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In the end, the decision fell to me.

Twenty-three years ago today, before anyone could imagine that both the Oklahoma City bombings and the Waco tragedy would eventually mar this date, my father died.

There were no stand-offs. No gunfire. No terrorists. Just an early morning visit by my father’s doctor, who had operated on him in a last ditch effort in the middle of the previous night, to no avail.

The good doctor caught me in the hall as I arrived that morning, the first in my family to greet the grim reality.

“He will not live the day,” he said. “You have a decision to make, and I need to know now. Do you want us to call a Code Blue and attempt to revive him when his heart stops beating, or not?”

In the end, the decision fell to me.

Back in the day, we didn’t have advanced directives. The relationships among the patient, the doctor, and the family members were such that we could have these conversations, brutal though they were. We took each other at our word, respected each other, trusted that we had the best interest of the patient at heart.

If you could have seen my father, well. He had a six inch wide bruise across the front of his neck, apparently a bleed from a spontaneously dissected carotid artery. He’d complained of a terrible sore throat for weeks, and was finally hospitalized two days before his death because he could no longer swallow his medications, necessary to manage his heart disease, high blood pressure, and diabetes.

Once safely within shouting distance of the cardiac ICU, he suffered a massive heart attack, followed by cardiogenic shock.

“I need to put your wishes in the chart,” the doctor said. “Unless you make him a do-not-rescusitate, we’ll have to call a code. What do you want me to do?”

In the end, the decision fell to me.

In the wee hours, we’d each spoken to Dad one-by-one before they took him into surgery. I spent my sixty seconds telling Dad that the chances of him recovering were next to none. I told him his time had run out, his gambling days were over, the game had turned against him, and that he needed to make a choice.

“Give your heart to Jesus, Dad. There’s still time for this one thing. Let me pray with you.”

He could not speak, but nodded. I prayed aloud and he squeezed my hand. I left his bedside knowing he wouldn’t be with us long, but that he’d be with the Savior forever.

The next morning after talking to the doc, I went into my father’s room.

“Do you remember your prayer last night, Dad?” I asked. “Squeeze my hand if you remember.”

He remembered.

In the end, you see, the most important decision of all still fell to him.

Posted by Katy on 04/19/07 at 07:44 AM

Fallible Comments...

Katy, I'll be praying for you today. I had the same scenario with my mother 11 years ago, except that she wasn't conscious in the end and couldn't tell me anything.
Posted by Suzan on 04/19/07 at 09:06 AM
Katy, what a beautiful memory. Tough and tender at the same time. What a way with words you have...what a gift! You're in my thoughts today.
Posted by Deb Raney on 04/19/07 at 02:37 PM
Suzan--I know we've shared about our parents' medical scenarios before, but let's revisit again soon. We have so many experiences in common! Let's hope one day we'll both be published novelists, too. Wouldn't THAT be fun...

Deb--You know what? When I wrote this, I kept thinking of your dad. My dad was not so fortunate that his deteriorating condition was detected in time to save him. But I hope your daddy is mending well and that you have many more happy years with him. Bless you!
Posted by Katy on 04/20/07 at 01:37 PM
You're a very strong woman. =)
Posted by Aithyne on 04/22/07 at 03:15 PM
I remember it like it was just yesterday. What a horrible, horrible morning. I had just quit smoking and left and got a fresh pack of smokes and started up again immediately. It was the start of such an awful two years for me. It was all I could think of the other day while at school. I really hate this time of April.
Posted by Bridget on 04/22/07 at 07:02 PM
Wow.
Posted by Beverly on 04/22/07 at 10:44 PM
Aithyne--You know how it is. We are strong in the moments we must be. Thank you for reading and commenting!

Bridgie--April is drawing to a close but (as usual) not without adding another hit (VA Tech) to its list of misdemeanors. We've almost got it past us now, little sister.

Beverly--Bless you. And thank you for being here!
Posted by Katy on 04/23/07 at 08:28 AM
I lost my dad 10 years ago on April 13. What is it about April anyway? We are convinced that it has something to do with the IRS. Paying taxes aggravates a pre-existing condition and before you know it, they're gone. And it does seem like yesterday. Fortunately for my dad, he went from being with mom to being with God with no apparent failing health, except a spike in blood pressure that week which he did indeed attribute to the IRS. So here's my theory about April. Our parents leave us just as we celebrate the resurrection, so we have this constant reminder that we will be together again, that death is only temporary, that the grave has lost its curse. I do go through a mourning period during April every year, but then I think about the resurrection.
Posted by alison on 04/24/07 at 02:49 PM
I should add that while Mom is still alive and very well, we argue a little bit (in her presence, of course) about who will get to pull the plug. She hopes she's lucky enough to go just like Dad and we hope we're lucky enough to keep her around a little longer. Just in case, I've been practicing "St. Louis Blues" so I can play it at her funeral, although she is starting to reneg on agreeing to let me do that.
Posted by alison on 04/24/07 at 02:52 PM
alison--I have ALWAYS thought April deaths were connected to tax liabilities!!! High blood pressure, heart palpitations, you name it, it all kicks in when freaked out about the IRS.

