First off, you should know that this entry is being written by Katie. We’re not quite at the finish line, but it’s within sight. So, how did we get here?
On Wednesday, February 22, Sparkplug spent the night in the ICU. To be honest I don’t know all the medical details, just that the calcium in his system had reached dangerous levels. He mentioned in his last entry that he had a bladder biopsy scheduled–that came back positive, and a scan at the hospital revealed that the cancer had spread to his bones. Still, his oncologist was optimistic about alternate cancer treatments, and the physicians here were able to get his calcium levels and kidney function back to a state where they were comfortable sending him home. He was discharged on Tuesday, February 28, and slept in his own bed that night.
We spent Wednesday figuring out what the new normal was going to look like for Dad as he regained strength and prepared to resume cancer treatments. I asked him if he wanted to dictate a blog post and I’d type it up for him. He said he’d been thinking a lot about what to say to folks, and in very Sparkplug fashion, he made a math analogy. “I expected this to be a slow decline, like a battery running out. Instead it’s turned out to be more like a step function–I was holding steady up here, then all of a sudden, THUNK.” Imagine the facial expressions and hand gestures that accompanied this conversation. He chuckled and admitted, “Thunk hurts.”
Wednesday evening, he sat down at the dinner table and shared a meal with Mom, Peder, Lucy, and me. And then he had a stroke. The ambulance was there within minutes; he would have appreciated the speed run and flashing lights.
They removed a blood clot. Bleeding in his brain continued. Treating the cancer is no longer possible. Tracy’s here now. He’s mostly sleeping.
Dad always was exceptionally precise. He was diagnosed on March 3, 2016, and told the “statistical average” was 12 months. On March 3, 2017, his treatment was discontinued; he’s on compassionate care now. We move to hospice tomorrow.
Once he’s settled we’ll share the address and visiting hours, for anyone who might want to come say goodbye.
I can say, your father is a brave and wonderful warrior.. it always is sad to see a journey slowing down. Remember you all were in this together and God is yet with you all. I pray your father and all of you find comfort in the fact people are with you in prayer. hugs , love and prayers to all of you. I remember your dad in his younger years when his dad was the pastor at Prince of Peace.God be with you all. Elizabeth Fuerstenau/ Stover
Prayers and love surround you, precious family.
Dear Judy and Mark, my heart is breaking for you. This is so incredibly hard to go through, and I am so, so sorry. It has been a joy watching you both thoroughly pack in precious memories together this past year. Mark, you have fought the good fight, you have been a Light shining brightly during this journey. It seems like God takes the very best ones Home first…..you have completed the camping trip here on earth, and Graduation Day sounds like is just around the corner. Please say hi to my beloved Dan for me 💙💙💙 love, Marilyn
I’ve had the honor of working with Mark most of my adult life. Was lucky enough to visit him in the hospital last Tuesday just before he was discharged. He told me the linear ramp versus the step function analogy. At the time I thought it was typical Mark. Pragmatic, understated, and human.
I was able to tell him again what I told him when he was first diagnosed, but this time I was able to share it with Judy and Katie .
There are only about three people I’ve known whom I wish I were more like. One is my uncle. Another was a mutual friend and coworker of Mark and I. I didn’t get the chance to tell him how much I respected him.
The last one is Mark. He’s one of the best people I’ve ever known.
Godspeed Mark.
Judy, et al. My heart goes out to you all. I lost my Dad to cancer when I was 23. I’ve lost two wives to cancer. Life goes on but it will be a while before you can accept that. God has his arms around you to offer comfort but even that may be hard to recognize right now. Know that there are hundreds out here sending you their love.
Judy and family my heart is breaking for you. I know you will be lifted up by friends and family but still it’s a difficult journey. God bless you all.