Many years ago, my mother informed me my dad had a terminal illness, polycythemia. She explained to me the progression it would take, and I watched over the years as her words came to life in my dad’s health.
Polycythemia has some weird impacts. He had to take Benadryl before a shower because his skin was basically allergic to water. There were times when he had to donate red blood cells (RBCs) frequently because his blood was too thick. It basically kicks your RBC creation into overdrive. Over time, your body produces deformed RBCs until they are so deformed they can’t carry oxygen.
My dad hit that point in the summer of 2012. He was in the ICU, and we couldn’t get anyone to give us information on his prognosis. My mother and I finally “cornered” a doctor in his room. My dad asked him, “Can you fix me for a while?” The doc was somewhat evasive and finally said, “There are still options.” He told my dad that the options consisted of regularly swapping all his blood through transfusions.
My dad said, “Send me home.” The doc was like, “Sir, if we do that you won’t survive more than a few days. He said, “Send me home. I’m not dying hooked up to machines in an ICU.”
We got a hospital bed set up at home. He came home. His family took turns sitting and visiting with him. When he died, he was surrounded by family singing hymns to bid him farewell from this realm. It was beautiful. The hospice nurse that showed up thought she had the wrong house because it was so peaceful.
He left my mother prepared and not burdened by medical expenses from years of care that I’ve heard referred to as “extended death,” as opposed to extending life.
I’ll never forget that. My father had zero fear of death. I pray for that fearlessness and ability to think of others who will remain when I am gone. I do not want to leave any burden on my family or anyone else when my time comes. Praise God for an assured eternity.
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