Confession From the Chair
Doctors stopped my father’s chemo treatments back in late April because they were not producing the intended results. Since they stopped, my father’s health has been rapidly declining. While he was going through his chemo, the only telltale sign that anything might be amiss was his bald head. Sure, he was tired and often nauseous from the treatments themselves, but only those closest to him could see that. Once the depression and reality that he was losing his battle with prostate cancer set in, his physical changes have been enormous. He is easily 50 pounds lighter than he was in the spring. He has no appetite, and no energy. He spends most of his days lying on the bed, or lying on the couch. Unless he has a hospital appointment, he doesn’t go out. Lately, the doctors and nurses are coming to him. The local CLSC (French acronym for Community Health Services) sends an orderly of sorts to their house daily to help him shower and dress.
When he has visitors of the non medical variety, it tends to lift his spirits, at least for a little while. But the medical professionals are around much more often than not. Just this morning, one of the nurses had a little meeting with my mother. In the time she has been visiting, she has visibly noticed his decline. He’s had to have several blood transfusions, and she’s now questioning the wisdom of them all. It exhausts him to go out, and the positive effects of the transfusions themselves are possibly outweighed by the strain of travelling to the hospital.
My mom called me at work today. This in itself is not odd - she calls me regularly, especially since my dad has been sick. But this time it was a little different.
The CLSC doctor wants to meet the whole family on Friday to go over our options. There aren’t a lot right now. We can continue as how things are now, or we can add my father’s name to the waiting list at the Palliative Care Centre. Palliative care is basically the last step before you die. They don’t try to cure anything; they just help make you comfortable in your last months, weeks, or days.
The question at the moment, however, is how much do we tell Dad? He’s not processing things the way he used to, but by no means can anyone say that he has reduced mental capabilities. So do we tell him what’s going on and have him involved in this meeting on Friday? Or do we leave him oblivious? What will cause him the least amount of suffering in the end? A done bun can’t be undone as the saying goes, and it would break all of our hearts if Dad can’t be at peace for whatever amount of time he has left.
Who am I kidding - this whole process has been breaking my heart ever since it began, and watching my dad, my hero, shrink into a shell of what he used to be, rips me to pieces. But he has earned the right to know whatever he wants to know, and if he’d rather remain a little oblivious about what’s to come, I will fully support him.
When he has visitors of the non medical variety, it tends to lift his spirits, at least for a little while. But the medical professionals are around much more often than not. Just this morning, one of the nurses had a little meeting with my mother. In the time she has been visiting, she has visibly noticed his decline. He’s had to have several blood transfusions, and she’s now questioning the wisdom of them all. It exhausts him to go out, and the positive effects of the transfusions themselves are possibly outweighed by the strain of travelling to the hospital.
My mom called me at work today. This in itself is not odd - she calls me regularly, especially since my dad has been sick. But this time it was a little different.
The CLSC doctor wants to meet the whole family on Friday to go over our options. There aren’t a lot right now. We can continue as how things are now, or we can add my father’s name to the waiting list at the Palliative Care Centre. Palliative care is basically the last step before you die. They don’t try to cure anything; they just help make you comfortable in your last months, weeks, or days.
The question at the moment, however, is how much do we tell Dad? He’s not processing things the way he used to, but by no means can anyone say that he has reduced mental capabilities. So do we tell him what’s going on and have him involved in this meeting on Friday? Or do we leave him oblivious? What will cause him the least amount of suffering in the end? A done bun can’t be undone as the saying goes, and it would break all of our hearts if Dad can’t be at peace for whatever amount of time he has left.
Who am I kidding - this whole process has been breaking my heart ever since it began, and watching my dad, my hero, shrink into a shell of what he used to be, rips me to pieces. But he has earned the right to know whatever he wants to know, and if he’d rather remain a little oblivious about what’s to come, I will fully support him.