Wednesday, May 6, 2009

There are no words for...

Well, Day 11 is ending. It's been quite a ride. A slow, painful, frustrating, infuriating, numbing ride. When I arrived Dad was in the hospital hospice ward. He could get to/from the bathroom with a little assistance and was eating a few bites of solid hospital foods. He could speak, hoarsely, but words were there. Three days after my arrival, I brought him home. Nothing much changed the next day or so, but on the tail end of the second day going into day three, he started heading downhill fast. He suddenly couldn't get to the bathroom on his legs even with my assistance. His appetite, as little as it had been, bottomed out to nothing. He has become mostly unresponsive and taking his meds in liquid form as its the only way to get them in him.

Now, my mother, being one of those mothers that fixes all things with food, simply wasn't grasping the fact that food was no longer an option. But when she was made to understand this fact, it seemed to be the only way she was capable of "helping". She abdicated her mind and has been fuzzy on the business that needs to be taken care, as well as burial arrangements. This mother and father of mine, that had always been ultimately responsible and foresightful, failed to make plans for their eventual demise. Absolutely no plans had been made and they were clueless as to what they were to do. Now, as abdicated as she may be, she still has not relinqueshed the real "power". I my typical get-things-done manner, I have made phone calls, researched, and laid out the options...better yet, the best option. All that is needed is the say so to move forward. But that is not coming. As if I haven't done or said a word on any of the subjects, she will meander her conversations into "plans" that she thinks things should be. And they couldn't be any further from reality, much less a workable option.

In the meantime, neighbors, hospice and local pastors and chaplains have made a steady stream into our home daily since having a hospital bed brought in and simply keeping him "comfortable" is our job. As I watch the ravages that this insipid cancer does to this human body, I don't believe he's truly comfortable at all. But the medicines do keep him in another world. I guess that's something. Again I wonder...why don't we hear more about this out there in the world?

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