My Father Is Dying
05-02-2009, 01:00 AM (This post was last modified: 01-11-2018, 03:57 PM by Bob Schroeck.)
05-02-2009, 01:00 AM (This post was last modified: 01-11-2018, 03:57 PM by Bob Schroeck.)
Some of you know this already -- my dad has suffered from Parkinson's with dementia for about ten years now. It's been several years since he's reliably recognized me, a couple years since he could move under his own power, and about six months since he became bed-bound.
In the last few weeks, he's been intermittently refusing food and water, and it's finally taken its toll -- he's reached a point where his organs are likely to shut down in a few days if nothing is done. The only measures that can be taken at this point, though, are explicitly forbidden by the terms of his living will. His doctor has told my mom to not take him to the hospital, as it would only prolong the inevitable. Plus doing so would break the agreement she has with the hospice agency which has taken on a fair chunk of the cost of his care and which provides a lot of services for that care. The agency has, by the way, indicated that it will provide narcotic patches that will make sure that he is not suffering during these last hours -- but he also appears to have suffered a small stroke that has wiped out any vestiges of personality which had retained up to this point; I'm not entirely sure he's actually "in there" any more.
Even so, it was me my mother turned to me in order to "help" her decide whether to send him to the hospital or not.
Weighing everything I've cited above plus a few things that are private to the family, I had to counsel her not to.
So. I am right now sitting at home, hoping my father does not die before Peggy and I can get down there tomorrow, feeling a welter of emotions including but not limited to a certain anger that I was the one essentially forced to make the decision to let my father die (for all my mother claimed to be asking my advice, she was really asking me to take the decision out of her hands). And feeling a need to spill this out somewhere. And lacking a blog proper, this is my most prominent forum (pun not intended).
It's not going to be a good weekend, no matter what happens.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.
In the last few weeks, he's been intermittently refusing food and water, and it's finally taken its toll -- he's reached a point where his organs are likely to shut down in a few days if nothing is done. The only measures that can be taken at this point, though, are explicitly forbidden by the terms of his living will. His doctor has told my mom to not take him to the hospital, as it would only prolong the inevitable. Plus doing so would break the agreement she has with the hospice agency which has taken on a fair chunk of the cost of his care and which provides a lot of services for that care. The agency has, by the way, indicated that it will provide narcotic patches that will make sure that he is not suffering during these last hours -- but he also appears to have suffered a small stroke that has wiped out any vestiges of personality which had retained up to this point; I'm not entirely sure he's actually "in there" any more.
Even so, it was me my mother turned to me in order to "help" her decide whether to send him to the hospital or not.
Weighing everything I've cited above plus a few things that are private to the family, I had to counsel her not to.
So. I am right now sitting at home, hoping my father does not die before Peggy and I can get down there tomorrow, feeling a welter of emotions including but not limited to a certain anger that I was the one essentially forced to make the decision to let my father die (for all my mother claimed to be asking my advice, she was really asking me to take the decision out of her hands). And feeling a need to spill this out somewhere. And lacking a blog proper, this is my most prominent forum (pun not intended).
It's not going to be a good weekend, no matter what happens.
-- Bob
---------
Then the horns kicked in...
...and my shoes began to squeak.