Living

Yesterday I said I’d try to write something everyday, and the funny thing is now writing is the only thing keeping me from losing my shit in its entirety.

I’m writing this sitting in the recliner at the surprisingly comfortable Gatehouse Hospice. To my right is Dr. William Harold Sprinsky, Born 6/26/1939. Externally he is placid. Inside, I don’t know. I’m probably right in guessing he’s anxious for it to all be over with. My gut tells me I am right.

He’s laying in the hospital bed next to me, breathing is almost metronome like, 3 seconds from in to out. I was going to go home. I was going to curl up and cry around my fat fuzzy dog who barks too much. I fetched Wegmans subs for dinner (OmNomNom!!!) and used the soporific effects of Ommegang’s Three Philosophers on my mother and myself. This place is amazingly warm and comforting, I can’t imagine being in a typical sterile hospital environment. It’s much easier to be peaceful and gain some perspective here.

21:24 He settles a bit.
21:25 “What the hell is going on?”
21:26 He settles again.
21:27 “What the hell is going on?”
21:28 <uncontrollable hiccups>
21:30 I go get the nurses…

The hiccups, oh god the hiccups he’s having, wretched things. “Goddamn miserable cock suckers” he says. I know he means the hiccups, and somehow that’s a comfort.

This last part of life, this most infuriating part for me because it is just so absolutely worthless in terms of it’s contribution to the overall beauty and vibrance of what a life is. This morning he agreed with my mother that it would be better if it were just over with. His mind has made up the decision, what’s left is the ride to his body catching up with what his mind has already determined.

I look over, I can’t see his eyes, his water cup is in the way. I move it. He looks at me. I tell him I couldn’t see his face, and he looks so handsome with a beard, he always gave me shit about having a beard.

I fetched the nurses in regard to the hiccups, thorazine on the list. I gave them the schpiel about how much he hates drugs. He probably heard me. He’d probably be upset that I tried to pull a fast one on him, if he were lucid enough to realize it. The nurses just came in and offered drugs, but left having readjusted him to be a bit more comfortable. He’s no longer lucid enough to say that for himself, but the thoughts are there. He can’t get them out. It must be infuriating. But he is comfortable, and still and back to regular but labored breathing for now.

What hit me so hard today, while I listened to dad and his physician discuss the plan to keep him comfortable in whatever time he has left, was a realization. I realized that this was the twilight hour, the last very bit of life before it’s all over and done with. And he wasn’t actively fighting anymore, maybe because he’s completely out of energy. I realized that he hadn’t eaten, let alone chugged an old people energy drink (an ensure) in more than 24 hours. Water intake was minimal. From a guy who did everything he knew he had to do during chemo, and still knows that water and food are essential for life, to refusing those. He’s ready to let go. I’m ready to let him go, and yet it still goes on. That’s the scary part I can’t seem to wrap my head around. I hope this goes quickly, there’s no benefit in drawing it out. I realized that my father was now essentially admitting that he is ready to die.

…And that’s the most I’ve cryed since he was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer in spring of this year. but I talked to one of dad’s good friends for about half an hour. It was like talking to one of my friends, but that’s because there’s a lot of similarity in us, and this particular friend is a family physician, so of course it was easy.

I am thankful my employer loves me to death, and whatever happens just happens, it will all work out and I will still be able to pay the bills and keep my job. I’d be working now if I had a packet data connection that would do more than trickle packets, but I don’t. I’d probably be doing shoddy work anyway. My mind is wandering, I’m going to shut up now.

Thanks for listening, I can feel the love.