My Battle with Merkel Cell Cancer

they did help, they didn't help enough). They had him on IV antibiotics, and that also
helped. She was exhausted, and neither parent had slept that night.
I learned something else during that drive that completely surprised me: People don't
normally have a copy of their advance medical directive document available. The doctors
had asked if there was an advance medical directive, and in the middle of the night my
mom was only able to say "yes, at the lawyer's office". Indeed, my dad's was at his
lawyer's office (along with mine). We had all made the mistake of not making sure our
loved ones had copies of our advance medical directive available. I don't know why I
didn't realize that illnesses don't always strike when law firms are open, and that even
keeping a single copy in one person's file cabinet doesn't mean that the person who will
need it can get it. Luckily, the will was done by the same firm where a terrific person,
lawyer, and friend works (Ken Price). I emailed the three lawyers I knew well at that firm,
and despite the pretty early hour got a prompt reply from Ken. Of course (as I should
have known after doing that whole law school/bar exam thing), the complication was that
my mom was the person named to make medical decisions, so only she could approve
the release of the document. Ken had the document scanned to a PDF and emailed it to
my mom. She forwarded it to me and I printed it when I got home. Lessons here? Give
copies of your advance medical directive to anybody who might need it, and realize that
even if you have terrific, responsive lawyers they might be ethically limited in their ability
to rapidly get you a copy.
I got in the car, copy of the advance medical directive in hand, and drove to the hospital.
My mom was home resting and eating a meal. When I got there, I walked in and held my
dad's hand. It had only been 24 hours since that first call, but it felt like I had spent a
month on the trek there. I didn't let go of his hand for what seemed like an hour (likely
about a minute), and in that moment he was my daddy and I was his little boy. I wished
with all my heart for my daddy to be better. I looked up, told him I love him, and took a
seat next to him.
He had beard stubble, was thinner than when I last saw him, but his eyes were alive. Not
just literally alive, but *** alive *** in the way that all humans recognize as the sign that
somebody is really there, ready to engage with the world. His body was suffering, but he
was still very much himself. I suspect I had been breathing for the minutes leading up to
that realization, but I felt like like it was the first time I exhaled all day.
We spent hours talking or just sitting with each other. My mom arrived, and the three of
us just talked and enjoyed each other. As you can guess from his blog entries, my dad
doesn't keep that much secret. My dad wasn't able to drink easily, and his mouth was
very dry. As a result, his voice was crackly and quiet. He turns to me and says "Gary, I've
got something I want to say to you". My mom kind of looked up and asked him "is this
something I should be here for". He said "no, just Gary". I thought, "this is like one of
those moments in the movies where the patriarch leans over and in a weak but firm voice
and shares something of great importance." My mom walked out and I leaned in to hear
every word. My dad looked in my eyes and said "so here is what I want you to write on
my blog...." He proceeded to lay out his thoughts. At first I thought that this was one of
those funny moments in a really tense setting where you've misunderstood a
fundamental thing. But then it dawned on me that this blog has been an amazing
resource to those suffering with similar afflictions, to his family and friends who get to see
his wit and learn new things about him with each entry, and to himself in a cathartic way.
So it was in fact a moment of immense importance for us -- he had entrusted me with
writing an entry in a document of true importance in his life. He shared what I wrote
My Battle with Merkel Cell Cancer
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