Death & Dad, Update #1
Jan. 3rd, 2019 12:24 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
bjarvisI've finally made it to Kirkland Lake. One of my sisters flew in from Halifax to Toronto's island airport where we met up, then few together to Timmins where I had a rental car waiting. We're now checked into our hotel and had a brief visit with Mom & Dad at the hospital.
Dad is currently in the palliative care ward. While he is not in any particular pain, he is receiving moderate doses of medication to make him comfortable, mostly by keeping his stress & anxiety at bay sufficiently so that his lungs' low performance is still sufficient. If he exerts himself in anyway, physically or emotionally, his COPD is sufficiently advanced that he cannot function and therefore becomes even more anxious, feeling that he is suffocating --because, well, he is, in slow motion.
At the moment, it doesn't appear he can go home again: his ability to physically function & care for himself, even with Mom's help, is too degraded.
This afternoon before I arrived, he had a chat with the hospital staff about medically assisted death. We don't think he's actively investigating this at the moment, but is considering his options when/if his situation further degrades to the point where he will be utterly dependent on machines to survive.
When I arrived this evening, Mom was on the phone to her mother, explaining that Dad had little time left, that he wished to be cremated, that there would be no immediate funeral but probably a memorial celebration of life later in the summer when his cremains are interred in the Brentha Cemetary near their farm. Dad was sitting upright in bed this entire time, listening to the conversation.
Dad's skin tone was definitely greyer than I've ever seen, but he was talkative, clear-minded and lucid, although periodically fighting for consciousness against the medication. His mind is good, but his body is simply worn out & failing.
At this moment, I would say that Dad is reaching the end, but it is not imminent. He will die in his own time, perhaps a few days or perhaps a few months. I have no doubt though that tomorrow will be his last birthday (77), and I wouldn't put any money on him seeing their next wedding anniversary (July 4).
As I write this, I'm OK with all of this. I will miss him, but I can see that this is no longer the life he wants, an active mind trapped in a decaying body. If he has made peace with his ending, then I'm at peace with it too. I love my father: I will not demand he live in pain just to assuage my fears or sadness, so I'm letting him go.
Mother, however, has not made peace. To the contrary, she's declaring war on the universe.
While she has somewhat accepted that his end is coming soon, she's fighting it tooth & nail. She won't leave the room because she believes the hospital will stop treating him if she's not present & monitoring. She's sleeping in his hospital bed beside him, even though crowding Dad and wrapping her arm over him makes it harder for him to breathe. She won't let Dad finish a sentence, insisting that she knows better than he does what his wishes are going to be --or tries until he glares his annoyance at her while he catches his breath to finish speaking.
She still holds that at least two of my sisters are part of the great conspiracy to murder our father, a notion she latched onto a few years ago when Dad first was diagnosed with Crohn's and his COPD became undeniable. Since one sister is a nurse, Mom has identified her as the secret agent of the medical profession, sent to monitor Dad and report back on better ways to torture him. I know how ridiculous this sounds --because it is utterly ridiculous-- but it is causing very real headaches.
Before we arrived this afternoon, Mom began shouting at Donna as she inquired about Dad's medical regimen. At one point, Mom charged at her, presumably with the intent of doing something violent; Donna, who has faced this before and is quite tired of the stupidity, simply turned and left the room, refusing to be an witness for Mom's tantrum. This made Mom even more furious and she began directing her rage at Angela, who had done nothing to this point. Angela told her directly to stop behaving like a child and that we had all come to see Dad (laying in bed, witness to the whole thing), not be held hostage to her tantrums.
As you can imagine, this didn't go over well with Mom, who became louder & more obnoxious. She then turned and kicked away a chair and a rolling tray table that were in her way. At this point, the hospital staff had to step in to address the noise level. If Mom does this again, the staff will address this as a "code white" (violent person, whether patient, visitor, staff or other) and Mom will be ejected from the hospital and refused further entry.
I have some sympathy for her: her husband is dying and she's ill-equipped to live without him, at least in the way they've been living for decades. She has mild dementia, the residual effects of mild strokes and a brain tumour. She's survived breast cancer in recent years. Most of her old social network has largely died of old age by now. But I can't accept the damage she is doing. Dad doesn't need this stress. Our last memories with Dad should be about Dad, not about Mom's exaggerated drama, conspiracy theories & inflated sense of self-importance.
I have no good answers for this. All I can say for my part is that if she goes into drama mode again, I will leave the room. I will not be an audience for her performance art. After a brief family conference this evening, my siblings are in similar agreement.
Tomorrow, we're planning to have some brief one-on-one chats with Dad to say goodbye. Nearly everyone is returning to their individual homes Friday or Saturday: kids have to be back in school, work has to be resumed, etc.. I'm here until at least Tuesday, and depending on how things look, I may extend that. We've already discussed the possibility that once we've each had a chance to say our farewells and celebrated his birthday, Dad may simply let go of his own accord. Or not. We just don't know.
And we have no idea what to do about Mom once he does pass away. What do you do when the only things which could possibly make her happy are utterly impossible, and that the only theoretically choices are Great Evils To Be Violently Opposed? How do we deal with a situation where the best possible outcome might actually be Mom's stated wish to die immediately with Dad? Again, I have no answers.
Dad is currently in the palliative care ward. While he is not in any particular pain, he is receiving moderate doses of medication to make him comfortable, mostly by keeping his stress & anxiety at bay sufficiently so that his lungs' low performance is still sufficient. If he exerts himself in anyway, physically or emotionally, his COPD is sufficiently advanced that he cannot function and therefore becomes even more anxious, feeling that he is suffocating --because, well, he is, in slow motion.
