Comfort — a gift from my father

BOB ROTH | COLUMNIST

Iknow I am blessed to say that I had my dad, Sheldon Robert Roth, affectionately known as "Noodles," for 60 years. I lived in the same state for the past 28 years, the same town for the last five, and was part of his daily life for the last two years of his life. Not many transplants here in the Greater Phoenix area are fortunate, like I was, to get this very precious gift of time. Almost seven weeks ago, Dad passed away. Seven weeks before he died Dad made an important decision, that ended up being his final gift to us. Dad’s choice to go “on hospice” was a gift of comfort and “time.”

This decision was a gift for two reasons. First, Noodles was fully in control of his choice and second, my brothers and I, and our families, could immediately assume our role of supporting this informed decision. The operative word being “informed.”

But first, the events leading up to this. Noodles was the bionic man. Living to within three months of his 87th birthday was in large part due to medical science and technology. He had a pacemaker, a watchman and a transcatheter aortic valve replacement (TAVR). Dr. Google can explain in depth if you are not familiar with these groundbreaking advances in cardiac care. Hospitalizations and procedures went according to the script of “The Six Million Dollar Man,” “We can rebuild him, we have the technology …” him anymore. At a point of no return, hospitalizations and procedures were not rebuilding him. They were breaking him. This has nothing to do with the exceptional care Dad received. Doctors are hardwired to seek solutions and