Fight for Frank Goodfellow

“Squeeze my hand dad if you can hear me.” I never thought fulfillment of such a seemingly simple request could grant someone so much hope. This came after our dad fell critically ill about four weeks ago. He walked into the emergency room at Cape Cod Hospital for a chronic urinary issue, and upon receiving discharge paperwork, the nurse noticed he looked weak sitting in bed. After asking to see how my dad could walk, he nearly fell backward, leading to endless additional tests from thereon. Upon discovering he had pneumonia, they admitted him to the hospital. Over the course of three days, he lost his ability to swallow food, effectively cough, walk, and eventually could barely speak. I explained to his care team how I had been trying to obtain a neurological evaluation for my dad for a long time after noticing his progressive weakness over the course of months, but was left with only a referral that I was told would take at least three more months to schedule. My gut had told me we didn’t have that kind of time. An MRI was done at Cape Cod Hospital and they discovered areas of brain shrinkage but were unable to identify an exact diagnosis. On the fourth day of his admission, we received an urgent, gut-wrenching call from the doctor explaining that my dad was not doing well and how we needed to discuss advanced directives. My twin brother, sister, mother, and I struggled to comprehend how he became this ill so quickly, but had to make the quick decision to intubate him. That night, he was medflighted to Beth Israel Boston and has been in the ICU ever since. His pneumonia got worse, and then better, but he was left with extreme weakness that everyone has struggled to understand the cause behind. After numerous neurological exams, blood work, a lumbar puncture, xrays, etc., the doctors are still unsure what my dad exactly has, but it is a neurodegenerative disease, and likely progressive. Unsure of his prognosis, there remains so much uncertainty. We faced the hardest decision of our lives thus far of either doing a tracheostomy, or putting my dad on hospice care. My dad would have good days where he seemed back to his usual self, and then would come the dark days, when he would not squeeze my hand at my request. I had to tell myself to have cautious optimism and to not get too hopeful when it was a good day, because I couldn’t predict nor handle another bad day or any further decline. Having had multiple conversations within our family and with my dad while he is alert, we have decided to pursue the tracheostomy. After numerous explanations about what that would entail, he nodded that he wanted to keep fighting and one of the last words I heard him say was “nervous.” My dad is now re-intubated due to respiratory failure and will be undergoing the tracheostomy today. We are starting this GoFundMe to help support our dad as his life changes drastically, and for the scary road ahead in a long-term acute care facility. Our dad has been fully independent, working everyday of his life up until he entered the hospital, and is a Navy veteran who always cared about helping people. He would always put others first, even before taking care of his own health and struggles, and now we are asking for help for him. Recently, while sitting with him in the ICU one day, I randomly decided to ask him what he would do in that moment if he could do anything in the world. Though his voice had become incredibly weak, he answered “make as many people happy as I can.” And that is exactly what he would do.