At the moment, it doesn't appear he can go home again: his ability to physically function & care for himself, even with Mom's help, is too degraded.
This afternoon before I arrived, he had a chat with the hospital staff about medically assisted death. We don't think he's actively investigating this at the moment, but is considering his options when/if his situation further degrades to the point where he will be utterly dependent on machines to survive.
When I arrived this evening, Mom was on the phone to her mother, explaining that Dad had little time left, that he wished to be cremated, that there would be no immediate funeral but probably a memorial celebration of life later in the summer when his cremains are interred in the Brentha Cemetary near their farm. Dad was sitting upright in bed this entire time, listening to the conversation.
Dad's skin tone was definitely greyer than I've ever seen, but he was talkative, clear-minded and lucid, although periodically fighting for consciousness against the medication. His mind is good, but his body is simply worn out & failing.
At this moment, I would say that Dad is reaching the end, but it is not imminent. He will die in his own time, perhaps a few days or perhaps a few months. I have no doubt though that tomorrow will be his last birthday (77), and I wouldn't put any money on him seeing their next wedding anniversary (July 4).
As I write this, I'm OK with all of this. I will miss him, but I can see that this is no longer the life he wants, an active mind trapped in a decaying body. If he has made peace with his ending, then I'm at peace with it too. I love my father: I will not demand he live in pain just to assuage my fears or sadness, so I'm letting him go.
Mother, however, has not made peace. To the contrary, she's declaring war on the universe.
While she has somewhat accepted that his end is coming soon, she's fighting it tooth & nail. She won't leave the room because she believes the hospital will stop treating him if she's not present & monitoring. She's sleeping in his hospital bed beside him, even though crowding Dad and wrapping her arm over him makes it harder for him to breathe. She won't let Dad finish a sentence, insisting that she knows better than he does what his wishes are going to be --or tries until he glares his annoyance at her while he catches his breath to finish speaking.
She still holds that at least two of my sisters are part of the great conspiracy to murder our father, a notion she latched onto a few years ago when Dad first was diagnosed with Crohn's and his COPD became undeniable. Since one sister is a nurse, Mom has identified her as the secret agent of the medical profession, sent to monitor Dad and report back on better ways to torture him. I know how ridiculous this sounds --because it is utterly ridiculous-- but it is causing very real headaches.
Before we arrived this afternoon, Mom began shouting at Donna as she inquired about Dad's medical regimen. At one point, Mom charged at her, presumably with the intent of doing something violent; Donna, who has faced this before and is quite tired of the stupidity, simply turned and left the room, refusing to be an witness for Mom's tantrum. This made Mom even more furious and she began directing her rage at Angela, who had done nothing to this point. Angela told her directly to stop behaving like a child and that we had all come to see Dad (laying in bed, witness to the whole thing), not be held hostage to her tantrums.
As you can imagine, this didn't go over well with Mom, who became louder & more obnoxious. She then turned and kicked away a chair and a rolling tray table that were in her way. At this point, the hospital staff had to step in to address the noise level. If Mom does this again, the staff will address this as a "code white" (violent person, whether patient, visitor, staff or other) and Mom will be ejected from the hospital and refused further entry.
I have some sympathy for her: her husband is dying and she's ill-equipped to live without him, at least in the way they've been living for decades. She has mild dementia, the residual effects of mild strokes and a brain tumour. She's survived breast cancer in recent years. Most of her old social network has largely died of old age by now. But I can't accept the damage she is doing. Dad doesn't need this stress. Our last memories with Dad should be about Dad, not about Mom's exaggerated drama, conspiracy theories & inflated sense of self-importance.
I have no good answers for this. All I can say for my part is that if she goes into drama mode again, I will leave the room. I will not be an audience for her performance art. After a brief family conference this evening, my siblings are in similar agreement.
Tomorrow, we're planning to have some brief one-on-one chats with Dad to say goodbye. Nearly everyone is returning to their individual homes Friday or Saturday: kids have to be back in school, work has to be resumed, etc.. I'm here until at least Tuesday, and depending on how things look, I may extend that. We've already discussed the possibility that once we've each had a chance to say our farewells and celebrated his birthday, Dad may simply let go of his own accord. Or not. We just don't know.
And we have no idea what to do about Mom once he does pass away. What do you do when the only things which could possibly make her happy are utterly impossible, and that the only theoretically choices are Great Evils To Be Violently Opposed? How do we deal with a situation where the best possible outcome might actually be Mom's stated wish to die immediately with Dad? Again, I have no answers.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-03 07:08 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-03 05:16 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2019-01-03 06:24 pm (UTC)Your mom needs care, too. We were very lucky that Curtis's mom, Dorothy, was not an angry person. Her dementia whittled away her personality and cognitive functions, but she wasn't violent or angry. My mother's lack of mental health made her a challenge when she didn't have cancer; with cancer, she could be a nightmare but for the most part, became a more accepting person. It seems to me that your mother is acting out some patterns with your sister(s)—I've never clearly understood the mother-daughter dynamic—while she has to somehow deal with the impending death of her husband. One can sympathize to a point. I've never seen a hospital threaten to eject someone, which means they've already had a gutful. Would a heart-to-heart (as in, “You're being a jerk and that shit needs to stop now,” in nicer language) be helpful? Or a multiperson intervention? When you all leave, it won't go away.
My sympathies are with you and your biological family. These are hard issues.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-03 06:34 pm (UTC)It's good that you have the chance to say goodbye and get somewhat used to the idea of your father dying.
If there's anything we can do, let us know.
no subject
Date: 2019-01-03 08:18 pm (UTC)(I say this when I've jut had another call from the home that my mother has been picking fights with people ... from her wheelchair.)
no subject
Date: 2019-01-05 08:11 pm (UTC)