Posted on Aug 19th 2010 by pkruis.
I wrote the following back in June and I was hesitant to post it then. I think I’m ready now. It may have been more helpful/meaningful to have posted it earlier.
The last two months of Susie’s life have been a blur. They have been very tough. From an ‘innocent’ visit to the ER, to admission into the hospital, to being on oxygen 24/7, to being on a machine that forced air into her lungs, to the ventilator in ICU, and finally the ventilator through a tracheotomy. And it only got tougher.
Last Friday I was present when the doctor clearly presented Susie’s desire to finish the race to her dear husband, Ross. There we stood, Ross at Susie’s right, me at her left and the doctor at the foot–each of us dressed in the yellow gowns meant to protect us from the infection inflaming Susie’s pic-line. She had put up a tough fight against the cancer that had spread through her body. She had endured the tough ordeal of the ventilator and tracheotomy for 3 weeks. She had resolved to give it her best shot at her husband’s request. Now came the tough job of convincing him it was time.
With a look of resolve, Susie locked eyes with the doctor and extended her right hand, palm up, first toward Ross and then toward me, inviting him to tell us the things she had written to him and to other staff. The doctor explained Susie’s condition, that she had been through a tough battle but that the cancer was too strong and too pervasive. She was ready to go and be with Jesus.
Oh, this was tough on Ross. He wasn’t ready then. He is not ready today. He will not be ready. Ever. But the longer Susie remained on the ventilator, the longer she would suffer. She had been tough–a real fighter–all of her life. A strong resolve fitted into that little frame. Never one to hold back on her respectfully held opinions, she made them known up to the very end. And Ross knew she had had enough. He wanted more. More time. More laughter. More toughness. More Susie.
But the time had come to let her go. She needed to go to that place where there is no cancer, where there are no tears, where there is laughter and music and singing. She needed to be in the very presence of Jesus. He had been calling her home and the time had come.
So, around 6:00 p.m. on Friday, June 18, the nursing staff–who made a tough time as easy as possible–began to administer morphine in order to help Susie fall into a deep sleep. Because our tough little gal had been on a pain medication 7-10 times stronger than morphine for some time, all the morphine did was wake her up and make her more alert. This was a blessing for her and for us.
The crowd in her room had swelled to a dozen people standing around in those yellow gowns. We sang hymns, we read Scripture, we caught up with each other and with Susie. We laughed, we cried, and we cried some more. Susie was as confused as we were as to why she wasn’t falling asleep. Each time she closed her eyes for some time a staff member would come in and test her alertness by gently calling her name and each time she would open her eyes wide and we would all laugh and she just smiled and shrugged her shoulders.
The staff began administering larger doses of the strong medication she was on while they continued the continuous drip of morphine. Susie stayed awake for several more hours but as we grew more quiet she grew more sleepy. Finally, Susie would not be aroused by touch or voice. She fell asleep.
Susie breathed on her own for about a half-an-hour and then a voice did rouse her. He called, “Susie. Dear, sweet, sister Susie, come. Come with me. Take my hand and walk with me and join me at the feast. It is time for laughter once again. And you’re going to be singing and dancing for some time. Here, have some new wine to quench your thirst.”
Life isn’t tough for Susie anymore–just for the rest of us.