What instrument do you play? Our family funerals are bagpipe intensive. I personally want Irish whistles, as they produce one of the most lamenting sounds on earth, and I do so hope for lamentations at my funeral!!! (Party afterwards, people. But during the service? Lament!!!)

BTW, I think your Mom is lucky to have you, panties or not.
Posted by Katy on 04/25/07 at 12:24 PM
I've played piano for 40+ years and played for churches most of that 40 years. One of my great pleasures is accompanying my daughters when they sing. Anyway, about Mom ... when Dad died Mom had to find things to occupy her time (besides reading the car manual) so she started practicing the piano. She's been working on St. Louis Blues (she's from E. St. Louis) for 10 years now and it's nearly recognizable. So I told her that we should record her efforts and play it at her funeral, then I would would play it and say, "This is how it's supposed to sound." She did agree to it at one time, but now she's changed her mind because the words are questionable. I don't see how it makes any difference because nobody will be singing it. I agree about the Irish whistle, it has a very wistful, plaintive sound to it. If you give me enough notice, I would be happy to lament at your funeral. Well, maybe happy is not the right word.
Posted by alison on 04/25/07 at 04:05 PM
This entry brought tears to my eyes. Although I'd had a similar conversation with my Dad, the nod never came...and yet, I persist in believing I'll see him again one day.
Posted by Terri on 04/25/07 at 07:01 PM
alison--Happy to lament is a perfectly apt way of looking at it! I say lament with everything in you and get on with it. I will be calling on you....

Terri--Just reading your comment gave me goose bumps. I believe, too.
Posted by Katy on 05/01/07 at 02:51 PM

