Another day
By M on Friday 15 August 2008, 19:25 - Journal - Permalink
Greg sent me a message early this morning to say that the hospital had called
him. He'd been informed that dad was to be discharged today. Later, he called
to say that an ambulance had been ordered for 1 pm, to drive dad back to the
retirement village. He suggested that I call the hospital after this time to
check whether dad had actually left.
I called the hospital at about 1:30 pm. Dad was still there. I was told that the hospital would call me when he left. I gave them my number. It is now 5 pm. Even if they call now to say he is leaving, it would be about 7 pm before I could get there. Too late. Another day gone.
I am getting tired of not knowing what is going on and why.
Later...
At about 7 pm, Greg called to say that dad was back at the retirement village, having arrived at about 6:30 pm. So, once again, the medical 'industry' has let us down.
Dad is on oxygen, at the rate of 2 litres per minute. His heart is failing. It seems very much as if he has been sent home to die. Greg and I are going over to see him together, at 2 pm tomorrow.
Every time I hear something about dad it is a twist in the tale. The message from the hospital was that dad's condition had improved and he would be home early. Now, he has only just arrived and appears to be entering a life-support phase. It is not at all reassuring. I am at the point where I feel like refusing to let another doctor interfere with dad.
I called the hospital at about 1:30 pm. Dad was still there. I was told that the hospital would call me when he left. I gave them my number. It is now 5 pm. Even if they call now to say he is leaving, it would be about 7 pm before I could get there. Too late. Another day gone.
I am getting tired of not knowing what is going on and why.
Later...
At about 7 pm, Greg called to say that dad was back at the retirement village, having arrived at about 6:30 pm. So, once again, the medical 'industry' has let us down.
Dad is on oxygen, at the rate of 2 litres per minute. His heart is failing. It seems very much as if he has been sent home to die. Greg and I are going over to see him together, at 2 pm tomorrow.
Every time I hear something about dad it is a twist in the tale. The message from the hospital was that dad's condition had improved and he would be home early. Now, he has only just arrived and appears to be entering a life-support phase. It is not at all reassuring. I am at the point where I feel like refusing to let another doctor interfere with dad.
Comments
There is hardly anything as awful as hearing a father or mother cry for help and watching them be ignored by those trusted to care for them. Seeing that changes a person for a long time.
All of this, the loss of memory, of one's identity, the loss of dignity when its needed most, when one is vulnerable, weak and dying, it changes all of us who read your blog. And as author, the effect it will have on you will be profound. You've paid such close attention, and recorded all of it for years.
I guess our parents, who formed us from birth, continue to form us through life. These long deaths, the Alzheimer's route, is an exceptionally difficult path and it twists us into shapes we would never voluntarily assume. Who are we, when it's over? That's the question I ask myself, years after my father's death. I am the same woman, though my sons are grown and done with their childhoods - eleven years is a long time to deal with an illness like Alzheimer's - but I am not the same at all.
Is it worth it, all of this, to know, at the end, that one can stretch so far? I may have needed to learn that, but I can't balance my need to know with my fathers long years of suffering.
I don't know. I'm rambling. But wanted you to know that you, your mom and dad, Greg and Rachel are in a stranger's thoughts and prayers, for what it's worth.
Patty