Papa’s body has slowly been shutting down over the past 24 hours. We’re all here, each spending time sitting with him, holding his hands, kissing his cheeks and telling him how much we love him and appreciate all he’s done for us. By the tears that keep coming I think it’s obvious that each of our hearts are breaking over temporarily losing our Papa.
I’m writing to you this morning in place of my mom because she’s sitting at my dad’s side. For the past 24 hours she’s held her position there letting him know right where she is by talking to him, reciting verses, singing hymns, showering him with kisses and holding his hand. The nurse who’s been here all night said that in her 19 years of working in hospice care, she’s never seen a patient in the end stages of pancreatic cancer hold on this long, or seem as peaceful as he does. We’ve all been praying for a peaceful passing, knowing that where he’s about to go will blow this entire world out of the water. I think God’s answering those prayers.
My mom plans on giving a detailed update later tonight. As of now, Papa’s still holding on with a faint heartbeat and shallow breaths and she’s still by his side.
Hospice has delivered an endless supply of equipment for our use: a hospital bed, a continuously inflating mattress, a shower chair, a wheeled walker, a movement alarm, a bedside table, plastic bed liners called chucks, an automatic chair that raises people to a standing position, a bag of Depends and a magic-foam pad to sit on. We’ve met four nurses, one doctor, one social worker and one aide. And we have phone numbers to call for 24-hour access to these people or to request additional supplies.
Today we had an appointment with the aide, our helper, who was coming to give Nate a shower. She’d come once before, and I thought we were over the hump of Nate’s embarrassment with a woman other than me seeing him naked. But today when I said, “Guess who’s coming?” Nate answered, “I hope it’s not that woman who gave me the shower. I hope she never comes again.”
We all laughed, and I said, “Oh she’s coming all right, and I’m sure she’ll see to it that you cooperate!”
Lori is a powerful woman who doesn’t take guff from patients. She has a heart of gold and works hard all day bending and twisting to get dirty people clean, most of them struggling with body movement, unable to help her very much.
“She’s bathed people for 20 years,” I assured Nate, “and you’re just one of many she’s helping today.”
He winced and muttered, “Oh boy,” but then resigned himself to her arrival.
Bubbling with good cheer and strong respect for Nate, Lori chatted with him throughout his shower, covering him carefully at strategic moments to give him an illusion of privacy. She rubbed him dry with a towel, careful to keep an extra one over his shoulders so he wouldn’t get cold. It was a scene similar to hundreds in my past as a mother drying the bubble-bath-clean bodies of seven children.
Lori also dressed Nate, careful not to hurt him or touch the dime-sized tumors erupting here and there on his body. When he was dressed, she combed his hair, continuing to talk soothingly and deliver praise. She also helped him with his electric shaver.
After Nate’s bath, Lori showed me how to handle a new set of circumstances coming into our future as Nate’s caregivers: changing the messy diaper of a bed-ridden patient. This is work I never dreamed I would do. Even as she was explaining it, I was wishing it away. But she left us with a big bag of pull-up Depends, and this reality is right around the corner.
Preparing to leave, Lori looked at Nate. “OK, big guy, you’re a new man,” she said, standing back to admire her work. “And I’ll see you again on Friday.” He gave her a weak smile but was too worn out from the ordeal to be enthusiastic. Later he made a joke about her wanting to have her way with him, but we all heard a hint of appreciation in his voice.
I love Elisabeth Elliott’s quote: “Just do the next thing.” This is simple, wise counsel. Lori demonstrated this in her approach to Nate’s bath. One task at a time, she just did the next thing. It was hard work, and she was huffing and puffing as she lifted, supported, bent and squatted. But she made a point of steadily moving forward.
As Nelson reminded me tonight, “Don’t stress about that diaper thing today, because you don’t have to do it today. Wait til its right in front of you, and stress about it then.” That fits right in with Mrs. Elliott’s quote above. While you’re stressing out, just do the next thing.
My sister is fond of saying, “God doesn’t call the equipped; he equips the called.” She’s right. And God is in the process of equipping me, equipping all of us, to simply do the next thing.
“Commit your actions to the Lord, and your plans will succeed.” (Proverbs 16:3)
This morning began with a bang. Actually, I should say a crash. Nate lost his balance in the bathroom while I was still sleeping and went down between the sink cabinet and the tub. The weight of his fall pushed his shower chair up against the tub faucet so hard it severed a pipe joint there. Amazingly, he didn’t hurt himself, except for a slight cut on the top of one foot.
Nelson had been up since well before seven and heard the crash before I did, racing in to help his father. I thought of the many times Nate had helped his children get up after little-kid falls, comforting them and giving them the universal parental encouragement: “Hey, you’re alright!” Usually it was true. Now the roles are reversed, his child is helping him up, and the “You’re alright” part is not true.
By the time I arrived, Nelson had Nate back into bed, and everything was calm. Scripture certainly speaks truth when it says, “Two people are better off than one, for they can help each other succeed. If one person falls, the other can reach out and help. But someone who falls alone is in real trouble.” (Ecclesiastes 4:9-10)
As we sat together and I held Nate’s hand, I said, “I’m so glad you didn’t hurt yourself.”
He responded, “Oh, I’ve got strong bones,” apparently forgetting his bones have cancer and are extremely frail. I nodded and decided it was me that needed recuperation, not him. He seemed fine.
All eleven of us are coping with Nate’s cancer in different ways. Nate is struggling immeasurably, yes, but the rest of us are struggling some, too. My brother came this afternoon to go through files, both Nate’s personal stuff and his law office records. There are still missing pieces to the puzzle, and Nate can no longer tell us where to find them. We did this file-work in the basement so as not to upset Nate.
Thankfully, we found everything we needed, but the process was stressful, at least for me, partly because we needed to hide in the basement and partly because I’m not a numbers person. I can’t imagine handling all I’ll need to handle. The Lord gave us Lars, though, who is a numbers person, and he’s volunteered to take over for me. Although he says it will be “easy”, I know it will add a measure of stress to his life, too.
All of us are trying to handle the strain of cancer in our lives. None of our kids have complained about that, but every so often I see one or another of them sitting quietly just thinking, not reading, not talking, just staring at nothing. There’s a lot to think about.
As for me, I don’t know what to think. Yesterday while running an errand, I passed an elderly man standing on a corner in the rain with a bent cardboard sign reading, “HUNGRY. HOMELESS. GOD BLESS YOU.” An all-consuming sadness came over me, and I burst into tears so overpowering I had to pull my van to the curb. Having grown up in the Chicago area, I’ve seen many homeless people but have never wept like that.
The only thing to do was to get some groceries and bring them back. As I handed the bag to him, I looked into his eyes and ached all over for his misery. Since I was feeling miserable, too, it seemed we shared a valuable experience in that brief encounter. He thanked me four times and said he was going to find immediate shelter (from the drizzle) and eat whatever I’d put in the bag. “It will taste so good!” he said. His smile showed a half-dozen missing teeth, and I promised to pray for him. Back in the car, as I brought his plight to God, I wept all over again. I still can’t figure it out.
I worry about Nate, wondering when he’ll fall again, and I worry about the kids, hoping they’re talking it through with each other. I worry about myself, hoping I don’t come up short when the needs increase and I have to be stronger than I am today.
But God was ready for all this worry and sadness. He had us find another one of Mary’s Scripture rocks today, just in time.
“The God of all grace, who called you to His eternal glory in Christ, after you have suffered a little while, will himself restore you and make you strong, firm and steadfast.” (1 Peter 5:10)
