This Is The Beginning Of The End
November 16th, 2008
I’m not entirely sure why I’m writing this out, let alone posting it on the internet. There’s something about putting the thoughts inside my head into a more permanent form, and perhaps all this sharing will be therapeutic in some form or another. I’m not going to pull any punches, and I have a funny feeling that reading this may upset some of my friends… as for complete strangers, who cares?
It is a very good thing indeed that my mother is here doing pretty much all the care giving for my father. The hospice nurse is here once a day, but their ministrations are largely too short, at least to give my mother some relief. But that’s why I’m here. My mother asked me today “You’ve changed diaper on a baby, right?” — no, I have not. What this made me realize is that I am utterly unprepared to take care of my father. I am very glad my mother is the tough, positive woman that she is, and it’s amazing that she’s done this much for my father already.
The only call to action I had today was when mom was on the phone and dad needed to go to the bathroom, which is nothing new. The “#2″ isn’t anything new, he’s had issues with the runs since the chemo started. Now it’s the medication to clean the ammonia out of his blood, since his liver shut down two weeks ago. Last night, before I arrived, was the first night he had some serious issues; my mother contacted one of her dear (probably soon to be sainted) RN friends who loaned us a bedside commode.
But this time was was different. My mother was on the phone and I had to help dad get to the bathroom, the most basic of functions someone can do for themselves, I felt it: dread, terror, malcontent, paralysis. I wanted to say “Dad, just use the bed side commode” as he wobbled, my arms under his, towards the bathroom. But I didn’t, because I figured that would upset him. He must have sensed something, or maybe he just wanted my mother, because he yelled (or as much of a yell as he could muster) “Lynnie!” Mom got off the phone double quick, and I just stood there. I failed in this most basic of things.
That moment is a microcosm of what’s coming, and he knows it. I know it. He doesn’t answer if you ask him what he’s thinking, or if he’s in pain. Two to four weeks to live and he’s refusing all pain meds, says he feels no pain. My mother believes him. I know he’s full of shit – because I know how I manage pain, and my incredibly high tolerance for it. I also know how utterly self reliant my father was for the majority of his life, and how incredibly infuriating it must be for him to need help to just go to the bathroom.
Dad is sleeping. The redskins are on TV. They’re playing the Cowboys, and it’s one of the biggest rivalries in the NFL. Any other time, even two weeks ago, he’d be watching and screaming at the TV along with every other rabid Redskins fan. Before he had his hips replaced, we attended the one and only NFL game I’ve ever been to, 10*F and sleeting, gritting his teeth the whole walk to and from the stadium. That is the love my father has for football, especially redskins football.
Whatever is going on in his head, he knows what’s going to happen. He’s just waiting. My mother and I expect his ever impatient nature still comes into play. I don’t see any shame in ending your own life if you know it’s going to happen shortly anyway. My mother agreed, noting that it’s legal and available in Oregon.
I don’t know what happens next. I don’t know how much work I’m going to done in this telecommuting setup. I am terrified of having to wipe my father’s backside, but only because I know he’ll see that as even further degradation of his dignity. I am afraid that I am going to “deer in headlights” again when I am needed most. I have never been so scared in my life, but even saying that out loud feels empty, because I can’t wrap my head around what’s happening.
All I can do is keep going, which is what I am going to do. I also hope to write something like this on a regular basis, as a way letting the worry out. Keeping worry in tends to rot the soul.
I love you, dad.
November 17th, 2008 at 1:10 am
Wow Matt,
What an incredibly raw and emotional piece. Thank you for sharing this intense experience, I hope that in doing so it will serve not only as a form of therapy for you but also as a lesson in the heart for all of us that read it… It has for me anyway.
