27-Death Panels Part 5

Death panels, advanced directives, a dream, and a miracle

by Jaxon Cohen

Part 5: The Dying

The day after I told my father of the dream, he could not fully wake. His morning exercises were weak and frustrating. He couldn’t keep his head up. I asked him if he needed more sleep. “Yes.” So, I walked Jupiter Juice (our Rotty) and returned to his bedside. I got him up, cleaned him, dressed him, and watched the same symptoms return. I'd never seen this before. I asked him if I should call 911. He declined. I pleaded. He finally recognized the truth: something was wrong.

I called 911. Diagnosis: pneumonia, otherwise known as 'the old man’s blessing.' A doctor friend told me that when he was a resident in DC, the aged-homeless would loiter in the hospital to contract this disease in order to die more peacefully. I feared the worst but had hope; by the end of the day he improved. My lovely wife saw him that night. It was magical and healing. I slept for the first time. When I awoke, I called the ICU. Troubling news. I called this friend to meet me there. I need trusted, professional, medical advice.

The doctors showed us his numbers. My friend agreed; they were terrible. The next step: stick a tube down his windpipe. I knew what that meant. There is no justification for torturing a loved-one simply for a few more moments together. On the other hand, my father was certain he’d live to see the Second Coming and I promised to do everything I could to get him there. If there was a way to stay, he was willing. There wasn’t. He was eighty-six and septic. It wasn't a matter of how many years he had left, but how many hours he would endure. One lung and ninety-percent of the other had filled with fluid. There was only one thing left to do: say goodbye.

We had a precious few minutes together. I thank the universe he had all his faculties in that moment. We both played our parts as the dream paralleled reality. I convinced him I would be okay and he admitted it would be nice to see his long lost wife and child. They both died long ago because the discovery of penicillin was a few months tardy. I also pointed out that he wouldn't have to wait to see Jesus. My father loved and trusted me. He agreed to let go with tears in both our eyes.

I pulled the oxygen from his face, took his hand, and stroked his hair (something he did for me as a child when I was sick). In moments like this, I tend to listen the professionals around me. The pastor told me to stop what I was doing. She said to be still, hold his hand, and place my other hand on his forehead. I did. He took a breath. Time passed. He took another. More time passed. Then he took his last. And that's when things got complicated.