Time for goodbye: Cancer patient weakens

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Life In Focus: A photographer's journey

EDITORS NOTE: Record-Eagle photojournalist Doug Tesner was sick, badly so. A lifelong smoker, Tesner, 64, battled lung cancer that spread to his lymph nodes. His outlook was bleak, and he was in Munson Medical Center for treatment. Tesner and his wife, Peggy, agreed to allow Record-Eagle reporter Lindsay VanHulle and photojournalist Jan-Michael Stump to follow their journey, document his life and examine an illness that each year claims about 160,000 lives in this country.

"Patient awaits cancer's toll" is the first in this series. Other articles:

Related Photos

Peg Tesner gets a hug from Nancy Taylor, Doug's niece, during a visit on Sunday. Record-Eagle/Jan-Michael Stump
Peg keeps a steady vigil next to Doug after he's re-admitted to Munson Medical Center. Record-Eagle/Jan-Michael Stump

June 28, 2010

Friends, family visit cancer patient as the end nears

BY LINDSAY VANHULLE lvanhulle@record-eagle.com The Record Eagle Mon Jun 28, 2010, 07:12 AM EDT

TRAVERSE CITY — A nurse stopped by Doug Tesner's hospital room before the end of her shift and leaned over his bed.

"I'm going to say good night. I'm going to go home," she told him. He didn't respond. "You have a good night tonight."

She looked up toward Tesner's wife, Peggy, with tears in her eyes.

"Goodbye," she said, waving slightly.

The end is near.

Tesner, a Record-Eagle photographer since 2004 and lifelong smoker, is battling Stage IV adenocarcinoma, a type of lung cancer. He went to a downstate hospital in late February and was diagnosed.

He has been a patient since June 16 at Traverse City's Munson Medical Center.

His condition worsened over the weekend. Tesner, 64, instructed doctors to stop all further treatments, including the radiation therapy he started last week. He has not eaten in about a week and would not accept a feeding tube.

He was given medication through an IV for comfort. Tesner's pulse became erratic and he took just a few audible breaths per minute Sunday. The palms of his hands were purple, though they were warm to the touch. He was unresponsive when people spoke to him.

Tesner had agreed Friday to allow the feeding tube, Peggy said. He changed his mind when he arrived downstairs for the procedure.

The couple learned Saturday he also had a gastrointestinal bleed.

"I said, 'Are you hurting?' And he said, 'All the time,'" Peggy said Sunday. "He said, 'No more. I don't want to hurt anymore.'"

A nurse asked Tesner whether he was sure he wanted to end treatment, Peggy said.

He pointed to his stepson, Jim, who drove from Washington, D.C., to visit. Jim said yes. He pointed to Peggy. She agreed. Tesner then pointed to himself and said yes.

"All along, I told him whatever he wanted, I would support him 100 percent," Peggy said. "He's made all these decisions himself, and I have to believe they were the right ones.

"His term was quality of life, as opposed to quantity."

So they decided to stop. Nurses came by his room several times Sunday, but only to adjust his medication or check on his condition. They brought additional chairs to his room for visitors, who included several Record-Eagle colleagues; his son, Patrick; and other family and friends.

Patrick, 28, handed Peggy a box of tissues — with lotion, she pointed out — and a change of clothing. She had not left Tesner's side for very long.

A pamphlet titled "Gone From My Sight: The Dying Experience" sat on a windowsill. Peggy said Tesner wants to be buried at Arlington National Cemetery in Virginia because he was "so proud of his military service."

Tesner spent about 22 years in the Navy as a helicopter mechanic and photographer.

Peggy sat next to his bed, stroking his arm. Tesner didn't move. She and Tesner's visitors told stories and laughed at pleasant memories. Peggy said it kept her from crying.

For instance: Doug's cell-phone ring tone, a techno melody he used to dance to each time he heard it, was programmed into his Apple iPhone as "annoying +1." Peggy sewed Tesner a quilt that he often covered up with in the living room. Patrick brought it for him.

And he helped his late brother build a cabin in Benzie County that his niece and nephew, Nancy and Bob Taylor, now use.

"We thought he was getting better," Bob Taylor said. The couple had visited for a few days last week. "His cough had subsided."

At times, the room grew quiet, with no noise other than Tesner's periodic breaths.

Peggy leaned over his bed after the Taylors arrived.

"Well, buddy, I hate to tell you this, but you're kind of a popular fellow," she told him.

He didn't answer. She thinks he heard.