My name is Lucy.
I have stage IV liver cancer. I wanted everything done — even though the doctors told me this disease is terminal. My family, my church and my friends were praying for “the cure.”
Though I believed in God and the hereafter, I wasn’t ready to go. 74-years-old with beautiful children, grandchildren, and a great-granddaughter.
I woke up confused. In the background — wherever I was — I could hear music: “How great thou art.” One of my favorites.
I had a tube in my mouth, and I couldn’t talk. My wrists were restrained, and I couldn’t move. They had me tied down. Everything was blurry. My chest hurt like someone had pounded on it. People in white coats and scrubs surrounded me. I became aware that I was in a room with doctors and nurses and respiratory therapists.
A man introduced himself. He said he was a respiratory therapist, and he was going to pull the “tube” out of my mouth. The endotracheal tube. I gasped and took a deep breath, and I could barely talk.
The team explained to me that I was in the ICU. And because I wanted everything done to me, I had been emergently intubated, restrained, pain and sedation meds given through my veins continuously. My heart decided to stop, and “the team” did CPR on my fragile body. Because by now, I didn’t want to eat. I had lost over 25 pounds from the liver cancer.
I was told that some of my ribs cracked during CPR. I had pneumonia.
A palliative nurse came to talk to me within a few days. I wasn’t out of the jungle yet.
The palliative nurse talked to me about comfort, about acceptance, about peace and being pain-free and being with my family and friends surrounding me.
Comfort care. DNR, DNI.
New words for me.
I was so sick, so tired, so much in pain. I led a wonderful life.
Now, it was time for acceptance.
I remember those words from my doctors: terminal, no cure, palliative chemo … extending your life.
But at what cost?
Was it worth staying in an ICU in a comatose state? Was it worth having your chest beaten on with CPR and cracked ribs and pneumonia set in? Was it worth being tied down?
I knew the answers.
I was always stubborn. But maybe it was time for acceptance.
Maybe the prayers being sent my way were meant for a peaceful death. A peaceful entrance into the heavens.
I called my family in with my physician, my nurse, and the palliative care nurse.
I begged my family to please not put me on a ventilator again.
Please let me be comfortable.
Please make me comfort care.
DNR and do not intubate and do not treat.
I slept quietly going in and out of consciousness. My sons and daughters gathered around. They laughed and cried and told many fun stories of when they were young! My grandchildren and great-granddaughter held hands as they sang “Yes, Jesus Loves Me.”
Another favorite of mine.
And their tiny voices uplifted me and my soul.
I was surrounded by love.
This time — I was ready.
Debbie Moore-Black is a nurse who blogs at Do Not Resuscitate.
Image credit: Shutterstock.com