(no subject)
The last few months have been hell.
My dad's health had been failing for a while. I asked him to see a doctor and he kept putting it off. Eventually he went to the doctor on Wednesday 14 July and got sent to Garden City Clinic, where he'd been 10 years before with cirrhosis of the liver. Deja vu of note. The following Wednesday, the test results came in. He was diagnosed with end-stage chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (what used to be called emphysema). In addition to that, he also had cancer. In his liver. And it was bad.
That Friday my sister Bronwen and I spoke with Dr K. He said it wasn't going to be pretty. Dad had decided to forgo treatment, given the emphysema and that liver cancer doesn't respond well to treatment. Dr K agreed. We were told we had a couple of months.
The Thursday after that, 29 July, we brought Dad home. Bron, Brett and Xavier hung out at home with us. We had KFC. Dad got to sit in his garden and smoke the big joint Brett had for him. After they left and we had settled Dad on the blow-up mattress downstairs, I set up my bedding on the couch in case I was needed. I told him that I loved him, and was glad he was home. I told him how grateful I was for the 10 years I'd been given with a sober dad. I was so grateful for the bond we'd come to share.
Shortly after 1:00 in the morning, Dad called me. He couldn't get up and needed the bathroom. I wasn't asleep 'cause the couch was so uncomfortable. I battled to get him up. I wasn't strong enough and he was too weak to stand. Eventually I pulled him onto a chair. Despairingly, he moaned "Oh god, I'm shitting myself." I pulled him to his feet, desperate to preserve his dignity and get him to the toilet. I looked down to check the damage on the chair. All I saw was blood. Swallowing panic, I shuffled Dad to the downstairs loo, with him in so much distress he was battling to breathe. Blood was dripping all over the floor. I got him on the toilet but not properly. Blood gushed all over the floor. He must've lost almost two litres. He was struggling to breathe so I ran to get his oxygen. For some reason, no air was coming through the pipe. He was becoming more panicked, I was becoming desperate. Eventually, I grabbed the emergency canister, and hooked Dad up to that so he could breathe. I grabbed the phone and called my sister. "I need you. Now." I said. "It's bad." Brett was already out the door, leaving Bron to look after my sleeping, 4-year-old nephew. He arrived at my house in 10 minutes, I was trying to clean the blood off Dad's legs and feet, and the floor, so he could stand.
Brett took one look at the situation and called the paramedics. They arrived within 15 minutes. They took the medical history while they carted Dad to the ambulance where they could work better on him. They struggled to stabilise him. I rode in the front of the ambulance to Garden City. Brett went to fetch Bron, who left Xavier with her landlady. We arrived at Garden City clinic barely 9 hours after we last left it. The female paramedic was awesome. She'd lost her grandmother to cancer just three days before and she offered us so much support while we sat in the waiting room, even though she was having obvious flashbacks to her own pain. Bron and Brett went out and I saw how she wanted to cry. I went to her and we hugged each other.
Eventually we were allowed to see Dad, one at a time. He was very pale, with little blood pressure, and very weak. He told me not to worry, and that he loved me. As I left, the nurse gave me a huge hug and told me to be brave. The tears started then.
Then we went home to sleep. It was about 4:30. I cleaned up the house a bit and tried not to breathe through my nose. I checked on mom, who we'd left behind. I then sat up on the internet for several hours, way too wired to sleep. Bron and Brett arrived at my house just after dropping Xavier at school. I'd phoned my boss to say I couldn't be there, and explained what had happened. She was so supportive. Told me not to worry about a thing to do with work.
We loaded Mom in the car, and drove back to the hospital. Dad was back in a semi-private ward rather than ICU, given that he'd signed a DNR. We sat and talked to him for a while. He hovered in and out of consciousness while we were there, but we still had a conversation. Eventually he said it was time for us to go. I wheeled Mom away in her wheelchair and turned back to look at Dad. He gave me that soft, loving smile I've always cherished.
That was the last time I saw him.
Dad died at 12:40 that afternoon, whilst we were sleeping, finally too exhausted to stay awake any longer.
My dad is gone. My dad is dead.
It doesn't seem real.
30 July. Nearly 2 months ago.
I lost a month. I can't account for anything I did during the month of August, besides the funeral. After getting a tattoo on my arm, I finally seemed to wake up.
I'm fine now, most days. Sometimes I still cry. But, like my aunt says, I'm a Bernard, and we Bernards don't sit around crying.
Bron, Brett and Xavier have moved in with mom and me. Life goes on. We're happy, even though we're sad.
I'm once again tracking my menstrual cycle, and I'm planning to try for insemination in December, earliest.
Life goes on. The living must keep going.
Still, I wish I had my Dad.
