It's 1am and I am sitting at my fathers beside. It can only be called a vigil at this point. I wait for him to wake up so we can quickly get him out of bed so he can pee. Then he sits there and doesn't have to. But I wait. He stirs often. There is a rattle to his breathing. They call it the death rattle. It's the build up of flem in his lungs that he is trying to get out. He says it doesn't hurt him. Just annoying. He is still smoking during the day, but now he mostly just sits in the wheelchair and dozes. I don't think he really smokes so much any more. It is impossible for him to get comfortable. He shifts in his sleep, trying to find a way to ly that won't hurt so much. With every shift I stop what I am doing to see if he needs anything. This will last another few hours. By 5am I usually ly down on my makeshift bed on the floor and try to rest for a bit. But inevitably he will wake up within the hour and the day starts.
I didn't realize until tonight how much I miss the status quo that has been the past few weeks. Morning meds at 6am then a nap unil around 9. Hang out outside, talk, laugh, maybe go for a short walk. Then back in bed to watch some more television (lately we watch Gilmore Girls together which I love and he laughs at). There is another nap around 4pm right before his girlfriend comes home from work and then I would head out to the gym. I'd pick up something for him to eat, whatever he was craving at the time, get home, have some food and then at 9 she would go to sleep and we would watch another movie. Then he would crash out around midnight for a few hours, I would sleep as well, off and on until the morning when we would start all over again.
Now everyday is different in it's own way. He rests more. Is alert less. He longs for the perfect nap and dozes more throughout the day. I am more hesitant to leave him. I don't go to the gym now. I stay up all night so my three hour window of "my time" is now spent trying to make up on some sleep. He feels good less of the time and takes more morphine during the day.
He is getting worse daily. And it's really hitting me today. He weighed in at 160 this weekend. When he was diagnosed he weighed 220. Thats almost 60 pounds in 2 months. He can't stand up long enough to pee. He doesn't eat anything now. Just drinks the shakes with his pills.
I know the end is coming. I have no idea when. But I know it's closer than it was a month ago. Probably closer than we are ready for. And I should be happy to have had this month with him. I have had the amazing blessing of time and sharing and love. He knows I love him. I know he loves me. We have a connection I have never felt with anyone. He is truly half of me and I am a better person for having him as my father. I just want his suffering to be over. And that's what this is. Suffering for him. He fights his body all the time and is in pain all the time. He still laughs and still makes jokes. The man that he is can still be seen in the way he approaches things and talks with people. He is so loving. He is so kind. He is the best man I have ever met.
The sour smell of decay is everywhere now. He doesn't smell like himself anymore. I used to love how he smelled. Fresh and clean. He hasn't brushed his teeth in days. The dry mouth makes the skin around his lips chapped. He is shedding skin from his body like a snake. It is like I am watching him waste away. And that is exactly what I am doing. And it is the hardest thing I have ever done. And I scared for what is coming. No, scared is the wrong word. I'm nervous. Nervous this will continue for longer than we can take on. Nervous it will be another month except it will be a month of wasting even faster. Nervous for the day he is bedridden and no longer able to take care of personal business alone. Nervous for the day he stops responding. Nervous for the moment he leaves us. Nervous and scared and sad. And everything else one can think.
I have been crying this entire blog. I'm sure it's a mess of unfinished thoughts and half figured out ideas. I just can't wrap my head around the fact that he's dying. He's leaving. It just feels unbelieveably unreal to me. Like something in a dream. Like I'll wake up from all of this and find that he's okay and thriving. That's how it feels today. Like a dream I am not really part of.
I am just going to miss him so much. It is immeasurable.
1 comment:
Hi... I just read your most recent post and was amazed at how close the situation you describe was like with my dad, right down to the things like how he smelt differently. I suppose that there's nothing I can say that will make you feel better, but I think you can be proud of yourself - and I'm sure your father and your family are grateful - for the time you are spending with him and the effort you are making. I found that in such moments I lost complete track of time and days because they were all so similar; it was kind of a twilight zone. The only other thing I would say is to pace yourself and remember that you are a human being, not a machine - it's ok to want to have a nap from time to time etc.
Best wishes
Post a Comment