My Father Is Dying.
My daddy is dying.
I've known for a while now that his dying was a possibility, especially with his behaviour not helping him any - but now I know that even if he had behaved, there would have been nothing that could have been done to save him.
Dad's been in the hospital for two and a half months now. During that time he's been behaving the same way that he did when he was hospitalised in 2007, once more bringing Mum to a state of mental and emotional exhaustion. Once again, he's been behaving like a needy child who wanted Mum to come in every single day (mum can't drive, she has to take buses, and on weekends it can be as much of a three hour trip EACH WAY.) He constantly refused to eat, exercise or even DRINK. At one point he was improving and sent home, only to need to go back to hospital in an ambulance. While geting into the ambulance, he nearly toppled out. Mum (who has FOUR hernias, two bad knees and a bad back) was forced to catch him because the ambulance officers couldn't reach him in time. And still she's been struggling to get in there as many days as she could, to beg, bully, coax, plead, and generally treat Dad like a three-year-old to get him to do what he should.
Last Sunday I got a phone call from Mum in the middle of Spanish sword class, saying that Dad had rung her announcing that he wanted to die. She was near tears (and Mum was brought up not to show negative emotion - if she cried, she was punished, so she almost never cries.) I comforted her, then rang my father myself, only to receive the same thing. "I love you so much, but I am just so tired... I've been trying and trying, and I can't try anymore." Nothing worked - begging, pleading, even emotional blackmail. I spent the majority of Sunday as a huge mess.
The next day I found out that someone, in their INFINTE wisdom, had taken Dad off his anti-depressant meds. (I didn't even know he was taking them!) He was placed back on them and things appeared to be going back to normal - well, normal for Dad being in hospital.
Today I got a phone call from Mum, who was actually in tears this time. She told me that it really didn't look good at all, and when the doctor arrived she'd ring me again and get him to talk to me, so I could get a clear picture.
The doctor called about 25 minutes later. Apparently, Dad had pancreatitis - infection of the pancreas. (I'd been told that at the time.) He'd had a tube put in to remove the pus and gunk from his abdomen (I knew that part too). Apparently, what NOBODY knew, was that the gunk was not due to an ongoing infection, but rather to his pancreas itself slowly breaking down and refusing to work. And you can't fix a broken pancreas, or have a transplant. There's no surgery, no medicines, nothing that can be done.
So, the doctor says he has days, maybe weeks. I don't know - nobody really does. I'm going back home to see everyone tomorrow.
My daddy is dying. He won't even reach his 70th birthday.
I've known for a while now that his dying was a possibility, especially with his behaviour not helping him any - but now I know that even if he had behaved, there would have been nothing that could have been done to save him.
Dad's been in the hospital for two and a half months now. During that time he's been behaving the same way that he did when he was hospitalised in 2007, once more bringing Mum to a state of mental and emotional exhaustion. Once again, he's been behaving like a needy child who wanted Mum to come in every single day (mum can't drive, she has to take buses, and on weekends it can be as much of a three hour trip EACH WAY.) He constantly refused to eat, exercise or even DRINK. At one point he was improving and sent home, only to need to go back to hospital in an ambulance. While geting into the ambulance, he nearly toppled out. Mum (who has FOUR hernias, two bad knees and a bad back) was forced to catch him because the ambulance officers couldn't reach him in time. And still she's been struggling to get in there as many days as she could, to beg, bully, coax, plead, and generally treat Dad like a three-year-old to get him to do what he should.
Last Sunday I got a phone call from Mum in the middle of Spanish sword class, saying that Dad had rung her announcing that he wanted to die. She was near tears (and Mum was brought up not to show negative emotion - if she cried, she was punished, so she almost never cries.) I comforted her, then rang my father myself, only to receive the same thing. "I love you so much, but I am just so tired... I've been trying and trying, and I can't try anymore." Nothing worked - begging, pleading, even emotional blackmail. I spent the majority of Sunday as a huge mess.
The next day I found out that someone, in their INFINTE wisdom, had taken Dad off his anti-depressant meds. (I didn't even know he was taking them!) He was placed back on them and things appeared to be going back to normal - well, normal for Dad being in hospital.
Today I got a phone call from Mum, who was actually in tears this time. She told me that it really didn't look good at all, and when the doctor arrived she'd ring me again and get him to talk to me, so I could get a clear picture.
The doctor called about 25 minutes later. Apparently, Dad had pancreatitis - infection of the pancreas. (I'd been told that at the time.) He'd had a tube put in to remove the pus and gunk from his abdomen (I knew that part too). Apparently, what NOBODY knew, was that the gunk was not due to an ongoing infection, but rather to his pancreas itself slowly breaking down and refusing to work. And you can't fix a broken pancreas, or have a transplant. There's no surgery, no medicines, nothing that can be done.
So, the doctor says he has days, maybe weeks. I don't know - nobody really does. I'm going back home to see everyone tomorrow.
My daddy is dying. He won't even reach his 70th birthday.