My story

September 1997 was the start of what was to be a devastating period for my family and me.

For many years, Dad suffered from COPD [ Chronic Obstructive Pulmonary Disease]. Up until that point, his disease was well managed by a wonderful Yale-trained community pulmonologist. On his routine chest radiograph this particular year, however, an abnormality was found. Having worked at Yale-New Haven Hospital for 20 years, this finding was extremely frightening to me. I knew in my heart that more tests were needed, but how I wanted one of my radiologist friends to tell me the finding was nothing. Of course, this was not the case.

The ordeal truly began on Veteran's Day 1997. That day, Dad experienced the first of many lung biopsies, bronchopsies, X-rays, surgeries and radiation therapy that he would endure for the next 16 months. My colleagues in Diagnostic Imaging were exemplary. There are no words to describe the professionalism, expertise, warmth and friendship that everyone offered not only to Dad and me, but also to my entire family.

Dad continued to be strong throughout many ups and downs. He spent several admissions on 9-7, and how he enjoyed those nurses! I remember one in particular named Adrienne that he really liked. At times I would hassle him for addressing them with “terms of endearment.” They were not only excellent caregivers but good sports, too.

Dad received the best care that was offered anywhere. Our departments of DI and Therapeutic Radiology, our medical staff, and his pulmonologist did everything right. He had lung surgery in February 1998. He had a few good months but unfortunately experienced a recurrence of his lung cancer in August of that year. His health quickly declined from that point.

I remember the end so vividly. He was receiving hospice home care. It was D-Day, Dec. 7—a coincidence, I wonder? Mom called and said I should get there soon. When I did, I sat on the bed and talked to Dad. He knew I was there and we both knew what was happening. The nurse summoned me and told me it was time Dad was moved to hospice. I was dead set against that. I told my Mom, “No, it's either here or Yale-New Haven Hospital.” The nurse tried to dissuade me but I was vehement. I remember my words distinctly—“Yale is like another home and family. It's here or Yale-New Haven.”

Well, as always, Dad made it easy for us. He left us peacefully, in his own home, about an hour later. He was only 72. It was too soon to lose him. None of us were really ready. But, as a caregiver, I believe that all the right things were done. I was happy with the care Dad received and am proud to be a part of a great team of health professionals.

JoAnn Massari
Diagnostic Imaging