Why I am a hospice volunteer
When the phone rang at 5:00 AM I answered it right away. I am a light sleeper and come awake quickly and calls at 5:00 AM are never good unless they are from overseas or about babies being born. It was my mother. It seems my father had an infection in his leg and had gone to the hospital by ambulance. Once they had drained it, my mother said, they would need a ride home. So my wife and I got up, showered, got dressed and went to the hospital. When we arrived, a nurse in the emergency room called to me. He said your mother said you look like Santa. Then he led us to a patient elevator to go up to where my father was and my mother was waiting. On the way up he broke the news. "Your father has necrotizing fasciitis." I was stunned and my wife looked at me. "Flesh eating bacteria" I told her. Once we were in the waiting room my mother filled in what we had missed.
My father had awakened in the night and told my mother that his leg hurt terribly and to call for an ambulance. When the ambulance crew arrived and examined my father they noticed a small bruise on the inside of his left thigh. Once they reached the emergency room they told the doctor and he drew a circle around it with a pen. In thirty minutes the bruise was twice as large. He told my mother that father had an infection and did the family have a preferred surgeon. My father gave them the name of the doctor that had removed his gall bladder some years earlier. My mother called me and delivered the message above. She did not yet realize the seriousness of the situation. When the surgeon arrived he took a quick look at my father's leg then turning to my mother he hugged her and said, "I think I can save his life I know I can't save his leg."
When I arrived my father was in surgery. They removed his left leg at the hip and most of his left buttock. My father had been having tests because he would feel full after only one or two bites of food. After a second exploratory and a colostomy it was discovered that my father had very advanced colon cancer. His colon had been blocked and backed up, not leaving any room for food. His colon had burst and released poisons into his body. Part of the result was the necrotizing fasciitis. But the deadly result was that the cancer had attached it self to every internal organ including his spine and the released poisons had destroyed his liver. For several days after the surgery my father was kept alive by having nutrients fed directly into his blood stream by IV. They could not close the amputation because of fear that some of the flesh-eating bacteria was still in there. So several times a day several rolls of gauze were soaked in betadine folded into pressure bandages and packed into the open hip at the amputation site. My father was very brave. He never cried out nor was mean to the nurses even though after the maximum safe dose of morphine the pain was great enough to send tears streaming down his cheeks, this from a six foot two inch retired iron worker. After several days my father had had enough.
The nurses arranged for the consultation with the hospice doctor at my father's request. After studying the case, all of the doctors agreed my father would never get out of bed again or be off the IV nutrients. So my father chose to spend his remaining time at hospice, no more test, no more surgeries, just pain management and peace. My father and mother signed the papers and they immediately removed all of the sensors and IV's leaving only the oxygen connected so he could breath comfortably.
My brother and I live in the same area as my parents did. My sisters live together but out of state. My brother and I were there from the beginning. The younger of my sisters came while my father was in the hospital. On the evening of March 31st, 2005 we took my father by ambulance to the hospice center. My brother had gone ahead, got some mementos of my fathers and decorated his room. He also picked up a pint of ice cream. My father had always liked ice cream. The staff at hospice got him settled and we spent sometime showing him all of the cable channels and making sure he was comfortable. Father was exhausted so we left early to let him rest. I will never forget the smile of contentment he had on his face.
The next morning we were all back but with out nutrients my father was unconscious. He never regained consciousness. Friday my father was unconscious but active and dreaming. The older of my sisters arrived in town and we all just sat and waited. The nurses would come and check on him; looking for the telltale signs he was in pain and giving him a shot if he appeared to be in pain. We left late that evening. Saturday morning his breathing was very labored and we knew the time was near. My sister-in-law suggested to my mother that she tell him it was OK to go. She said she couldn't. Although my parents are not Catholic, the hospice Chaplin, a priest and casual acquaintance of mine came and prayed with us. It brought comfort to those of us waiting. Finally, at 10:00 in the morning, April 2nd, 2005, we gathered around my father, holding hands. My mother was holding my father's hand; she said "Jim we are all here your whole family is here. If you need to you can go now. You can let go." He took one more breath and died.
As we were leaving to make arrangements for my father's funeral, we met that doctor in the hall. Of course he knew and offered his condolences. I said to him. "I don't know how you can do what you do. But I thank God that you do it." I guess I've learned how they do it. I am a volunteer at that same hospice and at another one. I of course do my Santa work or I'll go to a homebound hospice resident and do some light repairs. I also sit vigil. I sit with people who are dying and don't have anyone. No one wants to die alone so I, and others like me, sit with them at the end.
