Dying Well

We waited a day to write a blog update so you didn’t mistake it for an April Fool’s Joke. (Actually we went to bed early last night but decided we needed a good reason for the delay).
 
This is Hannah writing on Dad’s behalf, as he isn’t able to type well these days. Dad’s edema has worsened and that makes it harder for him to use his hands. The edema is due to his kidney failing so it is unable to process out fluid. This causes fluid to build up in his legs, abdomen, hands, and face. Dad is not bedbound yet. He can still get around the house using his walker but needs assistance getting in and out of bed.
 
In addition to not being able to process fluid his kidney is not able to process out toxins which has caused Dad to have hallucinations. Dad said he can tell what is real and not real. At least it has given him some entertaining scenes. The other day he looked in his taco casserole and said “There’s a blind bulldog right there!” So while he can’t get on the computer to look at the news or write emails, at least he’s got plenty of entertainment!
 
Unfortunately the build up of toxins - and possibly the metastasis of cancer to his brain - has caused Dad a lot of disorientation and confusion. Aside from limited mobility I think this has been the greatest stressor for Dad as he sometimes struggles to form reasonable sentences or understand us.
 
Even so Dad continues to outlive predictions. The first week of February we were told Dad would probably only make it another week or two. Then on March 9 we were told to expect major organ failure within the month as it looked like Dad’s heart and lungs could not keep up with the stress from all the fluid build up. I think most people in Dad’s situation would get into bed and resign themselves to resting their last days on earth. Dad has been very sleepy and naps most of the day but in between naps he still comes out of his room to ask how he can be helpful.
 
We are grateful Dad’s shortness of breath is not troubling him and his pain is well managed thanks to the many medications the hospice service has given him. We have a wonderful nurse named Stacey who has been a godsend and a good friend to Dad. The nurse and every doctor we’ve met at the hospice service are strong believers who pray for their patients. I asked the last doctor who arrived what her prognosis was for Dad. She responded, “He could die tonight. Or maybe I will see him in 2 months. I’ve been doing this long to enough to know no matter what I say God will make his own decision. Truly, each day is in God’s hands and only he knows the ending.”
 
We have been reading prayers from Every Moment Holy, Volume 2 and recently we read together the one called “Dying Well.” Please pray this may be in Dad’s thoughts even when thinking becomes difficult:
 
Though some will write off
The remainder of my days as of no value,
I know that you will not, else you would never
Have ordained that I should live them.
Trusting your providence,
I would not now dismiss them either…
 
Though my body declines and I find myself
Beset by new pains, discomforts, and limitations,
I am yet your servant as truly as ever, still your
Child, still a vessel of your indwelling Spirit, still
A recipient and a conduit of your grace.
 
Redeem then these precious remaining days.
Make me of what you will, even now,
In this season of my dying. Shape me yet
In whatever time is left. For this was always
My best vocation: to grow into a truer
And truer image-bearer of my God, learning
To know you, trust you, love you more.
My worth to you was never the measure
of what I could do or accomplish by my
Own hand. All along, you passionately
loved me as your child, delighting to lead me
By your Spirit into closer and more constant
Communion with yourself.
 
And so my life will be no less significant
in the moment I draw my last breath
Than it was in the moment I drew my first. 

On February 3, I was taken to a hospice care facility with symptoms that indicated this might be my last ride.  However, I recovered but was left with indications that my time on earth was short.  They talked in terms of weeks, not months.

     
· I have multiple tumors growing in my abdominal area that are filling the     few small areas that remain.

· There are tumors in my liver, lungs, pancreas, spinal cord, neck, and          other areas.

· Tumors have pushed around my intestines in such a way as to cause          occasional constipation.

· My eyesight is deteriorating.

· Edema has pushed blood flow in my legs so as to force me to use a walker, limiting my ability to move around the house.  Hospice has even provided a hospital bed for my room. The edema has interfered with blood circulation, especially on my left side.  

Those last 2 points mean that my ability to type or write is almost gone and that this may be my last entry that I post.  If so, know how grateful I am that you have followed and prayed for me and my family for these many years. From the busy streets of Fort Worth to the tropical hills of Panay Island, it’s because of you that the Lord has been free to grant me the strength to share my testimony with others, that...

· l God is good, even when cancer is consuming a person’s body.

· l Cancer produces fear; God produces hope.

· l Cancer is a door to exit this fallen and evil world.

· l Cancer gives me strength through Christ, who comforts me.

· l Cancer is my ticket to God’s forever Kingdom where I will receive a new body.

This past month I have received several visits from family and friends. Hannah and Daniel have been super helpful in taking care of me. I’m at the point where my health could worsen quickly. So, again, I want to thank everyone who has followed my blog and prayed for us.

