Pancreatic Cancer: My Dad’s Story

On May 16, 2011, my dad (David) was in the emergency room for the umpteenth time. Since October 2010, he had made at least 3 visits to the ER, one of which resulted in his gallbladder removal and another in a 7-day stay at the inpatient psychiatric unit. On this day, he was in such pain he had used all of his 14-day supply of opioid medication in 5 days and had resorted to extra-strength Tylenol. He had taken 3 times the recommended amount of Tylenol, and was still inconsolable. He begged me to take him to the hospital, but I could see that riding in my PT Cruiser was not going to be the emergency transportation he needed. So I dialed 911, explained to the operator what was going on, and within minutes, our cul-de-sac was full of emergency vehicles.

The very kind EMTs assessed my dad and made the decision he needed to go to the hospital. They could see his frail body was suffering – I could see his frail body was suffering. My dad had gone from a hefty 300+ pounds to less then 150 pounds in about 10 months. They carefully moved him from his bedroom, down the stairs and into the ambulance. I followed from behind in my PT Cruiser, calling my mom on the way to tell her “meet us at the hospital”. Once at the hospital, it was just a few hours before we received the life altering diagnosis – Stage IV Pancreatic Cancer.

I remember so clearly looking at my dad in the face – tears welling up in our eyes, sobbing could be heard down the hallway. The first words that came out of my mouth “well, at least we know what it is”. I sat and held my dad’s hand. The crying continued for hours.

I will be honest, I don’t remember much about the days and weeks that followed. I remember my dad calling people to say his goodbyes. Friends who we hadn’t seen for years, came to visit. My dad’s mom and his aunt made the trek from Iowa to stay close by. We spent as much time together as we could. Watching movies – anything with baseball. Listening to music – the Oldie’s. Talking memories. My brother and I took turns being with him, so my mom could continue to work. There wasn’t one day I didn’t see him from the day of diagnosis, until the day of his death. 49 days – I saw him every single day.

On June 14, 2011, my mom took my dad to a routine doctor’s appointment. He was very yellow, and the doctor wanted to admit him to the hospital. He had a blockage in his biliary duct – the cancer was spreading. They put a drain in to move the bile out of the body. He had a couple blood transfusions. He had IV infusions to rehydrate his body. And then we had to make a decision – take him home on hospice, or send him to a facility. In the end, we chose a facility. It was clear we couldn’t care for him at home and we felt it best he die somewhere with professionals – so we could just be his family.

My dad spent the last two weeks of his life at Bailey Boushay House in Seattle, Washington. Click here to learn more about Bailey Boushay House and the amazing work they do. My dad had around the clock care from nurses, CNAs, and even volunteers. We had a social worker who would change the course of my life – but I’m saving that for another blog. My mom stayed with him every night, but on July13th, the night nurse convinced her to go home. We stayed until almost midnight – and the last thing I said was “you’re being stubborn, it’s okay to go”.

He died peacefully early on the morning of July 14th, 2011. We said our final goodbyes and left his body in the care of Barton Family Funeral Home. I believe my dad died exactly the way he wanted to – with love and dignity. There are so many more details to the 7 weeks between diagnosis and death. The memories come and go, sometimes feeling like it was yesterday, other times feeling like it was a lifetime ago.