My mother lived three years after my father died and from time to time she would ask me if she had made the right decision to let him go to hospice or had she signed his death order. I would always tell her "Father knew what he was doing and you might of been able to stop it but it wouldn't have been right. It was what he wanted." And then I would remind her of the smile on his face that first night when he fell asleep.
God Bless you and yours.
My father had awakened in the night and told my mother that his leg hurt terribly and to call for an ambulance. When the ambulance crew arrived and examined my father they noticed a small bruise on the inside of his left thigh. Once they reached the emergency room they told the doctor and he drew a circle around it with a pen. In thirty minutes the bruise was twice as large. He told my mother that father had an infection and did the family have a preferred surgeon. My father gave them the name of the doctor that had removed his gall bladder some years earlier. My mother called me and delivered the message above. She did not yet realize the seriousness of the situation. When the surgeon arrived he took a quick look at my father's leg then turning to my mother he hugged her and said, "I think I can save his life I know I can't save his leg."
When I arrived my father was in surgery. They removed his left leg at the hip and most of his left buttock. My father had been having tests because he would feel full after only one or two bites of food. After a second exploratory and a colostomy it was discovered that my father had very advanced colon cancer. His colon had been blocked and backed up, not leaving any room for food. His colon had burst and released poisons into his body. Part of the result was the necrotizing fasciitis. But the deadly result was that the cancer had attached it self to every internal organ including his spine and the released poisons had destroyed his liver. For several days after the surgery my father was kept alive by having nutrients fed directly into his blood stream by IV. They could not close the amputation because of fear that some of the flesh-eating bacteria was still in there. So several times a day several rolls of gauze were soaked in betadine folded into pressure bandages and packed into the open hip at the amputation site. My father was very brave. He never cried out nor was mean to the nurses even though after the maximum safe dose of morphine the pain was great enough to send tears streaming down his cheeks, this from a six foot two inch retired iron worker. After several days my father had had enough.
The nurses arranged for the consultation with the hospice doctor at my father's request. After studying the case, all of the doctors agreed my father would never get out of bed again or be off the IV nutrients. So my father chose to spend his remaining time at hospice, no more test, no more surgeries, just pain management and peace. My father and mother signed the papers and they immediately removed all of the sensors and IV's leaving only the oxygen connected so he could breath comfortably.
My brother and I live in the same area as my parents did. My sisters live together but out of state. My brother and I were there from the beginning. The younger of my sisters came while my father was in the hospital. On the evening of March 31st, 2005 we took my father by ambulance to the hospice center. My brother had gone ahead, got some mementos of my fathers and decorated his room. He also picked up a pint of ice cream. My father had always liked ice cream. The staff at hospice got him settled and we spent sometime showing him all of the cable channels and making sure he was comfortable. Father was exhausted so we left early to let him rest. I will never forget the smile of contentment he had on his face.
The next morning we were all back but with out nutrients my father was unconscious. He never regained consciousness. Friday my father was unconscious but active and dreaming. The older of my sisters arrived in town and we all just sat and waited. The nurses would come and check on him; looking for the telltale signs he was in pain and giving him a shot if he appeared to be in pain. We left late that evening. Saturday morning his breathing was very labored and we knew the time was near. My sister-in-law suggested to my mother that she tell him it was OK to go. She said she couldn't. Although my parents are not Catholic, the hospice Chaplin, a priest and casual acquaintance of mine came and prayed with us. It brought comfort to those of us waiting. Finally, at 10:00 in the morning, April 2nd, 2005, we gathered around my father, holding hands. My mother was holding my father's hand; she said "Jim we are all here your whole family is here. If you need to you can go now. You can let go." He took one more breath and died.
As we were leaving to make arrangements for my father's funeral, we met that doctor in the hall. Of course he knew and offered his condolences. I said to him. "I don't know how you can do what you do. But I thank God that you do it." I guess I've learned how they do it. I am a volunteer at that same hospice and at another one. I of course do my Santa work or I'll go to a homebound hospice resident and do some light repairs. I also sit vigil. I sit with people who are dying and don't have anyone. No one wants to die alone so I, and others like me, sit with them at the end.
My mother lived three years after my father died and from time to time she would ask me if she had made the right decision to let him go to hospice or had she signed his death order. I would always tell her "Father knew what he was doing and you might of been able to stop it but it wouldn't have been right. It was what he wanted." And then I would remind her of the smile on his face that first night when he fell asleep.
God Bless you and yours.
Comments
You sound like a remarkably giving person. This story has inspired me to do smaller things for people that have a bigger impact. Thanks
Phil
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