Most of all I give praise and thanks to my Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, who has given me such a positive message to share, that death is not the end, that He has a place prepared for those who treasure Him, and that eternal life filled with joy is real. I hope to see you there, too, at God’s appointed time. To Him be the glory and honor forever. Amen.

Heavenly House

Not much to write about except that I’m still alive The hospice nurse says there are indications that my body is slowly shutting down. I occasionally have periods of disillusionment. My breathing is becoming more of an issue. I may soon be needing others to help in my daily care. But I’m not there yet. I even made a trip out from the house this past week to check out getting a new pair of glasses as these I have are so scratched out that they are hard to see through.

I also did a silly thing. On my computer’s homepage, I drew an architectural rendering of what I would like my little house in heaven to be like. It’s not big, maybe 800 square feet. It’s a living room kitchen combo with a downstairs bedroom, bath with full walk-in shower, half bath, and an up stairs loft good for sleeping two. There’s an outside car port and a partially wrap around porch. To finish it off, I have accented the floors, cabinets, and furniture, with my favorite cherry woods, and the appliances, countertops, and walls with my favorite blue and gold colors.

Now, with death so near, why would I bother to waste time designing such a thing? Ecclesiastes says that God has set eternity in the hearts of man. Jesus has promised a place for us in His Kingdom (John 14:2). It’s with growing excitement that I want to see my place. It’s design is small, but it’s colors are perfect for me, just as I would want it.

The best part is that God says whatever my mind can imagine, my place will be far more perfect and complete. The people there will be perfect. That includes me. That’s even more difficult to imagine. But it’s all a reflection of a place I’ve been dreaming of for a long time and is close to being fulfilled. Oh, there are still moments of fun here.

 
Watching Nathaniel slide in the icy snow we had over the weekend was an especially fulfilling delight. But once my sins are washed whiter than snow, I believe the perfection I see reflected in my little house drawing will become a welcomed reality. My little design on my computer is not perfect, but the one in heaven will be!

A Very Merry Christmas

I hope you had a blessed Christmas. This one will likely be my last. Come to think of it, I said that last Christmas. Hmmm, and the Christmas before that. I think I’ve said that every Christmas since I was diagnosed in 2019. I guess the laugh is on me. But one of these Christmases I’ll get it right. Yet, like the boy who cried ‘wolf’ (see last month’s entry), I think I’ll get it right this year.

It’s funny how I’ve gone through my supplies. I recall wanting to buy Q-tips several years ago from Walmart. But the lowest count box they had was 500. I thought, “I’ll never go through 500 Q-tips before my ‘promotion’.” Well, I finished that box 2 years ago and I’m about finished with its replacement. Same goes for my socks, printer ink, and other items I use regularly.

If this was my last Christmas, it was well celebrated with cards, calls, letters, and visits from family and friends. Although I’m about 2 hours from Fort Worth, that didn’t stop David and his family, Sara and her husband from making a couple of visits this past week. I was blessed with visits from former missionaries and calls from Filipino friends. And of course, there’s the daily lively entertainment provided by my dear grandchildren.

Some folks make it a tradition to send out a Christmas letter to family and friends. As you can see, I’ve made a habit to send-out this newsletter the first of each month. I also write a letter to each of my children on their birthdays, reminding them of why each one is precious to me and how deeply I love each one. This Christmas, I also made it a point to talk to my grandkids about Heaven. Although they may miss Grandpa when he’s gone, they need not grieve as do others who don’t have the certainty of hope hidden deep in their hearts due to the sacrificial work of Jesus Christ on the cross.

As for my health, Christmas week brought me a couple of episodes of high blood pressure and dizzy spells, along with my on-going issues with edema, nausea, shortness-of-breath, and digestion. These were accompanied by the continual contentment I feel from the Prince of Peace and the daily inward joy I experience from the Joy Giver that will culminate on my Promotion day, a Christmas day that I will treasure for eternity.

The Boy Who Cried Wolf!

Do you remember the story of the shepherd boy who cried ‘wolf’? Twice he pretended a wolf was attacking the sheep and he called out to the villagers for help. But when they arrived, the boy laughed because there was no wolf. He just wanted the attention. Then, a third time a wolf really did come and the boy cried out. But the villagers didn’t hurry to rescue the sheep this time because they assumed the boy was not being truthful.

Well, I sometimes feel that I am like the boy. Many times the cancer appears ready to overwhelm me. I write in such a way that death seems close at hand. Then my body fights back and figures out a way to give me more days of life. I almost feel like I need to apologize for ‘crying wolf’, only then to get better.

But I’ve always said that cancer is like a wild animal. You never know how fast or which way it will run. There are many who survive only weeks after receiving a cancer diagnosis. An aneurysm or organ failure can happen quickly, as happened to Jan. Others can carry their cancer for years. As cancer doctors will always say, “Each case is different.”

