Patricia Hall (10/1/1940-4/16/2008)

Patricia Hall
10/01/1940 – 04/16/2008

I am running to honor the memory of my mother, Patricia Hall.  In March, 2007, this beautiful, sweet lady was hospitalized with severe gastrointestinal pain and difficulty swallowing food and even liquids. During Mom’s hospitalization, we received the devastating news that she had esophageal cancer and that her esophagus was completely closed and undilatable.  A subsequent test showed that the cancer had metastasized to her liver.  The surgical oncologist gave Mom a prognosis of just eight to twelve months.  

Mom immediately launched a valiant battle against the cancer and welcomed chemotherapy treatments, along with alternative treatments.  Despite the agony of five months with a closed esophagus, Mom’s spirits remained high, her positive attitude unwavering. She delighted in the 280 get well cards she received and she even made a list of all the things that made her happy.  Mom was determined to enjoy whatever time she had left, and she maintained her beautiful smile throughout her courageous fight.  Cancer had found a formidable foe.  

After five months, her large tumor had softened enough to allow the insertion of a stent into her esophagus.  The stent allowed her to take in liquids and soft foods, giving her improved quality of life.  She continued chemotherapy for another four months until her oncologist delivered the bad news that the cancer was spreading.  He recommended cessation of chemotherapy and an emphasis on palliative care to keep Mom as comfortable as possible.  She took this news like a champ and immediately added more alternative treatments to her regimen, still determined to beat the cancer.  She never talked about dying or the end of her life.  She always took the position that she was going to beat the cancer.  She remained upbeat for Dad, my brothers, and me, and she tried to minimize our sadness and concern.

By February 2008, we could see that Mom was beginning to slip away.  The hospitalizations were more frequent, and she was getting weaker. She surpassed the doctors’ prognosis of eight to twelve months when she reached the one-year mark on March 12, 2008, but we knew she didn’t have much time left.  

On April 15, Mom came home from the hospital for the last time. When the emergency medical service personnel transported her from the ambulance into the house, she looked up at her beloved home and smiled.  It was at the top of her happy list.  Within hours, she slipped into a coma.  On April 16, a hospice nurse predicted that Mom would not live past 9:00 p.m.  Mom, always one to have the final say in her quiet dignified manner, took her last breath at 9:15 p.m.  She was just sixty-seven years old.

--Lisa Hall