You might have looked at the title, and said, "Wait a minute, did she start gaining weight again?" Well, yes and no. This month I would have celebrated one year of maintaining my goal weight. This month, I was planning on attending the 2nd Annual Black Girls Run! Race and Conference Weekend here in Charlotte, and I had been writing weekly blogs getting people excited about the organization's weekend events. This month, I was supposed to go to a wedding Labor Day Weekend...but this month, I did not do any of these things. This month I experienced great sadness and loss. This month, I lost my Daddy and my baby.
I am writing this because this is all I know to do right now, and hopefully my story will help someone whose ever been through such hurt. I have lost a lot of people and things in my 32 years of existence. I've lost a sister to mental illness and suicide, I've lost a house to a fire, I've lost all of my grandparents except my two step-grandmothers, and several beloved aunts, uncles, and cousins. If you live long enough, you assuredly will lose something or someone in your life. It is the Circle of Life, according to the Lion King:) I never, however, thought that I could lose so much at one time. My case is not unique. People experience loss all the time; the world is full of stories of incomprehensible pain and despair. My case is only unique to me. Nobody knows my sorrow like I do.
By all accounts the days leading to August 29, 2013 were what I would consider good days. My dad had just celebrated his 62nd birthday, my husband and I just celebrated turning 32, and we got to attend a beautiful wedding in July. I found out I was pregnant with what would have been my second child the second week of August, and although I initially wanted to keep it a secret until I was at least three months along, my husband was so excited! He told everyone he could think of, so I decided to tell people closest to me. His logic was that we needed as much prayer as we could get to protect the baby. I said, you're right, we do! I wasn't really concerned. This time around, I had gotten to a healthy pre-pregnancy weight and I was still quite active, although I had noticed I was getting more fatigued with runs. I was taking prenatal vitamins faithfully, even before I conceived. Like my last pregnancy, it only took me 3 months to get pregnant after stopping contraceptives. I had been concerned that because I was older, it would take longer. Yet, everything seemed to be going as planned. Several days prior to me finding out I was pregnant, I would wake up at the same time in the middle of the night. I attributed it to being pregnant. Little did I know, God was wanting me to really spend time with him. He was preparing me for something.
About a week later, I got some concerning calls from my aunt concerning my dad. He had been in and out of the emergency room, and was sent home because initially they couldn't find anything wrong with him. Later that week, he went to a scheduled doctor's appointment, and because of the severity of his unexplainable pain, was sent to the ER again via ambulance. Subsequently he was admitted. My dad was one of the healthiest persons I knew for the most part. Even though he had smoked and drank in his lifetime, he was faithful about exercising. He was a black belt in martial arts. He was diagnosed with liver disease about 2 years ago, but was managing it and initially we thought he was having some kind of flare up. We were wrong....
I traveled down to Florida to see him by myself the first time. I had to make a 6 hour trip 8 hours due to the fatigue of pregnancy and everyday life, but I needed to see about my dad. When I got there, they were taking him down for a biopsy. He was lethargic and inaudible. I stayed with him that weekend. He was walking and talking, but still in a lot of pain. My aunts and I tried to ask all the questions we could. Before I left to return to North Carolina, I was told it would take a week to get the results. I was concerned, but I didn't fear the worse. I felt like my aunts were going to make sure he got the best care. I called everyday to see about him, some days I could talk to him. Some days, he was too tired to talk, but I told him I loved him, just like I'd always had since I was able to talk. We got the initial diagnosis the following week: Anaplastic Large Cell Carcinoma, stage 3. I've never heard of this, except that it was a form of non-Hodgkin's lymphoma. The MD assured us that because of the type he had, even though it was in it's late stages, it was treatable with chemo. The following week, he got the catheter placed in him to start chemo, and this is when everything went completely south. Somehow, my dad's kidneys started to fail. The lymph nodes apparently became so enlarged that they were blocking his arteries to his kidneys, his belly was so swollen he could not breathe, and they were concerned about his airway. He was developing infections. I, being the closest next of kin, had to make life or death decisions for him via phone while I was at work trying to take care of other sick people. I wasn't ready for this. God, I wasn't ready...
