Big

In light of Porter's sermon last night, I'm going to tell you a story. "Big" refers to my father. He was big, 6"3, 300+. The nickname started out as "Big Stuff", but as most nicknames go, in time was shortened. My father was a staunch Democrat, a very liberal thinker. He was vocal with his political views, and liked to debate the issues.
I can remember him filling the pulpit in our church when I was a child. We even, as a family did the Christmas play one year. But in 1968 his father died of a massive heart attack while visiting relatives in Milwaukee, and dad's church life was never the same. I can't remember him going to church after that, unless it was for one of our events, or one of our children's events. But he was always very uncomfortable there. When I would bring up conversation about God, he really didn't want to hear it, and would change the subject. But I will tell you, deep down in his heart dad was terrified of dying. This was a subject he would not hear, absolutely would not discuss.
My dad was a wonderful storyteller, had a quick wit, and an awesome sense of humor--which in his generousity was kind enough to pass to his children, thanks dad. He loved to tell stories of when he was younger, how he met mom, what he did in college. He also loved jokes, although to my chagrin, had heard them all! I used to call him when I heard a particularly belly-laugher-type, and it was rare that I got him with something he hadn't heard. Every once in a while one of us would get him, though, and you could see in his face he really appreciated the laugh.
Dad was a "don't go to the doctor unless something was wrong" type, and in his late 50's and early 60's things started to go wrong. He had heart issues, tachycardia, high blood pressure, and when he got sick he started to have anxiety attacks. Fear of death is not a happy place to be and will take its toll on you little by little. Chipping away your life with its insidious chisel. Now the story takes an ironic turn. Dad always liked to garden, loved flowers and had a huge flower garden in his front yard. One day he was out there barefoot and cut his toe. His circulation was not the best by then, and the sore just would not heal. He called me one day to help him--he was having a hard time walking, and getting out of his chair. He had been to the Dr. earlier that week because of severe joint pain.
Now I need to go back. Dad had two artificial hips. But before these hips were replaced, he endured unending pain. I remember the day it started. I woke one morning to his screams. Now let me tell you one thing you don't want to hear in this life is your father screaming. His hip had deteriorated so badly that something, I'm not sure just what, had happened that day. But it was the day of my sister's wedding, and dad was not going to miss that. So one of our friends, who was a nurse, got permission from the Dr. (I'm assuming) and brought pain meds to our house. She gave him the shot, mom had the pain med prescription filled and he walked my sister up the aisle. Can you imagine the pain? This pain he lived with for 20+ years. The Dr. said he needed to lose a lot of weight in order for the hip replacement to be successful, and dad always had a hard time with his weight. So he sucked it up and lived with it. When he did have his first hip replacement surgery, he refused the pain meds after surgery because he literally had no pain. He had lived with such pain for so many years, the "minor" post-surgical pain was nothing to him. So if he ever said he was having any kind of pain, you took him seriously.
So that day I went to his house and put a pallet under his chair so he could get out of it more easily. I remember being in a hurry that day, had something else to do--this I will regret until the day I die. If only I had spent more time with him, seen what was going on. But we all know what hindsight is, yes?
The next morning dad's wife called me to come, he had fallen and she needed help to lift him. I told her to call the paramedics, that if he couldn't get up, there was something very wrong. Off to the hospital we went. He was taken to Regions later, he just kept getting sicker and sicker. They intubated him for the ambulance ride. He had an advance directive, but not for intubation, so we said to go ahead and do that. At Regions his organs began to shut down, they just couldn't figure out why. Then the report came. Staph infection. By then the infection had taken over his entire body, and no matter how many antibiotics they pumped into him, it was too late. Now, dad was conscious and lucid most of the time he was in the hospital, and though he was not able to speak because of the intubation, was able to let us know what he wanted. If it was no, he would move his head to the side. Yes was the left foot tapping.
I remember "having a chat" with some of the doctors that were discussing treatment options in front of him--can't you see you are causing him to have an anxiety attack? One Dr. in particular took the class on disassociation quite to heart. She said that we should all go home and wait for her call. Even though she knew he was going to die by that time. Cold. I looked her in the eye and told her that was not going to happen.
When it was sure that his time was short, we were asked if we wanted the life saving measures stopped. I told the Dr. to ask dad, and the left foot tapped. Before the intubation tube was removed, we went one by one to say our goodbyes, and I leaned down and told him, "Tell Jesus you love Him, there's still time". And the left foot tapped. He no longer had a reason to be afraid. Praise God!
All of his daughters have come to a saving knowledge of Jesus Christ, and we will never have to endure the fear that our dad lived with for so many years. Praise God! We will keep praying and working toward that saving knowledge for the ones in our family who don't know Him, so they can put their fear in His hands and never take it up again.