Warning: This summary of what happened to my dad may be a trigger to others.. Please read at your own discretion as this is pretty detailed.

Just a bit of a background before I proceed: My dad was diagnosed with Myesthenia Gravis, a chronic autoimmune neuromuscular disease about 10 years ago. This disease requires the use of immuno-suppressants, which if taken for an extended amount of time, may cause cancer (in this case, it did). My dad also had an enlarged heart as a result of CHF (Chronic Heart Failure), which was diagnosed in the last 3-5 years. My dad was diagnosed with Hodgkins Lymphoma in July 2012, and had only been through his first round of chemo when he passed (total of six weeks).

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My dad had been on a ventilator/respirator for about 10 days at this point. Watching someone you love hooked up to a machine is no easy task. But my dad wanted to fight, as he nodded his head whenever we asked him. Despite being on the machine, my dad was not sedated in order to increase his blood pressure. He remained calm throughout the whole thing, which I admire greatly. I can only imagine how hard it was for him; unable to speak, unable to communicate with his loved ones during his last few days.

August 19 replays in my mind over and over... and as much as I relive the moments, I still can't manage to gather the right words to describe the day's events. I will try, though, because I know it'll most likely help me grieve.

I guess I can start with the morning of. I went to see my dad with my mom in the morning, as usual. Dad looked out of it, but nothing out of the norm. I mean, who wouldn't look tired and frustrated knowing that they were hooked up to a machine to keep them breathing? He had been taken off sedation, so he knew exactly what was going on... and that kills me.

The head oncologist working on my dad's case came by to check on my father and he spoke with us. He told us that all my dad had to do was hold on for another few days to a week, and his body could regenerate all that was lost with chemotherapy. I know my dad heard the oncologist because he acknowledged his presence (with what he could, of course), and because I asked him later on in the evening if he remembered (but that will be discussed further later).

So with that, my mom and I left the hospital in good spirits, thinking we could get through this. We relayed the message to our usual prospects: Family members, close friends, the usual. Everyone was happy to hear the good news.

Skip a few hours. 5pm rolls around and I decide to go back to the hospital with a friend of mine. Dad's vitals had decreased immensely by this time. They didn't call us, no idea why, but I think it was just getting alarming around the time we had gotten to the hospital.

My dad was on numerous medications, all of which were sustaining his life until he could regenerate himself. Being on a medication that specifically increases blood pressure with a blood pressure of 73/40 (normal 120/60) is definitely something to worry about... and his oxygen levels began to decrease.

Here's a bit of a visual: He's hooked on a ventilator, so the max amount of oxygen a person can ever get, he is getting. He hadn't been breathing on his own in a few days, but I was hoping it was more of his lungs were tired from the pressure the ventilator was putting on him for oxygen intake (which is possible in some cases). The vitals were showing that he was trying to breathe (regardless of the ventilator doing it for him; you can/should do both -- it doesn't really change the amount of oxygen because it's automatic) but it wasn't consistent. Also, his swelling had increased and despite being on a diuretic. He was a size 34 going into the hospital, and he left the world nearly twice that size. It was not easy to see. At all. I won't get into the gorier of the details, because with the lack of plasma, there was quite a bit of change in his skin color.

Anyway.. My dad is alert when I get in to see him in the evening. He was responding to us with eye movement and nodding. This, I think is the hardest part for me to describe. Talking to him and being able to comfort him in his last hours meant the world to my family and I. But from a professional perspective, it was very, very scary.

The night shift nurse said they would have to resuscitate him if necessary, and proceeded to ask for a DNR (do not resuscitate). I am familiar with the process of saving a person's life, as I see it quite often in my line of work (I work in an ER for those who don't know). I told the nurse to do whatever it took, because I knew that if this was his last night, working on him would not change a thing. He'd go regardless. And he did.

Side note: If you're not in the healthcare field, when a person crashes/has a heart attack/stroke, etc, a "Code" is called. Codes vary by case and hospital. This hospital was run by the same company that runs the one I work in, so our codes are all the same. In my dad's case, the code would be a "Code Blue" because of either cardiac or respiratory arrest. In both situations, resuscitation is necessary when there's no DNR listed. With this information, I will be referring to my dad going into a cardiac/respiratory arrest/crashing as "code" from this point forward because it is out of habit and much more comfortable for me to say.

I knew my dad was going to code that night. Nobody knew when, but the nurses and I knew it would happen at some point.

As much as I want to get into the details of what I said to my dad and the things I got to show him before he passed (pics, etc)... It truly hurts to write about it. The one thing I will share though, is that I got to look into his eyes and tell him that I truly admired him. I know that he left this world knowing how much he was loved. That is the one thing I am 100% grateful for.

When he finally coded, I asked to stay with him. It is hard to see resuscitation efforts in general if you're not used to it... it's even harder to watch a family member go through it. My dad was the kind of person who was afraid to be put to sleep because he didn't want to ~not~ wake up afterward. He even talked a doctor into giving him a local anesthetic for surgery on his foot and had a conversation with him the entire time (not kidding!). He even asked to watch the surgery on a screen! Knowing this, I knew he wouldn't want to be alone when they were trying to revive him. So I sat with him and I watched them perform CPR and push medications in to get him going again.

I had to leave after a few minutes. It was just too hard. I did my best not to cry, either, because my mom and sister were hysterical at this point and I knew if I lost it, they would get worse. I am used to this situation so I know that they know if I'm not okay, then it's obviously an uh oh moment. So I kept my composure the entire time... and it hurt so bad.

They couldn't revive him.

My dad's passing was truly unexpected. To this day, it's still hard to believe. I am used to him not being physically near me. I have lived miles away for almost 5 years now. Even when I was home after he passed, it always felt like he was just somewhere else and not physically there. It still feels that way.

I am in tears at this point. I am beyond devastated and torn. I am absolutely blessed to have had such an amazing man for a father, and now an angel who is watching over me. I miss him so much, and it is so hard to believe that after fighting for so long, that it ended so soon.