I don’t quite know where to begin or how I have found myself in a situation where I am having to sit here and create this page. My name is Lizzy Harmon-Beshea, I am one of four and the daughter of Murry and Kathy Harmon. 10 years ago, we tragically lost my big brother to suicide when he was only 26 years old. My younger brother, Samuel (19) has Down syndrome and Autism and is fully reliant on my mom. There is also my oldest sister, Cara, who is the most amazing sister, mom, and doctor I know. My mom is the sweetest and most kind woman in the entire world and my dad, he loves us all so much. We are the light of his life. Or, we were the light of his life. I am so burdened to tell you that my father, unexpectedly passed away on Christmas Eve. I thought it was safe to say, 10 years ago when sitting at my big brother’s funeral, I would never in a million years think we would endure something so painful again for a long, long time.

 

It is taking everything in me to write this. Here’s what happened…

On December 21, my dad informed my husband that we would have to reschedule my birthday dinner, as he believed he may have COVID. At the time he was down further South of Louisiana on a hunting and fishing trip. My mom, later informed me he had gone to the ER and had tested negative for COVID, but was diagnosed with sciatica, due to pain in his legs and lower back. We planned to reschedule my birthday dinner after Christmas had passed. On the 22nd, my birthday, I received a call while at work from a social worker at a hospital in Gretna, Louisiana. She proceeded to tell me that my dad was still at the hospital but had been discharged and needed someone to come pick him up because he was good to go. She was very unkind and rude on the phone. I could hear my dad on the phone trying to explain that my cousin who had called 911 to bring him to the hospital because he was in so much pain never picked him up. Come to find out he was sitting alone in a wheel chair for over 24 hours. While on the phone still, the social worker kept interrupting my dad assuring me he was fine but needed to leave because he was discharged. I asked him if he was okay and he said “I’m in excruciating pain, but we will do something for your birthday when I get back.” I didn’t understand what was going on but told the woman I would call my mom as I was unable to leave in that moment. I now wish I had dropped everything and gone to him.

 

After calling my mom and explaining the situation, she, who had my younger brother, could not get out there either in a timely fashion since it was an hour and a half away, but knew he needed to be picked up immediately. We called my dad’s sister who said she could go and get him. When she arrived to the hospital, she was told that my dad had been readmitted and that he did not need to picked up and she should leave. (Not sure why). Me, my mom, and my sister were not called or informed by the hospital at any point that my dad was re-admitted or informed of the severity of the situation until the NEXT DAY.

 

The next day, on the 23rd, my mom called my husband at 11:00 am saying we needed to come to her house immediately. Once we got there she proceeded to explain how my dad never left the hospital and that at this point, somehow, he was already in the ICU on Life support needing immediate surgery. We loaded the car as quickly as possible and made our way to Gretna, LA. We were terrified but hopeful. We knew my dad was strong, and I truly believed he would make it out of this, whatever it was. On our way there we got a call from his surgeon explaining my dad’s situation was extremely critical and they were taking him into surgery within the next few minutes. He explained how he noticed my dad had terrible bruising all over his legs and did immediate tests. The result was that my dad had come into contact with something called Necrotizing Fasciitis, which is a flesh eating disease, while he was duck hunting. He explained hat it had begun in the legs, but has quickly spread into his blood stream, causing his organs to begin to shut down and causing him to go into septic shock. He was sitting in their emergency room for 2 DAYS, explaining his legs were in EXCRUCIATING pain and for some reason, no one in the whole hospital full of doctors thought to check his legs. They all kept telling him he was fine and he needed to leave. No one would listen to him, and now it seemed to be too late.

 

We were shocked to find out my dad made it through the surgery and the doctor even seemed optimistic on the phone, saying “When he wakes up…” we praised the Lord and we were so thankful and relieved. But once we got to the hospital, we were brought into a separate room, where the ICU nurse, ICU doctor, and another medical professional proceeded to break our hearts all over again. They told us my dad was severely ill, and that they were not optimistic. The then went on to ask us what measures we would want taken to save his life if his heart were to stop. He was fine YESTERDAY, the surgeon was positive 20 minutes ago, and now we’re being asked if we want to sign a DNR?! We said we obviously want everything done to save him. Everything. For some reason, the doctor felt it necessary to tell us it wouldn’t matter. He pressed and pressed and pressed and even though we said, do the compressions, shock him if you have to, he was so persistent and said it wouldn’t help him get better. The nurse however was very kind and understanding and respected our wishes. This took place 2:30pm on December 23.

 

We then were brought back to see my daddy. The sight of him was absolutely horrific. It is an image I will never get out of my head. No one should ever have to see their parent in this state… That evening, we mustered up the courage to ask the nurse the question we all were wondering, but were afraid to know the answer, “how long do you think we have with him?” I’m 11 weeks pregnant, and didn’t know if I needed to sleep in the waiting room or if I could come back in the morning. She said, if it was her dad, she would stay, as she didn’t think he would make it through the night.

