Dad's Still Dad

Dad's resting. Not much has changed, really. He's still not eating, although he did request a sip of Coca-Cola this morning (we happily obliged). The mottling that had appeared on his feet last night (a sign of poor circulation, and not a good sign at all) was a bit better, but otherwise, the situation is the same.

However, my aunt called Mom this afternoon to tell her that one of the nurses had given Dad morphine, rather than the vicoden that he has been taking for days. Mom blew her top, and called the nurse and tore her a new one. Mom's an artist at that, by the way. Black Sash, 5th degree. You see, the plan was to bring Dad home, get him settled, and THEN start him on the morphine. Once you're on morphine, you're staying on it until you're gone, and Mom had not yet approved that course of action. Dad's been getting on fine with the vicoden, she says, and now, he's in another time zone...he may not even care about getting home. In the nurses defense, a morphine IV injection IS on his chart as a prescribed med for his pain...she just didn't know all the details.

What's done is done, though. The next nurse specifically asked him if he wanted the pain pill or the morphine, and he requested the morphine.

Morphine or not, when we came in to see him after all this came down, he asked us to take his BiPAP mask off so that we could understand him. That accomplished, he said that Uncle Henry had come in to see him earlier in the day.

Uncle Henry: "William, do you want me to pray for you?"

My Dad: "Yeah, pray me up a bedpan!"

And Dad laughed at his own joke. He told us that Uncle Henry dutifully hustled off to find a nurse (Uncle Henry's not a licensed bedpan tech like me), and Dad laughed again. Then he asked us to replace his mask, and he rested from the effort of talking with us.

His body is wasting away, but he's still in there, sharp as a tack. The morphine is relaxing him a ton, and we are concerned that he may not make it home...but he's not in pain now. He's been having a lot of anxiety over his breathing, but now, that stress is far, far less. He's much more comfortable than before.

I'm still searching for the proper emotions regarding the 'jumping of the gun' in regards to Dad getting morphine. I know that no nurse would flippantly push morphine into someone's IV without at least looking carefully at the patients chart. If it didn't happen today, we might have put him on it tomorrow. Or the next day. And he'd have been suffering all the while we waited to approve the stuff.

I really think that we've done pretty much everything that can be done, and each day, we continue to do so. I wonder if the universe might have given a nurse a nudge in that direction so that a good man wouldn't suffer for longer than necessary. He might still make it home after all...we don't know. We're just going to continue with the plan of getting him home ASAP, once we can get things ironed out with the Hospice folks. His time is short, and we know that. We're as ready as we can be, and I know that's not nearly ready enough.

It's nice to know, at least, that Dad's still in there. He's fully aware of what's going on, and he's accepted it. He has chosen to face bravely forward, with his usual unflinching strength and wry humor. I hope and pray that when my time comes I can face it half as well as my dear father.

And by the way, to those of you who have emailed, texted, and commented to show your support...thank you. I'll never be able to repay you for helping me be strong right now.