Courage

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A Tribute to My Dad


My dad was diagnosed with diabetes at the age of 26.  From the very beginning he had trouble keeping his blood sugar levels on an even keel.  I can't even remember now how many times I witnessed his insulin reactions or watched the EMT's take him away by ambulance.

Dad was a sports fanatic when it came to basketball and baseball. He coached the baseball teams for my two older brothers.  By the time my younger brother was old enough to play baseball, dad was experiencing some other health problems.  Instead of being committed to full-time coaching, he opted instead to help out by being
an occassional "ump."

Unbeknownst to his family, dad was beginning to suffer from dizziness and a lack of coordination.  Never being one to complain, he kept these symptoms to himself.  It began to be apparent to other people as time went by.  The first time I personally remember anyone commenting on his condition was at a baseball game when my dad was umping second base.  He was dizzy and staggered several times on the field and was accused of being drunk by the other team and their fans.

Shortly after this, his condition took a turn for the worse.  He would fall in mid-stride.  I remember being in the kitchen once when he fell backward.  He didn't even bend at the waist on his way down to try and protect his head.  He just fell straight back like a felled tree. He was also having more trouble with his legs and was using a cane as a walking aid.

We all knew there was "something wrong" with dad but were uncertain as to what it was.  The medical profession didn't have the sophisticated testing then that they do now.  The family doctor said he thought it was nerve damage from dad's blood sugar levels getting dangerously high so often.

At the age of 41 my dad could no longer work.  Thus began the process of trying to get disability.  By this time he was using a walker and occasionally a wheelchair.

Over the course of the next several years dad's condition steadily worsened; his kidneys were beginning to fail.  He was hospitalized to get a stint put in and to begin dialysis.  His brothers and sisters were tested to see if any of them were a close enough match to be a kidney donor.

While we were waiting for the "potential donor" test results, a neurologist came in and told dad he had amyotropic lateral sclerosis--ALS--also known as Lou Gehrig's disease.  They had also determined that dad's oldest brother was a good match to donate a kidney.  Dad's brother was in his early 60's at this time.

After giving the matter serious thought, dad decided to cancel the kidney transplant.  He said he just couldn't justify putting his oldest brother through such a serious surgery when it was now a known medical fact that his condition was terminal anyway.

We understood his line of reasoning and respected his decision. So began the "beginning of the end."  This decision was made in November.  Dad continued with dialysis for several weeks afterward.  He finally decided to stop going for dialysis.  Naturally his condition continued to decline at a rapid rate.  He admitted himself into the hospital on March 24, 1983.  He passed away in the wee hours of the 25th.  He was only 51 years old.

Several months went by and I was adjusting to the loss.  I had to have a physical for my job.  This included filling out paperwork on my medical history as well as those of my immediate family.  The doctor began going over the paperwork and case histories I'd given him.  He asked several questions about dad's illness (the ALS) because he'd never personally had a patient with that ailment.

After explaining the circumstances of my dad's illness and subsequent death, Dr. Anderson looked me in the eye and said, "Your dad was a very brave man.  It would have been an honor to meet him.  You must be very proud."  Up until that point in time I'd not thought of my dad in that light.  I swallowed the lump in my throat and thanked Dr. Anderson for opening my eyes to the person my dad was BEYOND being a husband and father.

And, daddy, I want you to know, I AM proud of you!


T. Davis
Copyright 1999