Although last week my dad was started to get agitated, he was still doing quite well. Here was a 70 year old man that is a retired accountant so knew he averaged over 275 physical activity days per year and had been bed ridden for around 4 weeks with with right (and dominant) arm and leg functionally useless. What was even more frustrating was that the incredible swelling from the steroids had finally come down and his feet and legs were normal size but by that time, he could not even weight bear.
A week ago Monday we were in the hospice talking about the side effects of more steroids as that seemed to help a little and who cares what the long term consequences were. He confined in me that due the degenerative changes in his joints that he would have been happy with five more years only so drug him up as much as possible - heck, one more golf game was good enough. Then on Wednesday, a painful blood clot in his leg in the morning and a seizure at night. All of the signs pointed towards death in hours. But by Friday, he was eating, drinking and talking.
By Saturday, he felt trapped in his body and they had to medicate him for that anxiety and for the pain. This Monday, I even managed to get his feet on the floor, twice and although he wanted to walk, that was good enough. He knew that if he could walk, they would treat him and so walking meant life, not walking meant death.
Tuesday he was very unresponsive and ate and drank a minimal amount. Wednesday was a little worse and when I saw him first thing on Thursday morning, I called my sister who had a six hour drive. The breathing was laboured and rapid and very shallow.
With turning him on his side, more medications and putting water on his lips, he seemed at peace when I left the hospice. I knew it was only a matter of days or a day at most but thought I had two false alarms before and I would need all of my strength. But at 3:00 am after I feel asleep in complete peace and for the first time in weeks, in a deep and restful sleep, I got the phone call. My dad has passed.
I am a 47 year old male who has a nice house, wife, job and the life I want to live so why am I crying like a baby over this? My dad and I were best friends although in the last few years, his physical limitations had meant we were pursuing the same hobbies but in less overlapping ways.
And of course the guilt. At age 69 and with a stomach anuerysm surgery on the way, should we have not gone with the three weeks in intense radiation and no chemo that may be the new way for those over 65 and where surgery is not an option. Would that have meant less time but more quality time. The first blood clot in the spring would have been avoided, etc, etc. But it that is the worst regret I have as the time before cancer was great, in small doses of course, then I guess I do not have too much to complain about.
I wish all of those fighting the best wishes. And there is HOPE. My dad had major anuerysm surgery and had a bad back, hips, knees, etc and so was only given six months to live. And he lasted 14 months, 13 of which he worked out every day. And with a little luck, he might have gotten onto a trial and lasted at least another 6 months or more.