Indy. Indy. Indy.

Saturday we went to see Indiana Jones.
Sunday we watched the Indianapolis 500.

And yesterday in Indiana...
in a quiet respectful voice…the doctor said,
“Mr. Lynch, now it is time for you to decide where you want to die.”

Just like that...he gets to decide.
In the hospital...or someplace else.

Five weeks ago I agreed my girl should be the one to go to Indiana to care for her Great-Grandfather when he returned home from his heart attack. She is the oldest of the twelve “great-grands”. She has always been close to him. She had a window of time not claimed by other obligations and stepped up. The experience of care giving and helping him during this process will be with her for the rest of her life. Not many twenty-six year olds get to know their Great-grandparents…she had seven living Great-grandparents when she was born. She was able to know five of them. She is especially close to this one. Not many people of any age help prepare a loved one for death.

The past few weeks have been filled with stories of doctor visits, medical tests, drugs, shower scenes, arguments, laughter…the little details of life. (hmmmm…maybe I should post her updates.) At his last doctor’s office visit a couple weeks ago, my Grandfather reiterated his decision not to pursue angioplasty…and accepted the inevitable consequences. As my Grandfather was leaving…the doctor stood and told him, “Mr Lynch, I honor you”

A few days ago in the middle of the night, the nitro and the oxygen no longer alleviated his breathing difficulties...so a couple of really nice EMT’s came over to stabilize what they could and provide the 45 minute ride through the back roads of rural Indiana.

“Granddaughter?” They asked.
“no” shaking her head “GREAT-granddaughter”
(met with raised eyebrows)

“You live here?”
“No…I live in California…I’m just here for a few weeks”
(more eye brow action…turns out the EMT did a cross country motorcycle trip which included riding up the west coast from southern California to Alaska…)

Hospital Admission. Tests and Drugs. Palliative Care.

Without going into all the medical lingo of atria and ventricles...the best analogy we’ve been given is that of a six cylinder engine. Up until April his heart was running on all six cylinders. After the heart attacks he was running on three…maybe four. Since then the damage done by the heart attacks…plus the fact that his heart has been running the show for over 93 years…have left him running on a single cylinder. And the timing is off. And the muscle deterioration continues. The domino effect leads to failure of other organs and systems. But not his brain.

Still conscious. Still cognizant. Still fighting. Still living.

My Mama has gotten on a plane …well wrapped in denial.
Because yesterday…in a quiet respectful voice…the doctor said,
“Mr. Lynch, now it is time for you to decide where you want to die.”

My Grandfather answered the doctor by saying that yes…he knows his time is short. And in my mind…I can hear him...without being there I know EXACTLY his tone of voice.

The doctor said “go…die surrounded by your family in comfort.”

I wonder what it must be like. Fully aware your heart slowing down. Fighting to breathe and for the strength to say only a few words. Having decided not to have the procedure…do you wait for the symptoms to take over? Is there fear? Is there joy? Do you embrace it? Welcome it? Do you try and take control…or do you allow yourself to let go? Is it the ultimate acceptance?

And how do you watch him go through this...
your father, your grandfather, your great grandfather?