My dad passed away on a Tuesday morning. I’d always wondered what it would be like when my parents died. I had a complicated relationship with my parents, especially my mom. I wasn’t exactly sure how I’d feel. I’d never really lost anyone extremely close to me other than pets. I have a strange talent for feeling too much or nothing at all. Like much of my life, I’ve found few areas where I play well in the middle ground.
On Friday, my mom texted that my dad was back in ICU, the third time in the last month. I got in the car for my two-day journey to go and see him. Nothing in her text or previous messages made it sound urgent. I’m unsure how I knew I needed to go, but I went. I got there Saturday afternoon, and he died 3 days later. Was that divine intervention or normal decent behavior that drove me to get in the car?
When I got to ICU that Saturday afternoon, my dad was his usual self for the most part. He was complaining about the other oxygen mask they had him on earlier. He had breakfast that morning and passed me the receipt showing what he had ate. He had just been served dinner, chicken, a wing, thigh, and a leg, and some rice. I cut up his chicken, except the leg which he said he could chew on. He asked me to put butter on his rice, and salt from the shaker my mom had brought from home. He never ate that meal I prepared for him. The breakfast he had that morning had been his last meal.
His oxygen had gone down considerably from our visit. The nurse said they needed to put him back on the other oxygen mask, pushing 100% oxygen into his face. He never got back off 100% oxygen. He looked tired after this, so I kissed him and told him I would bring him a bagel and coffee in the morning, which he was excited about. Then I told him goodnight. That evening I texted him and told him how glad I was that I got to see him tonight and that I would see him in the morning. He texted me back, “yay! Thank you.” That was the last text message I received and will ever receive from him.
Sunday morning my mom was still sleeping, so I went over alone. I brought him a bagel and coffee in the morning, as promised, which he never ate. He seemed kind of out of it and tired but still able to communicate. He was thirsty from having that oxygen on 100% constantly blowing in his face. He asked me to help him drink from his straw, and I did. I talked to him about getting lost on my way to Dunkins. He just nodded. He had some western on TV. He asked if I wanted to change the channel and I said no that was fine. This was the last show he ever watched.
The nurses came in and started asking him if he wanted some morphine to help him with the panic he might be feeling from struggling to get oxygen. She then said there was a risk with this, as it could cause him to no longer fight to breathe. He wasn’t sure, but she said they could start him on some small dose, and that is what they did. Something in how she explained the risks made me think things were more serious than what I had been made to understand from him and my mom’s communications.
I asked the nurse and doctor if I could speak to them in the hallway. I asked them point blank, how serious is this? I don’t remember the conversation. I remember them talking about comfort care and I remember fighting to not cry. I asked the nurse if there was a restroom because I wanted to wash my face before I went back to my dad. I also wanted to call my sister and my mom.
I tried calling my sister but she was getting breakfast. I texted my brother-in-law and asked him to have her call me when she got back. I then called my mom. She picked up half asleep and I angrily asked her how could she not tell me how serious it was? She had no idea what I was talking about. I don’t remember everything I said but she said she had no idea it was that bad and that she was sorry she had let me go over alone. She said she would be right over. My sister then called and I explained what I learned. I told her I didn’t know what her work situation was. However, I know he would want to see her. Within the hour, I learned she had gotten directly into the car and started driving the 11 hours to get there.
I went back to my dad’s room. My mom arrived shortly after. Sometime later the pulmonary doctor came by. While he was discussing things with the 3 of us, I said to him he needed to better explain the seriousness as I don’t think my mom and dad had been made to understand it. Up to this point both of them thought he was going to get better. That he was going to go home. He explained it to some degree, talked a bit about comfort care, explained that if we wanted to go that route, and we took him off oxygen, that it probably wouldn’t take long for him to die. WTF. Yet even with saying that he still said a bunch of other stuff which made you feel like maybe there was some hope. How confusing is that.
