He should have gone

Ever since my father moved into the nursing home, his health has been declining. Fairly rapidly, I think. We got a call last night to say he’d stopped breathing, so they called the ambulance and sent him to hospital. He’s had another heart attack and has pulmonary oedema. He’s alive, but with increasing signs of heart failure.

Yet again I’m forced to deal with the “is this it?” question (like I have here, and here, and here, and here). I *even* had to cancel my appointment with the Back Up Therapist last night, so I could go to the hospital (I wouldn’t have, except the hospital said I should, so foolishly I did).

I’m angry. I can’t help thinking they shouldn’t have done anything last night – just let him go. It was his time. How long is this going to go on? How long is he going to punish me, punish all of us with this on-again-off-again dance with life?

Could he just f***ing die already?

I guess at least we have a DNR order in place now – finally. I’ve been scouring the internet, desperate for information on his life expectancy, but nada. Zip. Nothing. Or more precisely, like almost anything medical, “it depends”. Sigh.

My mother and I have discussed the “arrangements” – such as they will be. Well, there won’t really be any. They’ll be private, and I’m not even sure I’ll go. Back Up Therapist is big on rituals – rituals, ceremonies, anything to mark important events. My ritual will be throwing away all his clothes, his smelly, yucky clothes, and all his other skanky possessions. I can’t wait.


5 thoughts on “He should have gone

  1. Good that you were able to get the DNR. At his age, I think, this should have come up right away. In nursing homes here in my state, relatives in charge of the relative being admitted must make a choice and sign a form before admittance. Sorry they didn’t go through that with you and your mom.

    I’m sorry that they told you that you should go. What they should have said is, if you had a good father and want to be here, think you can deal with the emotions, and want to be able to say later that you were there at the hospital, then come, or not. It is your choice and none of our business to tell you how to live your life. We are just medical professionals and not capable of making professional advice on your life and your life choices.

    Good and healing thoughts to you.

    Love you,


  2. The only good thing about any of this is that if you’ve inherited even a third of his physical constitution, you’ll live to be 150. I am looking forward to reading about the cleansing ritual of getting rid of his stuff — that will be great. If he ever actually manages to succeed at dying, that is.

  3. An update… he’s still ticking. Unstable angina, congestive heart failure, pneumonia, oxygen, drip, something or other. Sigh.

    @ Kate – yes, the DNR should have come up a long time ago. Alas, it didn’t. Good that we have it now though. You’re right, the nurses should not have presumed that I’d want to be there, but they did. And have continued to. Thankfully I have my mother’s cancer card to explain my absence if I think it necessary.

    @ David – LOL you’re absolutely right, I have friends irl who say the same thing! At this stage it looks and feels like he will live forever, the old b*st*rd. I’m looking forward to the cleansing ritual as well.

    @ Phoenix – LOL. I don’t think you’ll go to hell – but if you do, I’ll see you there. Let’s catch up for a drink, shall we? 😉

    @ Sanity – Thanks Sanity.

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