More Bad News

That night, after being moved to the ICU, my dad's oncologist ordered another chest scan to check up on the tumor in the lung. The following morning, he came and met with us to discuss the results of the scan and also to check in with us since coming to the ER the night before. The news he had wasn't good and shocked my dad completely. The scan showed the tumor in his lung was still there. Possibly a bit smaller but not by much, and the scan showed cancer spots in his liver. It had spread even more despite the chemo. He said that its progressing faster than he thought it would, and the treatment is, well... not working. Even with all the treatment he had done so far, it didn't even slow the cancer down. My dad was completely taken by surprise. I don't want to say my dad was ever in denial about anything. He knew he had cancer and he knew it was aggressive. I think he just honestly thought he was going to be able to beat it. That if he drank all of his protein shakes, prayed, had a positive attitude and did everything the Doctors said and started treatment right away like he did, that in the end, he would have been able to beat it. So to hear, that after aggressively going after this cancer, that it wasn't going away, it was actually still spreading, from his lung... to his brain... to his bone... breaking his bone... and now to his liver... he was shocked and surprised. All of this happened in a matter of 2 1/2months. Everywhere we went and whoever he would talk to about this (which wasn't too many people), he would always say, "It's been a whirlwind... since November 23rd!"
After the Doctor, we all just cried together. My dad, being the political activist that he is, was like, "Well... I guess I don't have to worry about the election." And then he went to a serious note to think about all the things he was going to miss out on. He would have spurts of this, but would never let it last long because it was too overwhelming. He never wanted to truely dive in and talk about it and think about it... at least out loud to us. I think it was just too painful.
The following morning, his Oncologist came back in to visit us. He proceeded to let him know that he still had options. His honest opinion was that he should stop treatment and focus on comfort care. He felt that was the best choice and the choice that would give my dad the best quality of life. But that if he wanted to continue treatment, they could put together a different chemo cocktail, but that it would be stronger and could possibly be dangerous. Chemo, thins your blood, and with my dad's brain bleeding, it wasn't a good idea for him to be on any treatment. It could cause some serious emergencies that could be painful and traumatizing. It just would not be a good route to go. His Doctor said, "I am honestly scared to continue treating you." After hearing this, we all knew it was best to stop treatment and enter hospice, but the Doctor wanted my dad to still feel like he had a choice.
Finally, after never asking the Doctor because he didn't want to know. He asked him the dreaded question: "how long?... 5 years?" (My dad had had this in his head from the beginning... that with treatment, he could very well still be here for 5 years and he held onto that this whole time). His Doctor responded, "Realistically... months." My dad just nodded his head. I knew he was completely speechless. It was so hard hearing that for myself, I can't imagine what was going through my dad's head. Here he was, still having a lot of living left to do and hearing he has months before he dies... it's mind boggling. My dad let him know that he believed in divine intervention and wanted to meet with his family and church family before making any decisions. He showed tremendous faith in God and let everyone know it.
He spent the next 3 days in the hospital before coming home. He could have gone home the day before he did, but he wanted to stay. My dad was somewhat scared about leaving the hospital and coming home. I think a lot of it had to do with safety and security. I think he felt like he couldn't die or have anything happen to him if he was at the hospital being monitored with doctors all around. If he was home, he could feel sick again, have to call an ambulance again, something else could happen. And his trophy room, that was once a sanctuary and his favorite room in the home he had built, had turned into a yucky place for him. It was his new room, 'his dungeon' as he had sometimes described it and just made him feel sick to think about. I don't think he wanted to go back to that. So we talked in the hospital about moving his bed into the living room when we got home, so he could have the TV, be able to wheel into the trophy room and his office when he wanted to, but also be in a part of the house that was more open and he could see the kitchen... be in a place that didn't feel so confined. He liked that idea.
His final night in the hospital, he started getting kind of sleepy. We said goodbye to him for about an hour while we got some dinner in the cafeteria and he got some help taking a shower. When we came back up to sit with him, he was already asleep. After a few hours, we woke him up and said goodbye. In the morning, me and Michelle saw him and he had a hard time waking up. Kept saying how he wasn't trying to be rude and not have a conversation, haha. He was just having a hard time waking up. It went on like that for the majority of the day seemed a lot like he was depressed.
It was time to check out and we got him in the car and he had his eyes closed for the majority of the ride home. The most he woke up was when we pulled through our gates at the house and he spotted a coyote running up the hill.
It was a challenge getting him in the house. It took him awhile to make it up the stairs in the garage and into the house, but he took it slow and did it. The minute he got in the house he sat down in his chair in the living room and closed his eyes. He slept the entire rest of the night, into the next day... and the following night. He would not wake up. And when he did, it was only for a little bit and his eyes seemed distant. It was the weirdest thing. It scared us so much, because for 3 days he did not move from that chair and was starting to be incoherent. He also would not eat anything. He couldn't. After 3 days of this we were scared and called Hospice.