On Monday, Brock was so unusually sick that I texted his doctor to describe the symptoms. Brock had slept for over 24 hours, he was so out of it that he could barely speak when he became conscious, and he’d managed to tell me that he felt flu-sick, which wasn’t his normal cancer-sick. Also, there was a hard, angry-red lump on his chest that was getting redder and angrier.
Brock’s amazing family doctor arrived within the hour and diagnosed Brock as having an infection. It was quite bad, and might be septic.
Brock sweated in our bed while his doctor explained the options to me, my dad and Brock’s brother in the living room.
We could:
- take Brock by ambulance to the hospital so Brock could be given antibiotics by IV (which might not cure him);
- stay at home and try to treat him with less-effective oral antibiotics; or,
- we could nothing. Brock would die from the infection, at home.
Fear not, you normal, healthy people: these would not be your options if you had an infection. You would be whisked off to hospital without the couch consultation.
Brock’s situation is unique because he is already dying. And when you know that a cancer death is looming, our health care system allows you the option to take an “early exit” (as Maggie Callanan calls it in Final Journeys), if you would prefer not to linger.
But knowing this, reading about early exits, and discussing advance care options and Do Not Resuscitate orders with Brock did NOT prepare me for the emotional tsunami of being in this situation.
Obviously I don’t want Brock to die. I want him to live for as long as possible. But I also don’t want him to suffer, and being in a hospital has many downsides for someone as weak as he is. Would they let me stay with him? Would he be comfortable, away from his collection of pillows and Lazy Boy recliner and memory foam bed? Would Isaac miss us too much, and would I be able to be with Brock at the hospital while also giving Isaac the attention he needs at home?
If I chose to keep Brock at home with oral antibiotics, would his family and friends judge me for that decision? Would I have regrets and blame myself if he died?
Luckily (oh so luckily!!) Brock and I had already discussed all of this. He’d made his wishes clear: as long as treatment meant he’d continue to have quality of life at home afterwards, he wanted that treatment. He didn’t want to spend the rest of his life in a hospital, but this infection didn’t carry that risk. He’d be treated, and then (if the antibiotics worked) he’d be back home with us, back to the Brock he’d been 24 hours before. If the antibiotics didn’t work, he would die in the hospital.
I didn’t have to consider all the options. I didn’t have to solicit advice from anyone. I just conveyed Brock’s wishes, and our course of action was clear.
It’s Saturday now, and I’m writing this with Brock sleeping beside me in our bed. He had four courses of IV antibiotics and we spent three nights in the hospital, me curled at the foot of his bed like a cat. He’s on oral antibiotics now, and the angry red rock of infection inside his chest has practically disappeared.
I am so grateful that he told me what to do, long before we faced that decision. I’m grateful that he endured the painful ambulance-stretcher trip to the emergency room, and restless nights in the hospital. We could have lost Brock this week. Instead, we’re spending a lazy Saturday together.
No regrets.
Love from Ontario, sounds like Brocks attentive Family Doc is a sensible comfort. I hope the sun is shining on you and Brock on your lazy day together.
❤️❤️
Heather, I am so glad that you are able to enjoy today and that he is healing from that awful infection. I wish so many things for both of you. I wanted you to know you are both in my heart and I continue to send love to surround you both
Carmen
I am happy you have another September afternoon to enjoy together. Love B
All my love to you guys.
And what a lovely day it is!You are one strong lady.Blessings to you and your lovely family-still miss the vegies from your farm.
I’m so happy knowing that the answers continue to flow from a wellspring of love. Your sharing is teaching me so much and for that, I am eternally indebted. Love to all.
You guys are so brave ?
Heather and Brock,
I admire you both for sharing your story with so many. I think this will probably, if not already, helping others. I think you are both extremely courageous and how you both have communicated together to help you Brock on your journey is marvelous. Thank you for sharing. I’m glad that infection has been cleared up and that you Brock are now back in your home. God bless you all.
Good afternoon Heather and Brock from sunny Columbia Valley. I am glad your father is with you during this time. I am honoured to read your posts. This is helping me as a volunteer visitor for hospice and the honour of spending time with them. This brought me to tears from the feelings of love, the courage and the journey you are sharing together. Thank you for your teachings.
Love you guys.
There’s an old Dutch expression in situations like this that doesn’t translate at all well.
It’s one word. “Sterkte”.
Which literally means “strength”. But not just the physical kind. It’s more of a holistic expression.. the kind of all-encompassing approach you are exhibiting in this post
(And I know.. I know…. we don’t see the weak moments.. the crying jags.. the sudden-wake-ups-in-the-middle-of-the-night, wondering how you’ll cope.. the worrying about how it will be for Isaac… all that stuff.)
And yet, a post like this is incredibly positive.
And exhibits what the Dutchies call “sterkte.”
You continue to be in our prayers.
Dear Heather,
I’m so glad you posted this information and I am also happy about the outcome this week. You are all in my prayers everyday as you journey this challenging path. Love, Jennifer.
I love you both!
Lots of love to you, Brock and Isaac. Thanks for sharing your thoughts and feeling with us.
You both are amazingly strong people! Thanks for sharing, and enjoy your evening. Love you all!!