 

Complete heartbreak.

 

I need my dad, surely, he will pull through.

 

I went and checked on him every hour, I held his hand and told him how sorry I was that I wasn’t there sooner.

 

Around 8:00pm a shift change happened and our only sweet and kind nurse was no longer there. We felt alone and surrounded by people who didn’t seem to care about us or my sweet dad. After feeling my fathers helpless body, I told the nurse he was extremely cold but she said she was checking him and he was fine. Eventually I couldn’t stand to hold my dad’s hand when it felt like ice and she put a warming blanket on him with an attitude as if it was aggravating her.

 

We waited and we waited.

 

Early in the morning, around 4:30 am, on Christmas Eve, my poor mom ran into the waiting room and said, “Lizzy! They’re losing him….” My heart felt as though it caved into my body. We ran into the room and the sight was nothing less but traumatizing. An even worse sight that will live with us forever. His eye were half open and yellow due to the sepsis. His once beautiful eyes, looked as though he was crying. His mouth had blood coming out of the corners next to the tube. The nurse said, we just couldn’t get his body temperature back up. The temperature I said was low and no one listened. I wept and wept and held on to him, unable to expect what was happening. Again, we were asked if we still wanted to continue to do compressions once his heart stopped. How can you ask this again? Our minds haven’t changed, I said, please do everything you can as I held onto my father’s hand. Then, the nurse, yelled at me saying “LOOK AT YOUR DADDY, THAT IS NOT YOUR DADDY RIGHT THERE, DO YOU SEE HIM? DO YOU WANT HIM TO SUFFER?”

 

I was in horror. I see him I said, and I hear you. After being pressured and bullied we said we would not do compressions or shock him if his heart were to stop…

 

“What about his pressers?” Another nurse said, “that’s the only reason his heart is still beating. Can we turn off the ventilator?”

 

“Do not stop the pressers, or the ventilator, my sister is an hour away and needs to say goodbye..”

I don’t know if we were an inconvenience for them but for the next hour all you see were eyes being rolled and heads being shaken at the fact we didn’t let my sweet daddy pass quicker than they wanted. My sister, who is a doctor, comforted us by saying that he was heavily sedated and could feel no pain.

 

At 6:30 am, my sister had arrived. We all wept and said our goodbyes as the nurse began to stop the pressers and turn off the ventilator.

 

For 15 minutes we stood and waited for my daddy to take his last breath. It was the longest 15 minutes of my life. I kept trying to close his eyes and wipe the blood from his mouth, I kept thinking maybe his heart won’t stop, please God don’t let his heart stop. At one point in the midst of it all a nurse brought in a nursing student, I guess she felt the worst moments of our life was teachable to him.

 

At 6:45am, my daddy’s heart stopped and he took his last breath.

 

Nobody, not a single doctor or nurse said, “I’m sorry for your loss.” They couldn’t say they did everything they could because they didn’t. If they had had it their way he would’ve died sooner.

 

From the moment my dad stepped foot in that hospital to the moment he left, he was treated poorly.

 

I don’t know how they missed what was wrong, I don’t know how you can misdiagnose a flesh eating disease.

I know the role of medical professionals is to be professional, but that does not mean to lack compassion.

 

I can’t take the pain me or my family feel, and I don’t know what financial burdens lie ahead for my mom. She is an excellent school teacher and was hoping to retire soon, but now she can’t. She lost her husband. Me and my siblings lost their father. I don’t know how to explain to Samuel that daddy isn’t coming home. My dad didn’t have much, as he was a retired veteran. He didn’t have life insurance and since he was a veteran, he didn’t have medical insurance because the he was covered by the VA. However, this was not a VA hospital, and we have no idea what bills lie ahead. My mom will have to take off work for who knows how long and we are just praying for a way to pay for the mortgage this month. 

 

Every bit of us are swallowing our pride and asking for help. My mom was very hesitant about us making this but then prayerfully coming to the conclusion that we are in need of help. I don’t know what is needed but I know anything helps. Anything to contribute to the funeral, all of the medical bills, and further living expenses my mom will face in the next weeks, months, and years to come. We do know that no matter what, God is our provider and He is going to take care of us. Our trust, especially right now, is fully in Him. But we are opening ourselves up to the help from anyone who is willing.

 

We are so very thankful for every donation and we genuinely value and need every prayer. We will never be able to explain how grateful we will be. Please share this page! And please remember to always be kind! There is NEVER a reason to not be. Extend grace and compassion, as I know my dad would have.

 

We love you all very much! Thank you, thank you.

 

Lastly, I will say that my sweet father was a born again believer in Jesus. This brings us so much comfort and peace knowing that he is no longer suffering because he is reunited with the Father in Heaven and family and friends who have gone before us. We too are believers in Jesus and know we will see him again!