I write tonight in memory of Willam Lull, “Billy” to all that have come know and love him. Recently Billy had an in office procedure that was to treat what was believed to be a prostate problem. Complications resulted in a couple trips to the emergence room before he was admitted to the hospital. A surgical procedure that allows doctors to look into the prostrate was scheduled and canceled in favor of a less intrusive procedure. After three and a half days of testing and hopeful waiting surgery was again scheduled to see where the bleeding was coming from. The surgeon found the problem, not with the prostate but his bladder. Pathology confirmed he had a “very aggressive” form of bladder cancer. Within two days of his surgery, the effects of anesthesia and pneumonia caused him to become restless and increasingly more disoriented as the hours slipped by. Caring nurses and doctors at the hospital heped to make his pasing peaceful. I would reach the hospital by 7:30 am in hope of seeing the doctors on their rounds and was successful most of the time. Last Saturday morning started out ok but as the hours went by I could see Billy slipping. In the morning he started with a tube supplying him with oxygen that progressed to a mask. After surgery it had become increasingly harder to understand what he was saying and the addition of the mask made it that much harder.
As I had mentioned Billy was becoming restless. It became both sad and humors at times. He would be moving his hands around his waist and trying to say something so I would leaned in close to him pulling the oxygen mask up onto his forehead asking him what he wanted. He would reply in soft but gruff, horse, gravely voice “I’m getting dressed”. One time that Saturday morning as he tried to roll to his right side he had an expression of pain on his face as he reached out his left arm as far as he could (over the years he had lost some range of motion in both shoulders) while trying to say something. Again I leaned in close to him pulling the mask up onto his forehead asking him what he wanted. “Stiff! Shoulder stiff”! Do you want me to raise your arm to stretch it? OK. As I leaned over him to reach his left arm I slowly raised it. I was afraid I might cause him more pain. After a couple times of raising his arm to my surprise and relief, he settled back becoming very peaceful. As I continued moving his arm I watched has a devilish little smile appeared under his oxygen mask? He said something I did not understand. Removing the mask and leaning in I hear Billy ask “do you want to dance”.
A few hours later he was sedated and resting. We thought that he would be with us for a day or so longer and sadly were not with him when he passed. His nurse told us she had checked on him an hour and a half before and asked him if he was in any pain. He said no.
Billy had a love for life right up to the end. He had what one might say “a gift for gab”. He would talk, and talk, and talk again about his cars, (he never purchased a new car, always a used car which had been taken well care of by the previous owner) the trip to the Mayo Clinic that saved his life and his family. We all will miss him.