Ecurb
08-24-2015, 11:34 AM
Ted Rainey, my son Shane’s step father, died yesterday at 5:50 am. He was 49.
Ted had been ill many times – he was paralyzed in a motorcycle accident when he was 21 and had suffered from kidney malfunction, infections, gangrene, and, finally necrotizing fasciitis, also known as “flesh-eating bacteria”. He was air-lifted from the Oregon coast to a hospital in Portland, but two major operations failed to eliminate the infection.
The surgeon told Ted that the operation had not been successful. They gave him three options: another operation, which would involve amputating the lower half of his body and would probably not save his life; continued life support with no eventual chance of healing; or turning off the life support systems, after which, the doctors said, Ted would probably die within hours.
Ted picked door number three. There were ten of us in the room when the doctor explained the option – my son Shane, his mom Paula, Ted’s parents and brothers and other family members. The doctors took out Ted’s I.V.s, and Ted hugged, thanked, and bid goodbye to his loved ones. When it was my turn, he asked my for a hug (we’d known each other for 20+ years, but had never hugged), and told me, “Thank you for giving me my family.” I would have said something back to him, but, strangely, I had a frog in my throat and words wouldn’t come.
The doctors were wrong about Ted dying within hours. He lived another three weeks, and for the first week and half seemed cheerful, strong and healthy, sitting up in bed and laughing and joking like his usual self. He always had been a macho, tough guy. Despite being paralyzed, he loved to hunt and fish, and usually got his buck, and sometimes an elk. I ate many a venison steak, courtesy of Ted’s hunting prowess. One of Ted’s hunting partners was his beautiful Gordon setter, Thomas.
Unfortunately, Thomas was also in poor health. Because Ted was air-lifted to the Portland hospital, his dogs (Thomas and Brandy) were at their house in Reedsport, on the Oregon coast. While Ted was in surgery, I drove to Reedsport and brought the dogs to my house in Eugene. Thomas had a malignant tumor on his hip, and could walk only if helped to his feet.
My friend Demetra fed and watered the dogs while I raced up to Portland to be with Ted and his family. But Thomas was unable to walk, and unable to get outside. After Ted went off life-support, I had to drive back to Eugene to deal with the dogs.
In his prime, Thomas was by far the most athletic dog I’ve ever known. One time, we took Ted’s truck (the one with the hand controls) to a dirt road, and let Thomas out to run. He ran up the dirt road, just for the joy of running, and we followed him. He went five miles, at 30 miles an hour, before slowing down.
I brought him to the Vets, and had him euthanized.
Ted was moved from the hospital to a hospice. At first, he remained strong and cheerful. I remembered that he had a penchant for getting hit by cars, because they couldn’t see him in his wheelchair. One time, at the corner of 18th and City View, Ted was crossing the street (with the light), and a lady in a min- van, turning right on a red light, bumped his wheelchair and sent him sprawling into the street. She was horrified, and jumped out of her car to ask, “Are you all right?”
“I can’t feel my legs,” said Ted. He paused briefly for effect. “Of course I haven’t been able to feel them for 15 years. Help me back into my wheelchair.”
For the last week or so in the hospice, Ted was slipping away. Paula had a guest room in the hospice, and yesterday morning, following a premonition, she went down to Ted’s room at 5:30 in the morning, and was with him when he stopped breathing. She put her hand on his heart, which fluttered and then stopped. I was visiting Shane’s house in Portland, and by the time we got to the hospice, Ted had been cleaned and laid in his bed, holding a bouquet of flowers. He looked better than he had in weeks, but he was gone.
So Master and dog are both gone now, returned to the star dust from which they, and the universe, were made. Perhaps, I fancy, they are running among the stars with Orion and Sirius, on the hunt that lasts forever. If they are, I'm certain of one thing: Orion and Sirius are going to have a hard time keeping up.
Ted had been ill many times – he was paralyzed in a motorcycle accident when he was 21 and had suffered from kidney malfunction, infections, gangrene, and, finally necrotizing fasciitis, also known as “flesh-eating bacteria”. He was air-lifted from the Oregon coast to a hospital in Portland, but two major operations failed to eliminate the infection.
The surgeon told Ted that the operation had not been successful. They gave him three options: another operation, which would involve amputating the lower half of his body and would probably not save his life; continued life support with no eventual chance of healing; or turning off the life support systems, after which, the doctors said, Ted would probably die within hours.
Ted picked door number three. There were ten of us in the room when the doctor explained the option – my son Shane, his mom Paula, Ted’s parents and brothers and other family members. The doctors took out Ted’s I.V.s, and Ted hugged, thanked, and bid goodbye to his loved ones. When it was my turn, he asked my for a hug (we’d known each other for 20+ years, but had never hugged), and told me, “Thank you for giving me my family.” I would have said something back to him, but, strangely, I had a frog in my throat and words wouldn’t come.
The doctors were wrong about Ted dying within hours. He lived another three weeks, and for the first week and half seemed cheerful, strong and healthy, sitting up in bed and laughing and joking like his usual self. He always had been a macho, tough guy. Despite being paralyzed, he loved to hunt and fish, and usually got his buck, and sometimes an elk. I ate many a venison steak, courtesy of Ted’s hunting prowess. One of Ted’s hunting partners was his beautiful Gordon setter, Thomas.
Unfortunately, Thomas was also in poor health. Because Ted was air-lifted to the Portland hospital, his dogs (Thomas and Brandy) were at their house in Reedsport, on the Oregon coast. While Ted was in surgery, I drove to Reedsport and brought the dogs to my house in Eugene. Thomas had a malignant tumor on his hip, and could walk only if helped to his feet.
My friend Demetra fed and watered the dogs while I raced up to Portland to be with Ted and his family. But Thomas was unable to walk, and unable to get outside. After Ted went off life-support, I had to drive back to Eugene to deal with the dogs.
In his prime, Thomas was by far the most athletic dog I’ve ever known. One time, we took Ted’s truck (the one with the hand controls) to a dirt road, and let Thomas out to run. He ran up the dirt road, just for the joy of running, and we followed him. He went five miles, at 30 miles an hour, before slowing down.
I brought him to the Vets, and had him euthanized.
Ted was moved from the hospital to a hospice. At first, he remained strong and cheerful. I remembered that he had a penchant for getting hit by cars, because they couldn’t see him in his wheelchair. One time, at the corner of 18th and City View, Ted was crossing the street (with the light), and a lady in a min- van, turning right on a red light, bumped his wheelchair and sent him sprawling into the street. She was horrified, and jumped out of her car to ask, “Are you all right?”
“I can’t feel my legs,” said Ted. He paused briefly for effect. “Of course I haven’t been able to feel them for 15 years. Help me back into my wheelchair.”
For the last week or so in the hospice, Ted was slipping away. Paula had a guest room in the hospice, and yesterday morning, following a premonition, she went down to Ted’s room at 5:30 in the morning, and was with him when he stopped breathing. She put her hand on his heart, which fluttered and then stopped. I was visiting Shane’s house in Portland, and by the time we got to the hospice, Ted had been cleaned and laid in his bed, holding a bouquet of flowers. He looked better than he had in weeks, but he was gone.
So Master and dog are both gone now, returned to the star dust from which they, and the universe, were made. Perhaps, I fancy, they are running among the stars with Orion and Sirius, on the hunt that lasts forever. If they are, I'm certain of one thing: Orion and Sirius are going to have a hard time keeping up.