Fast forward to the Thursday before Labor day: August 29th, My first ultrasound appointment. My husband and I tried to get excited, even though the state of my dad's health loomed over us. We get there, expecting to hear a heartbeat, only to be told by a very experienced ultrasound tech(the same one who showed me David's heartbeat nearly six years ago)that although it was apparent I had been pregnant, there was blood in the gestational sac, and I was about to miscarry. Our hearts began to sink, and all we could do was embrace. "Could this really be happening? Are we losing our baby? Am I losing my dad?" I had told my aunts I was pregnant, because I wanted to give my dad something to fight for. He was so full of life. He loved David so much. He would be excited to hear about another baby. Now, we were being told, it is not meant to be. I couldn't tell my aunts about this now. With the exception of our parents and friends, I told no one about the miscarriage. We were still holding out hope. The cruel thing about the process of miscarriage, is that you still initially feel the pregnancy symptoms. Then slowly, they start to disappear. I now had to refocus on my dad, and pray that nature would not take it's course inside of me until he was out of the woods.
Instead of heading to Myrtle Beach for a wedding Labor Day weekend, we headed down to see my dad. When I got there, I soon discovered that his condition had drastically changed. He had to be heavily sedated because he was in so much pain, he had tubes down his throat to help him breath and provide nutrition. He was swollen and on dialysis 24/7. His eyes were slightly open, but his pupils were dilated. "Was I looking at a patient of mine, or was I looking at my dad?" I was shocked by his appearance, but my medical knowledge helped to keep me calm and rational, for the most part. When I looked at him, I knew it wasn't good. I would stay by his bedside most of the weekend, just looking at him. I tried to joke around, telling him he looked like an old man with all that hair on his face and head. My dad always kept a bald head and neat mustache. The day I had to return back to North Carolina, I knew it was the beginning of the end, and I didn't want to leave him. He was being kept alive. Everything in his once strong and youthful body was shutting down. We were losing him...
That Tuesday, I tried to resume life as normal. My son was starting his first day of kindergarten and riding the bus like a big boy! After taking a few cute pictures and seeing him on his way, I went to work. I knew that this day was going to be the day I would have to start making some tough decisions about my dad so I kept my phone on. No sooner did I finish treating the first patient, did I get the calls I was dreading. Speaking on the speaker phone with my aunts and the doctor as he matter-of- factly pointed out the dire condition of my dad, we decided collectively that my dad would not want to continue going on like this. My mom(who was divorced from my dad, but still very good friends with him) did not hesitate to drive me down to Florida to prepare to see him for the last time...
The walk to his room was the longest walk of my life. I was about to tell my dad we were letting him go. He had lived his life, and it was a good one. He had turned his life over to God and was a man with a big heart for giving and "doing right" by people. He didn't have much, but he gave what he had. God was ready to tell him, "Well done, good and faithful servant", and I had to get ready to let him go. After talking with several doctors and hospice, I decided to sign him over to hospice care so that the end of his life would be as peaceful as possible. After they removed the lines and tubes, with the exception of the pain medicine, I sat there with him; I held his hand, I sang to him (he loved my voice), I told him that it was okay to go. We would be okay. I listened closely to his breathing, and watched the pulse in his neck beat wildly as he struggled between staying with us in this life and moving on to something better in the next. Although the nurse was so kind to turn all the monitors off in the room, I could still hear them in the hallway alarming. The alarms were indicating that his blood pressure was continuing to drop, and his heart rate was getting more irregular. My dad was dying. My baby was dead inside of me. My heart was in a million pieces.