I don’t remember a big chunk of this day. I know that once they started providing him morphine, he did seem more relaxed. It also meant he was more in and out of consciousness. Most of Sunday was a blur. At some point during the day the nurse asked if he wanted to go on record as to not get put on a ventilator (basically life support). They said most people in his condition, when they go on it, they never come off of it. He just shrugged that he didn’t know. This wasn’t the same as asking whether he wanted a do not resuscitate, but it sounded very similiar. Later in the day, my mom said she needed to make him understand, because he wouldn’t want that. She got up and hugged him and said I love you, you know how much I love you, but you wouldn’t want your daughters to deal with that. I know how much you want to golf, but you aren’t going to be able to golf again. It was one of the hardest conversations I’d ever heard. I don’t remember the full thing and even what I am sharing I am sure I am not saying it exactly right. I do think this might have been when my dad finally understood he wasn’t coming home. I don’t know.
He was really hot most of Sunday. I spent much of the time holding his hands, dabbing wet rags on his face and neck, giving him foot massages, and stroking his hair. Our family has never been super affectionate outside the glad to see you hug. However, giving him comfort felt right. I wish I could have done more, but he seemed to appreciate the little I could do. I remember telling him about a memory I had thought about, which was about him in the driveway of the house I grew up in, teaching my sister how to pitch. He struggled out the words, “good times.” I asked him if he ever thought about the old house, he shook his head yes. Most of the day he was frustrated when I couldn’t understand what he was saying and he was very uncomfortable. Uncomfortable with the mask and how dry his mouth and lips were.
My sister arrived at 8:30 pm, with 30 minutes left for visiting hours. She got to see him and hold his hand. I left for the night, allowing her to have that time with him and my mom.
The next day, Monday, we all showed up as soon as visiting hours allowed, 8 am. My mom told my Aunt, my dad’s sister, that she needed to come that day. She arrived later that day. Again I don’t really remember much that day. He tried to communicate with us some but he had no voice and no energy. We tried to get him to write things down but even that required too much effort for him to get much out. A few times he tried to apologize that he couldn’t talk much or for causing us this. We reassured him, he didn’t need to talk and that he wasn’t causing anything. That we loved him and just wanted him to relax. Some time that day, not sure when, he agreed for a DNR and got a wrist band.
They began giving him regular and increased doses of morphine, which meant he was asleep in and out, but mostly out, for most of the day. We held his hand and rubbed his feet. By the end of the day, he was no longer awake. A nurse came in to talk to us about hospice, more or less. This would involve taking him off oxygen and ensuring he had medicine for comfort and anxiety. A doctor came in an explained that they had him on 100% oxygen and even with that they couldn’t keep his oxygen levels up and that at some point his system would begin to shut down without oxygen. My mom agreed to the comfort care/hospice but said to wait until tomorrow, that she was not ready today.
The idea at the time that my dad would continue to struggle to breathe for another day because my mom was not ready really upset me. Every breath to him felt like he was drowning and couldn’t breathe or get enough oxygen. I couldn’t sit and watch it. My Aunt and I left for the night around 7 pm. My sister and mom stayed until the visiting hours were up, around 9 pm.
The plan was to begin comfort care in the morning.
My mom got a call in the middle of the night, around 2 am, that they didn’t think my dad would make it through the night and that everything was dropping and said we should come if we wanted to say goodbye. Everyone got up, and we all trekked over to the ICU. His oxygen was resting around 50, when it should be 90+. His heart had been in afib for days. He didn’t die, though. He lay there with that oxygen mask trying to breathe for him.
At 9 am on Tuesday, he was given a cocktail of feel-good meds, and his oxygen was removed. His mouth hung open, he made a few attempts at breathing, and his lungs did the death rattle I’d heard about in either some movie or book I’d read before. I was holding his right hand when he took his last breath. We all cried; we all held him. I remember holding his hand even though he was gone, not wanting to let go because I could still feel his warmth. He had been in a sitting position since I had arrived because it enabled him to breath better. I hit the button that lowered the bed to finally allow him to rest. I tried to close his mouth because I wanted him to look composed. However his jaw was already locked. I thought this was crazy. He was alive and it was moving just minutes before. How could it be locked like stone now?
It is late. I need to get up early. I plan to dig into this more. However, I needed to start here.
Shaynanigans 