Battenschlag ,RN, BSN

WE ARE CALLED TO COMFORT UNTIL HE CALLS US HOME

By Melodee Battenschlag, BSN, RN

My dad was diagnosed with lung cancer in 2012, only two years after my mom died of breast cancer that metastasized to her lungs. My dad had never smoked and he maintained a healthy weight, diet, and he exercised. My dad questioned why he developed cancer, and even wondered if somehow he had contracted it from my mom.

After suffering for over a month with a cough, my dad finally sought medical attention. I requested to help him obtain needed treatment so that he could attend a family reunion scheduled for the following week. The pulmonary specialist reviewing the CT scan used the word “neoplasm,” which my dad did not understand. When my dad had left the room, the pulmonary specialist said, “Your dad is not going to that reunion” and provided me with a copy of the CT scan. On the way home, I told my dad of his probable diagnosis. Having watched my mom go through five years of cancer treatment with complications, he said, “I’m not going through chemo.” I assured him I would support whatever treatment he wanted. I left my dad’s home that day with a heavy heart. When I started my vehicle, the song by Mercy Me I Can Only Imagine started playing on the radio. This song about heaven was sung at my mom’s funeral. I sensed God was preparing me to take my dad home. Still, I prayed and rallied others to pray for my dad’s healing. I understand God heals immediately, over time, and sometimes through heaven. I missed the reunion to be with my dad as he

Pixabay from RAPHAEL42 Image by underwent the biopsy that revealed he had terminal lung cancer. I researched treatment for the type of cancer my dad had and learned that chemo added only two weeks of life. I made arrangements for my dad to be treated by one of the best oncologists, hoping that he could beat the odds. My dad thought he had 5 more years to live since he was healthier than my mom was at the time of her diagnosis of stage IV breast cancer. My dad died less than three months following his diagnosis of lung cancer. I will never forget the day I sat at my dad’s hospital bedside with other family members waiting to hear the consulting physician’s opinion regarding my dad’s prognosis. This wonderful Jewish doctor sat down when he talked to my dad. He told my dad that further treatment would be of no benefit and that the end was near. Once my dad confirmed that he would not be in pain while dying, he began talking about heaven. He described amazing gates made of pearl and streets of gold as though he was actually excited to go. He asked the doctor if he could share a joke about heaven. With tears running down my face, I was still able to smile at the joke he shared, yet I was amazed he could even think of a joke after he had been told that his life would soon be over. His peace was supernatural. After the consulting doctor left, the respiratory therapist came in. My dad refused the breathing treatment, informing her that he was “going to heaven.” My dad went home on hospice that day. The hospice nurse listened to his lungs and told me he had less than 72 hours and I should say my “good-byes”. She gave him medication for pain. His eyes remained shut and he lay still and restful.

I held my dad’s hand and wept silently. I do not know how he knew I was struggling, anticipating his soon departure. My dad comforted me with his words, “We all have to go sometime.” My brother had come from out of state to see my dad before he passed away. He was leaving that day and knew when he returned my dad

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