so that happened

I got to the hospital this morning just before 9 a.m. The monitors were grim: temperature of 102.5 (which rose to 104 within 90 minutes), heart rate at about 150, blood pressure 80/50, respiration rate between 50 and 60 per minute.

I sat down and waited. I talked to four of Joe's doctors. They were quite clear. I didn't need to be told. I know what all that means, and I know what flesh-eating bacteria means and I know what advanced prostate cancer means and I know what Joe wanted. I was okay with all of this. I asked the doctors to please, please, let the medical POA know what this means, and to make sure she heard it.

Joe had said to her, in no uncertain terms, "If I ever get like that, pull the fucking plug." She had said to me yesterday, and it was echoed by her husband, "I can't do that."

She arrived at the hospital at noon, saw the monitors and blanched. She looked at me. I said, "Jan, let him go. I'm begging you." She turned and walked away. I wasn't sure she'd heard me at all. But within a few hours, the doctors assembled, and gave her the real deal. Joe would never regain most normal bodily functions. He would be in a bed, in a nursing home, with a trach, unable to walk, sit, or stand, bagging his wastes, all the while with an enormous open wound in his groin. And while in that bed, he'd be waiting to die, painfully, from the prostate cancer which had spread to his bones.

She looked at me, and I said, "Please, take one step." The critical care doctor had suggested removing the supporting medicines, while leaving in the ventilator. One step. Removing the ventilator could be visited later. She agreed.

So for most of the afternoon, Joe was breathing hard with the help of the ventilator. His blood pressure dropped. His kidney function tapered off. He was on a continuous morphine drip.

My sister arrived and we went to have some dinner. I hadn't eaten since the night before. We dawdled a bit, and when we got back to the hospital about 6:30 Jan had decided it was enough with the ventilator. They were just waiting for us to come back from dinner before they had it removed. And so right after the nurses changed shifts, the ventilator was removed.

Two hours later, at 9:30 p.m., Joe left us very, very peacefully. We held him and prayed over him. We cried with him and celebrated with him. We called everyone that needed calling. And then just before midnight, the funeral directors came and picked him up, and Jan and I were able to go home.

So here I am at Joe's, eating reheated frozen pizza (thank you, Joe!) at his computer desk (forgive me, Joe!) and having a second large cocktail (thank you, Joe!) while blogging via his AOL dialup connection (WTF Joe?). My cousin had a hard and lonely life. He didn't ask for much, and lived simply and honorably and volunteered his time and loved his few friends and never complained and sometimes I feel like a real shit for bitching about the stupid hangnails of my existence when I have so much that Joe never had: a true and abiding romantic love, health, and a myriad of loving friends.

I celebrate his life, his faith, his determination.

Aunt Grace knows I'm "in town," which is to say, in the state. I want to get to see her soon. She's in a nursing home and is unlikely to be going home to anything like her independent former life. She is refusing food. I don't know whether that means she's not finding food palatable or isn't able to actually eat, but I think I know what she's doing. And I don't blame her. At 92, she's outlived most of her friends and family and has nothing to look forward to except depending upon others. She heard I was "in town" and said, "Good. Now bhd can go to two funerals."

I wonder. I wonder about the human spirit and what it can accomplish. Joe accomplished a pretty good life with his friends Jan and Greg and their children these past few decades. He had little more than that, and I don't doubt for a minute that his exit was timely and appropriate, even if it was sudden and shocking. Aunt Grace has had enough. I wish for her the strength to accomplish her goal.

My father used to say there are worse things than death. I've seen those things and I'm happy for my cousin Joe, and I have hope for my Aunt Grace. In the meantime, I have some clothes shopping to do. Jeans and hiking boots isn't going to cut it.