One Of A Million Little Things
I hate getting attached to a television series. I always want them to go on and on. Only the Simpsons seem to have gone on forever. A Million Little Things was one of the rare series that I could actually relate to with many of the story lines. But as I binged the final season recently, the show connected to me a lot closer, a lot more personal than I had expected. It brought up feelings that I had not dealt with in over nine years.
The story line will do nothing for those around me as far as offering any insights. For me, it allowed me to see that what happened was the right thing, exactly what was wished.
The character, Gary, was dying of cancer. Treatments were no longer working. All around him, including his wife, were pushing for unproven alternatives, available only out of the country. Gary’s wife had talked him into travelling for that treatment, insisting that he not give up, just as he pushed her not to give up as she faced her own battle with cancer earlier in the series. There was one difference in Gary’s case. His cancer was so far advanced, the likelihood of this alternative treatment working was slim at best, if at all. And if it did not work, then the last moments that Gary would have, with his wife, and his friends, would never take place.
Gary and his wife, were at the airport with the whole crew of friends there to see them off. Dramatic pause, Gary and his wife change their minds, and decide to take Gary back home, where he will spend his final days, surrounded by those he loved and loved him.
I know this feeling all too well. I was in that similar situation, although not on television.
As my late Father’s lung cancer progressed, rapidly, my position as medical proxy soon came into play. Along with my step-brother, who was handling my Father’s legal affairs, decisions needed to be made, as it was discovered that my Father’s cancer had turned terminal, and was progressing rapidly. There was much to prepare for, most importantly to my Dad, was care of my step-mother. He was her caregiver (as a result of an accident decades earlier), and now, both were going to need round the clock care, at different levels. They had never been separate from each other in their forty plus years. And we were determined not to allow that to happen. Again, difficult decisions needed to be made, based on what my Dad wanted.
Long story short, we were able to arrange for my parents to be together, for the end. Decisions were made to put them in the same health care facility. And being in hospice, meant there would be changes with my Father’s preventative care, maintenance medicines for things like cholesterol would be discontinued. Also, in the event of illnesses, curative care would not be given, which was difficult for many family members to understand. But it was simple, my Father was going to die. Why would you want his suffering elongated? These were policy and procedure issues, beyond my control, but I accepted them. I was willing to take the heat and frustrations from anyone who did not understand. I was honoring my Dad’s wishes in his final care.
It was a last ditch effort that I was approached with, that rang similar to the final episode of A Million Little Things. There were family members behind my back, pursuing other possible treatments. One had found a clinical trial, for a drug to treat the most dire of lung cancers. Ironically, I was familiar with this trial, as I worked for the pharmaceutical company that was researching it. And I was familiar with the requirements, which my father had no chance of qualifying for. Forget the fact he had only limited time to live, his body had gone through so much trauma with a lobectomy for the lung cancer, but prior had a major heart attack. But once conversations started carrying, all efforts were directed at me to “fight” for my Dad. Again, I knew this issue was all procedural and was not worthy of wasting my time, but I let anyone and everyone say what they wanted, even if to my detriment.
At this point, just as in the TV episode, all anyone was doing at this point, was losing precious final moments with my Father, including me. Frustrations rose so high between me and other family members who felt I gave up on my Father, rather than accepting his fate, and honoring his wishes. Things have been said that cannot be taken back. And final moments were forever lost, scratch that, taken from me by not allowing my Father to have the peace that he wanted.
In the end, I did for my Father as he wished, as painful as it was for me. I no longer care what anyone else thought at the time.
Paul's Heart 