Tweet
Let me start by saying this is not a thread asking for sympathy, I have been through the grieving process and come out feeling positive. It makes me feel much better when I type how I feel and I just wanted to share with you what I have been through in the last four weeks.
It's inevitable that at some point we all die, how that happens to you though, only time will tell.
Four weeks ago my grandfather – at the age of 71 – was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. Admittedly he wasn’t the healthiest of people; he had something wrong with the blood supply in his legs which made them come out in bruises and his eyes were more or less useless. His mind was totally on song though, he was sharp and witty and he liked to argue his case... often to the bitter end.
Now I don’t know about anyone else but if I was told I had terminal cancer my first question would be “How long have I got?” Seriously! I would want to know. Not my grandad though, he never asked once. I figured he knew his time was up, especially when I found out he’d made his funeral arrangements only six months earlier. That’s not just coincidence surely, I think he knew something he didn’t want to tell us.
A few weeks passed and grandad was still the same stubborn dry humoured grandad as usual.
By week three things were starting to change, his legs were getting worse and he was constantly out of breath. Being the active person he was this frustrated him no end. It turns out that part of the cancer (secondary) was in the lining of lung, this made them fill up with liquid for some reason, hence the shortage of breath. Reluctantly he would visit the hospital every other day to have them drained, my dad told me that one time they drained 3 litres of fluid from his lung!
As things progressively got worse it was inevitable that at some point he would have to be admitted to hospital. He absolutely hated this but still at no point did he ask anyone how much time they thought he had left. After a course of drugs he seemed to be feeling much better, so much so that the doctor said he would be able to come home last Wednesday. Well you can imagine how this made him feel. He would still have to be on oxygen though so on Tuesday the health authority fitted a special bed with all the things he would need in his house.
Two days before he was due home he told me there were a couple of things he needed to do and would need my help with. I never got to find out what these were.
On the morning of the day before he was supposed to be coming home my father received a call telling him he should get up to the hospital as soon as possible. When he got there my grandad was unconscious. During the day my Dad kept calling us to let us know “There’s no change”
I left work at around 6pm and went straight to the hospital. Grandad was not the normal grandad. He was laid in bed with the oxygen mask on, his eyes were half open but he couldn’t respond to anything we said. Things were looking bleak, his body was gradually starting to shut down. One thing the nurses told us was one of the last things to go was a person’s hearing. For three hours we all sat around his bed talking, I just sat there staring at this limp figure that once was my spritely grandad. His breathing was getting shallower by the minute.
At one point I turned to my mum and said “This is wrong, we are all sat here watching someone die” Now I know that is where I was supposed to be in my grandad’s final hour, at his bedside, but it just didn’t feel right us watching him struggle to breath. For those of you who have been through this I’m sure will understand what I’m trying to say, for others, this may sound as though I am being selfish.
As every minute passed you could tell breathing was becoming more and more difficult for him, gradually the talking stopped and we all sat in silence.
I have seen many sad and disturbing things on the internet, things that are just not supposed to happen. However, nothing, absolutely nothing can prepare you for what you go through when you see your own flesh and blood take their last breath. I cannot put into words the feelings and emotions I went through while watching my grandad die.
What gives me comfort is that the last few minutes of his life (I didn’t realise this at the time, this is only after looking back) seemed really peaceful. His breathing settled down and his eyes completely closed. Apparently when you die like this you don’t feel any pain at all.... Thank god for small mercies.
I'm extremley sad that he has gone but in a way I'm glad he has, the silent suffering he must have been going through must have been excrutating. God bless him.
Like I said at the beginging of this post, I don't need any sympathy, the grieving process is over and Gramps (As my son liked to call him) has passed onto a better world.
It's inevitable that at some point we all die, how that happens to you though, only time will tell.
Four weeks ago my grandfather – at the age of 71 – was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer. Admittedly he wasn’t the healthiest of people; he had something wrong with the blood supply in his legs which made them come out in bruises and his eyes were more or less useless. His mind was totally on song though, he was sharp and witty and he liked to argue his case... often to the bitter end.
Now I don’t know about anyone else but if I was told I had terminal cancer my first question would be “How long have I got?” Seriously! I would want to know. Not my grandad though, he never asked once. I figured he knew his time was up, especially when I found out he’d made his funeral arrangements only six months earlier. That’s not just coincidence surely, I think he knew something he didn’t want to tell us.
A few weeks passed and grandad was still the same stubborn dry humoured grandad as usual.
By week three things were starting to change, his legs were getting worse and he was constantly out of breath. Being the active person he was this frustrated him no end. It turns out that part of the cancer (secondary) was in the lining of lung, this made them fill up with liquid for some reason, hence the shortage of breath. Reluctantly he would visit the hospital every other day to have them drained, my dad told me that one time they drained 3 litres of fluid from his lung!
As things progressively got worse it was inevitable that at some point he would have to be admitted to hospital. He absolutely hated this but still at no point did he ask anyone how much time they thought he had left. After a course of drugs he seemed to be feeling much better, so much so that the doctor said he would be able to come home last Wednesday. Well you can imagine how this made him feel. He would still have to be on oxygen though so on Tuesday the health authority fitted a special bed with all the things he would need in his house.
Two days before he was due home he told me there were a couple of things he needed to do and would need my help with. I never got to find out what these were.
On the morning of the day before he was supposed to be coming home my father received a call telling him he should get up to the hospital as soon as possible. When he got there my grandad was unconscious. During the day my Dad kept calling us to let us know “There’s no change”
I left work at around 6pm and went straight to the hospital. Grandad was not the normal grandad. He was laid in bed with the oxygen mask on, his eyes were half open but he couldn’t respond to anything we said. Things were looking bleak, his body was gradually starting to shut down. One thing the nurses told us was one of the last things to go was a person’s hearing. For three hours we all sat around his bed talking, I just sat there staring at this limp figure that once was my spritely grandad. His breathing was getting shallower by the minute.
At one point I turned to my mum and said “This is wrong, we are all sat here watching someone die” Now I know that is where I was supposed to be in my grandad’s final hour, at his bedside, but it just didn’t feel right us watching him struggle to breath. For those of you who have been through this I’m sure will understand what I’m trying to say, for others, this may sound as though I am being selfish.
As every minute passed you could tell breathing was becoming more and more difficult for him, gradually the talking stopped and we all sat in silence.
I have seen many sad and disturbing things on the internet, things that are just not supposed to happen. However, nothing, absolutely nothing can prepare you for what you go through when you see your own flesh and blood take their last breath. I cannot put into words the feelings and emotions I went through while watching my grandad die.
What gives me comfort is that the last few minutes of his life (I didn’t realise this at the time, this is only after looking back) seemed really peaceful. His breathing settled down and his eyes completely closed. Apparently when you die like this you don’t feel any pain at all.... Thank god for small mercies.
I'm extremley sad that he has gone but in a way I'm glad he has, the silent suffering he must have been going through must have been excrutating. God bless him.
Like I said at the beginging of this post, I don't need any sympathy, the grieving process is over and Gramps (As my son liked to call him) has passed onto a better world.
Comment