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Personal blog of christian writer & fallible mom Katy McKenna Raymond in Kansas City, Missouri Katy is represented by Greg Johnson at WordServe Literary Read more Katy at LateBoomer.net Follow Katy on Twitter Follow Katy on Facebook 123 Recent Posts Try Becoming Brenda Starr Off Beat Scattered That’s It So I’ve Finally Signed With An Agent. Now What? The Spoon Sciatica Sweetheart A Woman’s Train of Thought Has No Caboose However much we own, we are all still living on borrowed time After all, when restaurants shrink portions, they don’t shrink prices. As with everything in life, balance is key. Slow down, you move too fast… Yeah, I know. I have issues. Search Advanced Search Syndicate Login E me at katy @ ngenius.com	DNR In the end, the decision fell to me. Twenty-three years ago today, before anyone could imagine that both the Oklahoma City bombings and the Waco tragedy would eventually mar this date, my father died. There were no stand-offs. No gunfire. No terrorists. Just an early morning visit by my father’s doctor, who had operated on him in a last ditch effort in the middle of the previous night, to no avail. The good doctor caught me in the hall as I arrived that morning, the first in my family to greet the grim reality. “He will not live the day,” he said. “You have a decision to make, and I need to know now. Do you want us to call a Code Blue and attempt to revive him when his heart stops beating, or not?” In the end, the decision fell to me. Back in the day, we didn’t have advanced directives. The relationships among the patient, the doctor, and the family members were such that we could have these conversations, brutal though they were. We took each other at our word, respected each other, trusted that we had the best interest of the patient at heart. If you could have seen my father, well. He had a six inch wide bruise across the front of his neck, apparently a bleed from a spontaneously dissected carotid artery. He’d complained of a terrible sore throat for weeks, and was finally hospitalized two days before his death because he could no longer swallow his medications, necessary to manage his heart disease, high blood pressure, and diabetes. Once safely within shouting distance of the cardiac ICU, he suffered a massive heart attack, followed by cardiogenic shock. “I need to put your wishes in the chart,” the doctor said. “Unless you make him a do-not-rescusitate, we’ll have to call a code. What do you want me to do?” In the end, the decision fell to me. In the wee hours, we’d each spoken to Dad one-by-one before they took him into surgery. I spent my sixty seconds telling Dad that the chances of him recovering were next to none. I told him his time had run out, his gambling days were over, the game had turned against him, and that he needed to make a choice. “Give your heart to Jesus, Dad. There’s still time for this one thing. Let me pray with you.” He could not speak, but nodded. I prayed aloud and he squeezed my hand. I left his bedside knowing he wouldn’t be with us long, but that he’d be with the Savior forever. The next morning after talking to the doc, I went into my father’s room. “Do you remember your prayer last night, Dad?” I asked. “Squeeze my hand if you remember.” He remembered. In the end, you see, the most important decision of all still fell to him. Posted by Katy on 04/19/07 at 07:44 AM Fallible Comments... Katy, I'll be praying for you today. I had the same scenario with my mother 11 years ago, except that she wasn't conscious in the end and couldn't tell me anything. Posted by Suzan on 04/19/07 at 09:06 AM Katy, what a beautiful memory. Tough and tender at the same time. What a way with words you have...what a gift! You're in my thoughts today. Posted by Deb Raney on 04/19/07 at 02:37 PM Suzan--I know we've shared about our parents' medical scenarios before, but let's revisit again soon. We have so many experiences in common! Let's hope one day we'll both be published novelists, too. Wouldn't THAT be fun... Deb--You know what? When I wrote this, I kept thinking of your dad. My dad was not so fortunate that his deteriorating condition was detected in time to save him. But I hope your daddy is mending well and that you have many more happy years with him. Bless you! Posted by Katy on 04/20/07 at 01:37 PM You're a very strong woman. =) Posted by Aithyne on 04/22/07 at 03:15 PM I remember it like it was just yesterday. What a horrible, horrible morning. I had just quit smoking and left and got a fresh pack of smokes and started up again immediately. It was the start of such an awful two years for me. It was all I could think of the other day while at school. I really hate this time of April. Posted by Bridget on 04/22/07 at 07:02 PM Wow. Posted by Beverly on 04/22/07 at 10:44 PM Aithyne--You know how it is. We are strong in the moments we must be. Thank you for reading and commenting! Bridgie--April is drawing to a close but (as usual) not without adding another hit (VA Tech) to its list of misdemeanors. We've almost got it past us now, little sister. Beverly--Bless you. And thank you for being here! Posted by Katy on 04/23/07 at 08:28 AM I lost my dad 10 years ago on April 13. What is it about April anyway? We are convinced that it has something to do with the IRS. Paying taxes aggravates a pre-existing condition and before you know it, they're gone. And it does seem like yesterday. Fortunately for my dad, he went from being with mom to being with God with no apparent failing health, except a spike in blood pressure that week which he did indeed attribute to the IRS. So here's my theory about April. Our parents leave us just as we celebrate the resurrection, so we have this constant reminder that we will be together again, that death is only temporary, that the grave has lost its curse. I do go through a mourning period during April every year, but then I think about the resurrection. Posted by alison on 04/24/07 at 02:49 PM I should add that while Mom is still alive and very well, we argue a little bit (in her presence, of course) about who will get to pull the plug. She hopes she's lucky enough to go just like Dad and we hope we're lucky enough to keep her around a little longer. Just in case, I've been practicing "St. Louis Blues" so I can play it at her funeral, although she is starting to reneg on agreeing to let me do that. Posted by alison on 04/24/07 at 02:52 PM alison--I have ALWAYS thought April deaths were connected to tax liabilities!!! High blood pressure, heart palpitations, you name it, it all kicks in when freaked out about the IRS. What instrument do you play? Our family funerals are bagpipe intensive. I personally want Irish whistles, as they produce one of the most lamenting sounds on earth, and I do so hope for lamentations at my funeral!!! (Party afterwards, people. But during the service? Lament!!!) BTW, I think your Mom is lucky to have you, panties or not. Posted by Katy on 04/25/07 at 12:24 PM I've played piano for 40+ years and played for churches most of that 40 years. One of my great pleasures is accompanying my daughters when they sing. Anyway, about Mom ... when Dad died Mom had to find things to occupy her time (besides reading the car manual) so she started practicing the piano. She's been working on St. Louis Blues (she's from E. St. Louis) for 10 years now and it's nearly recognizable. So I told her that we should record her efforts and play it at her funeral, then I would would play it and say, "This is how it's supposed to sound." She did agree to it at one time, but now she's changed her mind because the words are questionable. I don't see how it makes any difference because nobody will be singing it. I agree about the Irish whistle, it has a very wistful, plaintive sound to it. If you give me enough notice, I would be happy to lament at your funeral. Well, maybe happy is not the right word. Posted by alison on 04/25/07 at 04:05 PM This entry brought tears to my eyes. Although I'd had a similar conversation with my Dad, the nod never came...and yet, I persist in believing I'll see him again one day. Posted by Terri on 04/25/07 at 07:01 PM alison--Happy to lament is a perfectly apt way of looking at it! I say lament with everything in you and get on with it. I will be calling on you.... Terri--Just reading your comment gave me goose bumps. I believe, too. Posted by Katy on 05/01/07 at 02:51 PM Page 1 of 1 pages Commenting is not available in this weblog entry. Next entry: Date Night Previous entry: Taking It Personally << Back to main


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Personal blog of christianwriter & fallible momKaty McKenna Raymondin Kansas City, Missouri

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Personal blog of christian
writer & fallible mom
Katy McKenna Raymond
in Kansas City, Missouri