PCC 6: Final Hours
Jay Pearce went home from the hospital a few days after PCC 5 , after his white cell count rebounded and the surgeon could put in the G-Tube for direct feeding into his stomach.
But it only lasted a day. He was hit with intense abdominal pain, and ended up right back in Carle Foundation Hospital. And the news was bad. Really bad. A severe infection had developed in his gallblader and colon. It would be radical surgery to fix it, and he likely wouldn’t survive the operation.
Along with his wife Milesse, he decided he’d had enough. No more chemo, no more antibiotics - it was time for only pallative care, pain management, and, eventually, soon, death. After only three months from diagnosis in mid May.
I headed back to Champaign, flying this time to get there a little faster. But the drugs needed to control the pain meant Jay was unresponsive. Eyes closed, no nod or hand squeeze to acknowledge my voice. Just labored breathing and a very high pulse rate (in the 130s 💓)
Just a few of Jay’s friends and family, gathered in his room at Carle Foundation Hospital in Champaign, IL
Daughter Sara put out the call for friends to visit if they could, and a small crowd decended, local and from hundreds of miles away, and over the course of a long weekend, they got to know each other - Jay’s influence was far and wide across Illinois. It was sad, but it was sometimes joyous, with stories and laughter, all while Jay lay nearby, hopefully hearing it all. Everyone talked to Jay privately for a bit, too.
Then it was just family, keeping vigil, staying all night.
As I type this on Tuesday morning, August 20, Jay is hanging in there. His heart and lungs are strong, while the rest of his organs are shutting down. Besides pain management, all hospital staff can do for a terminal patient is withhold food and water (just enough water by IV to administer the pain meds). So technically the cancer won’t take him directly. It will be organ failure and, essentially, starvation. Without the option of euthanasia, that is all the doctors can do.
And it’s slow. It takes days, and there’s no predicting exactly how long. There may be come clues that it’s getting close - perhaps when the heart rate falls off, or when his breathing becomes ragged. I’m tempted to describe what I see just a few feet away, but I won’t. It’s too sad.
If you’re on Facebook, keep an eye on the Jay and Gary Pancreatic CancerCast Facebook Group. That’s where I’m posting updates.