My Battle with Merkel Cell Cancer

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all. The nurse squeezed a muscle on his upper shoulder as hard as he could, yelled "Dr.
Shuster" several times, asked dad to squeeze his finger, blink or open his eyes, but there
was no response.
At this point, I was regularly streaming tears. My mom warned me about her propensity to
faint in really seriously bad situations -- I'd spend the night looking out for that.
** Email: Date: Wed, 18 Apr 2012 22:09:13 -0700
Subject: 22:07
Unconscious. Unable to awaken him. Non responsive. No longer BPAP [SIC should be
BiPAP] candidate per nurse. Nurse says death may be imminent.
Sent from my iPhone **
My dad's left arm had the IV and a bunch of other stuff attached. His right arm was clear.
Mom was sitting on his left and I was sitting on his right. I said something like "you're his
wife -- would you like to switch places so you can hold him skin to skin without all this
medical stuff in the way?" She started to amble around the bed, but stopped at the foot of
the bed. She grabbed his feet and said "no, you stay there. I'm going to rub his feet. He
always loved when I rubbed his feet." So there we were, me silently crying, holding his
hand and arm, my mom with a sad, fixed determination, rubbing his feet and deep in
thought.
** Email: Date: Wed, 18 Apr 2012 22:17:22 -0700
Subject: Re: 22:07
The nurse just brought Kleenex. So the nurse thinks we're at the about to need Kleenex
phase.
Mom says she is near vomiting.
Sent from my iPhone **
My brother Michael responded almost instantly with an email "Me too. Its late here, but
sleep isn't happening."
I was fighting to strike a balance between feeling my emotions and retaining enough
control to be there for my dad and my mom.
The nurse observed the skin on dad's head and said that it had taken on a distinctive look
that often is associated with impending death. I have no idea if that is a documented
medical thing or just the nurse's experience, but he was right.
It is worth observing that from the time that dad lost consciousness, he had a look on his
face that was really peaceful. He had a look that was entirely consonant with his
remembering the great times in his life, running down the beach with his wife, enjoying
family birthdays, all good stuff. His body may have been shutting down, but he wasn't
suffering. He sure looked like his consciousness was in a good place, a place the pain
couldn't reach but where the good memories were easily found.
The nurse said "it's happening". I was holding dad's hand. I looked up at the EKG
machine and saw a single, final heartbeat and then a flat line. I looked back at dad. I said
"I love you, dad" and leaned in and kissed him on the forehead. After some time
(seconds? a couple minutes?) I stood up, tears running down my cheeks, and walked
over to my mom, who was sitting on a chair against the wall, a few feet from the foot of
the bed. I hugged her and asked "mom, what can I do here, what do you need?" My said,
My Battle with Merkel Cell Cancer