Yet, at the risk of shouting ‘wolf’ once again, there are increasing indications that my ‘promotion’ is approaching and my graduation to Heaven is not far off. For the past month, I have been dealing with edema in my legs and abdominal cavity. My belly has blossomed into a bell-shaped balloon. I’m having to wear compression socks to control blood flow in my legs. These indicate that either my liver or remaining kidney are becoming more out of balance, increasing my heart rate and blood pressure.

The hospice doctor paid me another visit today to do a check-up and recertify me for continued hospice care. She confirmed that my rapid weight gain (20 pounds in the past month) and enlargement of my abdominal cavity is likely due to tumor build up, which is affecting both my breathing and digestion. As my bodily organs become increasingly out of balance, so does the likelihood of something happening at any time. That ol’ wolf could appear suddenly and with little warning.

But I am not afraid of the wolf. In one of its many depictions of Heaven, the Bible says in Isaiah 11:6, “And the wolf will dwell with the lamb…and a little boy will lead them.” For me, that’s the only boy and wolf story I want to tell.

When the Time Comes

When I first signed up for hospice care last March, one of the booklets they gave us was titled, “When the Time Comes”. It explains signs to look for when a patient’s dying process may be coming to an end. For example, the dying person will likely withdraw, wanting to spend more time sleeping than awake. His appetite diminishes, often being content with a liquid diet. Weight loss is normal; it does not mean the person is hungry or being starved.

Obviously, changes in bladder and bowel control (incontinence) will happen at the end of life. When the body weakens, muscles in the lower body will relax. Pain medication can slow the bowels even more, thus requiring some people to need ‘adult-sized’ diapers. That’s why they say that if you live long enough, you’ll likely die in diapers, too! Another embarrassing point in the process of dying is temporary confusion, especially when you wake up, not knowing where you are. (After dying, it will be interesting to see how God deals with that one!)

On Thursday morning, Oct 23, just after midnight, I awoke to tremendous hurting from my abdominal area to my lower back, resulting in some of the most excruciating pain so far. Even my pain meds seemed not to help ease the hurting. I didn’t call hospice care (even though they have 24hr. service) because I really thought this was it. God was finally calling me home. But by the time the sun arose, the pain was diminishing and I called hospice. The hospice doctor increased my pain meds and added oxycodone to my regiment of meds to take when needed. So far I haven’t needed to take it again.

So, I’m back to taking things a day at a time, aware anything could happen anytime. The little booklet, When the Time Comes, goes on to say there can be other signs that the end is near, such as shallow breathing, agitation, rapid heart beat, change in blood pressure and skin color. Last week, even when the hurting was most intense, I felt a readiness for death to take its course. I was excited at what I thought was about to happen; eager to step into Heaven. Such is the joy of the Lord in the midst of pain.

I’m feeling much better now, back to where I was before Oct. 23. I move around slowly, but I still move around, able to take care of myself. Assuming this continues, I should make it to my 68th birthday next week, making it 6 years since I learned my cancer had returned and thinking I only had months to live. But whenever my time is up, I’ll be ready, when the time comes.

A Surprising Respite

For 3 days, a burning sensation sizzled along the skin on my left side. I had not yet experienced this kind of pain. What followed was a couple of days of strong pain in the same area. And then, 2 weeks of feeling really good! Very little discomfort, a renewed appetite, fewer trips to the bathroom, and, best of all, I could breathe easier. I hadn’t felt this good since Christmas.

As best as I could figure, the large tumor on my left side shifted downward and outward, freeing up space in my abdominal area. The burning sensation was my skin stretching to accommodate the tumor’s shift. The movement relieved pressure on my bladder, increased my stomach volume, and gave more space for my diaphragm to move, allowing me to breathe easier.

That was the first 2 weeks of September. Since then, my insides are slowly shifting back to where they were before. Breathing and nausea issues are returning. But the temporary reprieve was quite welcome as it gave me a chance to do some chores around the house and play with the grandkids.

Yesterday, the Hospice doctor gave me a house visit. One of the qualifications for being under Hospice care is that a physician deems a patient likely has less than 6 months to live. This doctor concluded that the extensiveness of my cancer still qualified me for continued Hospice care. As a plus, the doctor was a Christian who had been on over 30 medical mission trips with the Southern Baptist International Mission Board. So, we had a lot to talk about.

For now, I’m almost back to where I was before, taking a day at a time, aware that anything could happen anytime. I marvel at the way my body has been able to stay a step ahead of the cancer for the past 6 years. But the cancer will catch up. Just don’t know when. Surely it must be soon.

During the past few weeks we have lost several great men of faith: James Dobson, John MacArthur, Voddie Baucham, and of course, Charlie Kirk. I certainly don’t know all the details of Heaven, but it excites me to think that maybe I’ll soon have the chance to meet these men and other great people of faith. No doubt their mansions will be big. But as long as I’m with the Lord, I will be very happy with my little cabin in the woods!