I want to be home, to be comfortable, to be with my family."

We hoped he would tolerate dialysis well. From home, he went three days a week to a clinic where he endured a four hour procedure in order to survive. Due to his advanced cancer the treatments quickly became more than he could handle.

When the decision was made to stop dialysis we knew he would die within a few days. The night before he died a steady stream of family, friends, neighbors came. He extended his thin, frail hand to all, smiled and thanked everyone for visiting him.

I watched in awe. In his own quiet way he had maintained control over the end of his life. He knew what he wanted from the time he was diagnosed three years prior to his death. He must have spent a lot of time imagining the end, preparing himself emotionally and spiritually. His willingness to talk with others helped prepare us too.

The next morning he was no longer conscious. It was clear that death was close.

In his own bed at home, surrounded by family, he peacefully took his final breath. He died the way he had hoped he would.

Happy Birthday Dad....Your wisdom and grace taught me how important it is to live fully, live honestly, live facing death instead of fearing it.