My heart truly goes out to you, I have yet to lose my own parents but I can remember loosing my grandfather to brain and lung cancer when I was a young girl. I know that both of my parents, and aunts and uncles, talk about that awkwardness that comes from the role reversal of taking care of someone that has been your care giver your whole life. I get the feeling that this is probably especially difficult in your situation, as the way you describe your dad he sounds like a very proud man that would struggle with that role reversal. The only advice that I could give would be to try and remind him, and yourself, of the fact that he was the one that cared for you as you were baby (he probably wiped your backside) and a child and young man and that now the role has just returned back upon itself. That this is just another part of the cycle of life and the cycle of love, that it is natural and nothing to be ashamed of.
My mom is alway really good with matters of dealing with people and emotions. She tells the story of having to help my grandfather (her father-in-law) to the bathroom when he was sick. She could tell he was really embarrassed, I mean she was not a blood relative so there was that distance but she was also not a neutral party like a nurse or doctor either so he felt really awkward having her help him in this way. So she just told him not to worry about it “because Bob (my father, his son) made her do it to him all the time”. Of course it was just so ridiculous, as my father was a healthy middle aged man, it made him laugh and feel a bit more comfortable. I know it is hard to find humor in these times but try to find some lightheartedness in the darkness if it is at all possible.
Fear not, know that this is a part of the natural cycle of all things, be proud of your dad and be proud of yourself and cherish these next few weeks.
I will keep you and yours in my thoughts and prayers.
Autumm
November 17th, 2008 at 9:55 am
<3 and you know it <3
I was in a similar instance with my grandpa. He’s a person I never really respected as a good man, but he is a person I respect as a veteran. He’s seen and done things that would make me cry like a little bitch and beg for my mother. The man fought in the second world war admirably, that I can’t deny. So I almost had a sense of pity when I had to help him go to the bathroom, or pick him up off the floor because he fell. It’s a bit sad to see that from a man that could kill someone without hesitating. But at the same time humbling because I know some day I’ll be there. Some day I’m going to need my children or grand kids to help me. So damn it, I better do something with my life before I get there.
November 17th, 2008 at 1:53 pm
Matt mate
Its a natural and normal reaction to freeze up like that, its just how people are wired. The difference is you can make a choice now, you know youre going to be confronted with shocks, you can deal with it, you can adapt and overcome.
Think about it, how many times when you were lil and helpless did he wipe your ass? How many times did he pick you up when you fell down? How many times did he bail your sorry ass out of trouble when you were growing up?
Its not shame or loss of dignity, he wont be thinking that, he`ll be thinking `damnit, I hate this, I hate having to put burdens on other people`. Put aside the clutter in your head my friend, there is no shame on either side here. Dont be afraid, you dont want to be looking back 5, 10 years down the line and thinking `damnit I`m an idiot, I shoulda…..`
Regrets never heal, I know you well enough to know how big your heart is and how good a person you are (discounting the involvement of tequila). Just by being there, youre brought a big measure of comfort to your mom and dad, dont devalue yourself and get into self recrimination, it just hurts you more.
Next time he needs to go and youre there, take him, or support one side while you mom gets the other. Then the next time, support him alone, it`ll mean a lot to him and your mom.
Youre in our thoughts and prayers, it was good to see you online for a little while last night.
November 17th, 2008 at 8:57 pm
What they said ^^^^ Though I’d like to drop a quote on you.
“The most human thing we can do is comfort the afflicted and afflict the comfortable.” – Clarence Darrow
Rest easy and don’t be so hard on yourself. Call if you need us.
February 9th, 2009 at 1:05 am
Matt;
I read the touching blog you wrote about your dad and it makes me remember my good friend who is going through the same thing right now.
I served with your dad sometime during the 70’s I don’t know the exact years. I remember him as a good man and remember your mom working in our headquarters. It’s obvious the love you and your mom had for your dad. I know he will be missed. I’m sorry I was not in the area to attend his funeral. I have since seen photographs and the military did him well it appears.
Please give my regards to your mom. I am sure she probably doesn’t remember me but I do remember her and I do remember your dad. He’s a good man…
Dale