My dad held on for three hours after we removed his life support. I tried to stay with him until his last breath, but my family convinced me to go get some rest. As soon as my mom and I pulled out of the parking lot, I got the call. I ran back up there to his room, but as soon as I opened the door, I knew he was already gone. I was soooo mad at him! He just had to be in control until the end...but I had to respect the fact that he was waiting on me to leave. Although the experience of watching my dad die was grueling, it was also the most beautiful experience. There was a lot of love flowing in and out of that room all day. The heavens opened and it poured down rain upon his entrance into God's hands around 6:30 pm September 4th, 2013. My dad was free!
The next week and a half I was in a daze. The weekend that thousands of beautiful women of color were gathering in Charlotte to run, I was suddenly thrown into planning my dad's funeral. Had my aunts and mom not been with me every step of the way, I don't know how I would have made it through. Family and friends were in and out of my dad's home, the same home he watched his own parents die in. All kinds of food was in my presence. Though I was grateful, I fell into bad habits and started eating food just because it was there. I estimate I've gained between five and eight pounds in three weeks. I was feeling so lost, lost in a bad dream. Just when I thought the dream couldn't get any worst, I started to miscarry. Everything that was predicted was coming to pass. I went numb. Trying to conceal my physical and emotional pain was extremely difficult. Most of my family had found out I was pregnant, and I dare not tell them that now it was not true. I ate more. The week I was planning my dad's service, I got the opportunity to retreat to my cousin's beautiful home for a few days. It was a welcomed escape, and I got the opportunity to get out and run a little, even though I didn't feel like it. I sweated and I cried, over and over again. I made it through the viewing and beautiful service for my dad. I even gathered the strength to speak about him. He was my dad, and even though I didn't get to tell him how proud I was of him, I wanted the people that attended his service to know that I was. He was a loved man. He left a legacy.
I am struggling now to understand why everything had to happen this way, and I suppose I will for a while. Since being back home, I've tried to continue with life as usual. I'm going to work, going to the gym, shuffling David off to school, being mommy and wifey...yet still feeling that gaping hole in my heart. I've told my aunts that I am not pregnant anymore. My heart breaks because I feel like such a disappointment. This baby was supposed to be the rainbow after the storm. I tried to do everything right and took better care of myself this time, but I still lost my child. It wasn't meant to be...this time. Everyday, I wake up now I feel empty and have to find things during the day to fill that emptiness. I'm focused on building my endurance back up and losing the weight I've gained. My emotions are up and down, which I suspect is normal. I struggle with whether I made the right decisions for my dad, and I feel guilty because I couldn't help him get better. I know I have to find peace with what has happened. God is in control, and it was just his time...
Now that I am back at work, I have a new perspective on what my patients and their families go through.Even though the doctors may be telling us to let a loved one go, it isn't so black and white. I was fortunate enough(unlike most families) to know that my dad was truly suffering. Signing those hospice papers, I felt like I had some control over the situation. But I didn't. God was and still is in control, and if my dad was meant to live, God would have turned his situation around. If my baby was meant to survive, God would have made it so. A friend of mine suggested I start a gratitude journal. I think I may do that. God has blessed me far more than not. Even in the midst of tragedy, a blessing waits for me beyond the clouds. I saw a link on Facebook which said,"Describe your life in five words". My life in five words:Constantly...having...my...faith...tested. Yep, that is my life. As I look back over the last couple of years, I realize that God was preparing me for these events all along. He was getting me physically and mentally stronger. He was strategically placing people in my life and moving people closer to me to build my support system. He was drawing me closer to Him. Through it all, I'm still standing. My daddy(and mom) raised a strong woman. Although I feel lost right now, I'm confident I will find myself again. I've proven that I've got great navigational skills, and Jesus is my compass.
I love you all and stay encouraged in the midst of your storms. Romans 8:28: And we know that in all things God works for the good of those who love him, and have been called according to his purpose. In memory of my dad, Anthony General Purdy(7/7/51 - 9/4/13). I love you, daddy!
