HW 17- First Thoughts on Illness/Dying Unit

The subject of illness and dying is something that I unfortunately know very well. The way I was taught about illness and dying was very simple: we as humans have limited time on Earth and when our time is up, we die and disappear forever. Of course I was never told about the world of nightmarish suffering that is involved in one's death, and the fact that this time may come as soon as tomorrow, but unfortunately I found out the reality by what others may call the "hard way".

When my father was diagnosed with metastatic kidney cancer, I was still 13, and in positively no way did I understand the gravity of the situation. He apparently had it for as long as my life (at least), going undetected until he finally gave in to my mother's demands that he go in for a check-up. This brings up my first issue with the medical system: the doctors are so detached that they sometimes carelessly misdiagnose. My father, who was clearly ill and NOT doing well by any means was examined and sent home with high-blood pressure pills. Go figure.

Over the next nine months I never really felt like he was going to die. I knew it was possible somewhere in the back of my mind but I never came to terms with the idea that this could happen to MY father, a man who was well-liked by everyone and good-spirited. In fact, I will never be sure if he ever thought to himself that the so called "game was up" and that he was truly on the path to death. He had just begun a new art collection titled "Something Wonderful is Going to Happen" as if he were sure that the prophecy would hold water.

When I returned from a week at The Island School in Eleuthera, Bahamas, my mother was clearly troubled. I returned home to find my father in his worst state yet. When I had left for the Bahamas, he had been showing alarming signs of recovery, as if the battle were said and done and he had emerged the victor. Later I learned this was simply his "honeymoon with death", a term doctors use to describe a short grace period before one falls into a state of non-recovery. We had all been tricked. This was crushing in every sense of the word. For a moment something wonderful WAS going to happen, but it was just another deception- it was as if death were saying, "Haha! Good one right! You really thought you had a chance! There is no happy ending here."

In his final week of life I witnessed true suffering. My mother refused to allow him to fade away in a hospital because it felt cold and detached from what was important in his life: his art. I wondered how movies can so shamelessly portray illness in its final stages. Nothing is peaceful or attractive in this image. There is no sense of nobility, no sense of closure. People often think of advanced illness as pale skin, withered limbs and weak voice. This could not be any more false. What I witnessed in those final days was horrifying on levels I cannot even do justice to by simply typing words. In this end stage he could no longer speak, let alone eat or drink water. He was left tongue wagging, short spastic movements, falling in and out of consciousness and occasionally muttering indiscernible sounds. Part of me died that week. To watch him fight bravely for 9 months and then see him completely shattered and undone in such a short time was numbing. Nothing is majestic about illness. Having witnessed this however (my mom and I were the only ones who saw/cared for him in this end stage, absolutely no outsiders or other family) I believe it has had a huge influence on my point of view, and I often feel misunderstood by those who know me, but do not know about this moment of anguish I have gone through. I only hope that this unit can shed somewhat of a light toward those who have (thankfully) not gone through the same experience on what true illness and dying looks like.

And I realize that I probably wrote much more than I was supposed to on one subject, but please understand that this was not easy for me.