My dad's health had been failing for a while. I asked him to see a doctor and he kept putting it off. Eventually he went to the doctor on Wednesday 14 July and got sent to Garden City Clinic, where he'd been 10 years before with cirrhosis of the liver. Deja vu of note. The following Wednesday, the test results came in. He was diagnosed with end-stage chronic obstructive pulmonary disease (what used to be called emphysema). In addition to that, he also had cancer. In his liver. And it was bad.
That Friday my sister Bronwen and I spoke with Dr K. He said it wasn't going to be pretty. Dad had decided to forgo treatment, given the emphysema and that liver cancer doesn't respond well to treatment. Dr K agreed. We were told we had a couple of months.
The Thursday after that, 29 July, we brought Dad home. Bron, Brett and Xavier hung out at home with us. We had KFC. Dad got to sit in his garden and smoke the big joint Brett had for him. After they left and we had settled Dad on the blow-up mattress downstairs, I set up my bedding on the couch in case I was needed. I told him that I loved him, and was glad he was home. I told him how grateful I was for the 10 years I'd been given with a sober dad. I was so grateful for the bond we'd come to share.
Shortly after 1:00 in the morning, Dad called me. He couldn't get up and needed the bathroom. I wasn't asleep 'cause the couch was so uncomfortable. I battled to get him up. I wasn't strong enough and he was too weak to stand. Eventually I pulled him onto a chair. Despairingly, he moaned "Oh god, I'm shitting myself." I pulled him to his feet, desperate to preserve his dignity and get him to the toilet. I looked down to check the damage on the chair. All I saw was blood. Swallowing panic, I shuffled Dad to the downstairs loo, with him in so much distress he was battling to breathe. Blood was dripping all over the floor. I got him on the toilet but not properly. Blood gushed all over the floor. He must've lost almost two litres. He was struggling to breathe so I ran to get his oxygen. For some reason, no air was coming through the pipe. He was becoming more panicked, I was becoming desperate. Eventually, I grabbed the emergency canister, and hooked Dad up to that so he could breathe. I grabbed the phone and called my sister. "I need you. Now." I said. "It's bad." Brett was already out the door, leaving Bron to look after my sleeping, 4-year-old nephew. He arrived at my house in 10 minutes, I was trying to clean the blood off Dad's legs and feet, and the floor, so he could stand.
Brett took one look at the situation and called the paramedics. They arrived within 15 minutes. They took the medical history while they carted Dad to the ambulance where they could work better on him. They struggled to stabilise him. I rode in the front of the ambulance to Garden City. Brett went to fetch Bron, who left Xavier with her landlady. We arrived at Garden City clinic barely 9 hours after we last left it. The female paramedic was awesome. She'd lost her grandmother to cancer just three days before and she offered us so much support while we sat in the waiting room, even though she was having obvious flashbacks to her own pain. Bron and Brett went out and I saw how she wanted to cry. I went to her and we hugged each other.
Eventually we were allowed to see Dad, one at a time. He was very pale, with little blood pressure, and very weak. He told me not to worry, and that he loved me. As I left, the nurse gave me a huge hug and told me to be brave. The tears started then.
Then we went home to sleep. It was about 4:30. I cleaned up the house a bit and tried not to breathe through my nose. I checked on mom, who we'd left behind. I then sat up on the internet for several hours, way too wired to sleep. Bron and Brett arrived at my house just after dropping Xavier at school. I'd phoned my boss to say I couldn't be there, and explained what had happened. She was so supportive. Told me not to worry about a thing to do with work.
We loaded Mom in the car, and drove back to the hospital. Dad was back in a semi-private ward rather than ICU, given that he'd signed a DNR. We sat and talked to him for a while. He hovered in and out of consciousness while we were there, but we still had a conversation. Eventually he said it was time for us to go. I wheeled Mom away in her wheelchair and turned back to look at Dad. He gave me that soft, loving smile I've always cherished.
That was the last time I saw him.
Dad died at 12:40 that afternoon, whilst we were sleeping, finally too exhausted to stay awake any longer.
My dad is gone. My dad is dead.
It doesn't seem real.
30 July. Nearly 2 months ago.
I lost a month. I can't account for anything I did during the month of August, besides the funeral. After getting a tattoo on my arm, I finally seemed to wake up.
I'm fine now, most days. Sometimes I still cry. But, like my aunt says, I'm a Bernard, and we Bernards don't sit around crying.
Bron, Brett and Xavier have moved in with mom and me. Life goes on. We're happy, even though we're sad.
I'm once again tracking my menstrual cycle, and I'm planning to try for insemination in December, earliest.
Life goes on. The living must keep going.
Still, I wish I had my Dad.