My father passed away on Wednesday, August 26, 2009 of Septic Shock (infection of the entire body) due to complications from the surgery he had to remove the tumor that had grown from his pancreas into his stomach and spleen.
When I got there on Tuesday night I got to see him. He was hooked up to a respirator and he was sleeping. He looked like he had another time I had seen him and, although I was worried, I was sure that he would get better. When I arrived on Wednesday morning I was in shock. My father was unresponsive, but awake and he was staring to the right at the ceiling. He looked highly uncomfortable. But, I just thought that he was in pain. I still thought he would pull through.
I talked to him and he looked at me but it was like he stared right through me. Then I began to be frightened. I called my aunts to come to see him and told them that he didn't look well. I called my sister and my brother and then I ran back into see him. My aunts got there in time to see him and he responded to them with a jerk of his head. We told him to fight to get better, but it was too late.
The doctor came into to see us and told us what I had feared the most. My father would not live through the day. I ran from the hospital room, sobbing as I ran down the hall. This could not be happening, I thought. This must be a horrible dream and any minute I would wake up. I called my husband and told him to get there. I needed him in the worse way. But my husband was in Austin and I was in McAllen. There's no way he would get there in time.
My father was heavily sedated and he was put on medication to keep his blood pressure from going so low. They almost needed to shock his heart that morning. The doctors talked to us about resuscitation. We decided that there would be no DNR. Eventually we talked about whether or not to discontinue all the medications for his heart. After much discussion we agreed that the medication was only delaying the inevitable. There was infection all over his body and it had spread to his heart and his brain. There was no way that he could live.
I waited that night until 10:30 P.M. I could not leave my father. His heart began to slow and I laid my hand over his heart as it slowly stopped beating. It was the hardest thing I've ever had to do to watch my father die. To listen to the monitor beep was excruciatingly painful. I could not wake up from this dream, it was a reality. I cried and cried that day, hoping for the release of the pain, but to no avail. My father was dead.
The funeral was hard, but not harder than the day he died. I said my goodbyes in the Eulogy that I gave at his rosary. But, I have not truly said goodbye. I surround myself with his pictures and his favorite robe and cologne. I miss him more than I can say. I still think that the phone will ring and it will be him. But, he will never call again and I must learn to deal with that.
I thought that I would go into a deep depression after all that happened, but somehow I keep going. My only thought is of my children and how they need me. I will not let them down. I try to keep my crying at a minimum. I think that if I really let myself cry that I will not stop and my own family needs me now.
About the Author: Cristina C. Fender, 34, is rapidly becoming an expert on Bipolar Disorder. She has been researching Bipolar Disorder and blogging about her own experiences for several years. At age 21 she was diagnosed with depression and saw psychiatrists for over ten years before she was correctly diagnosed with Bipolar Disorder I. Her vision for writing at Raw Writing for the Real World of Bipolar is to inform and educate the public about mental illness. Feel free to Email Cristina a comment or a question.Click here to Subscribe in a Reader. © 2009 Cristina C. Fender
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