It is 21st June - longest day of the year. Each year I always have in mind that I'll do something to mark it - go out somewhere, sit out in the garden - anything really to enjoy the daylight well past 10pm. But I never do. I'm great at thinking of things to do, but never doing them.
This year the occasion was marked by a real downturn in Dad's health. Where did that come from? Over the last week he'd been getting weaker, and quieter.... but today was a real shocker. He didn't eat. Isn't drinking much water. Slept most of the day. To the point where his carers this morning said they were concerned he was drifting in and out of consciousness, or about to pass out. The output in his stoma bag has changed from bright green to very dark green. He has started to really fidget - not just fiddling as I've described earlier this week, but what seems to me like early signs of agitation - picking at his loin cloth, double checking the position of all his stuff (sputum pot, vomit bowl, water, clock) all the time when awake.
And so it feels like we're turning a corner on Dad's journey - a corner that's proving hard to negotiate and I know when we come off the bend the view isn't going to be great, either.
It was an upsetting day in many ways. Kind of feels like the "bad" stuff is happening all over again - I guess we'd had a false sense of normality the last couple of months. Now it seems that we are entering the final (and much dreaded) stages. I had hoped that Dad would just fall asleep and not wake up before we got to this point... probably too much to hope for. I have no idea how long this will go on for.
Doctor came this afternoon. Dad managed to crack one joke with her, amazingly! When she asked to look at his tummy he said "That's ok, we know each other now". I asked her after her visit with Dad about the funny turns. She explained that this is all part of chemical changes in the body caused by the disease, lack of nutrition and the medications - it can affect the brain. She said Dad is obviously getting weaker, and if we need her at all before her visit on Monday then we must call her. She has also increased Dad's morphine to try to keep him more comfortable (even though he doesn't appear to have much cancer pain, he's generally not been as relaxed the last few days). This upset mum - the more the morphine dose goes up, the more she feels like we're losing the "Dad" we know.
Last night, Lorraine asked me if I'd call her should I feel that she needs to be here. Of course I will was my answer. Today I pondered on this - how do I know when she should be here?! I have no idea when is the right time to call her over? My extensive research shows that in the normal process of dying it would be fairly obvious when the very end is close. But not everybody goes by the book, and unexpected things can happen. So I will have to do the best I can (and she likewise when I'm at home for weekends).
Emily had to come out of school this morning as she got very upset thinking about Dad. It's affecting her a lot, and I think she's acted a bit too brave so far, and been bottling things in.
I was thinking about some of the reactions I see from people on various cancer websites - anger is a very common one, especially in younger people (those in their 20's who are about to lose a parent). I don't actually think I've ever felt angry about this happening to dad. Sad - yes. Helpless - yes. Out of control - yes. But not anger. The closest I got was when I thought back on dad's medical history and the various things he's battled and beaten - including: asthma; hernia; 2 hip replacements; heart valve replacement; arresting when having pre-op tests for the valve replacement; pneumonia (more than once); many nasty bouts of cellulitis; skin graft on haematoma wound following cellulitis. I was mad that this time fate had given dad a disease that he didn't stand a cat in hells chance of fighting. But that anger was short lived, as the focus had to be on arranging Dad's care plan and making him comfy.
Dad's stepsister visited today but he wasn't really up for talking a lot. I popped out to have coffee and lunch with Barb - it's a regular Thursday date now, all being well.
Dad has dozed all day and night. He hasn't had many smiles for us today, but when I went in at about 9pm he woke and winked at me. I started to talk to him but he just closed his eyes again and went to sleep. Then at 11-ish when we took his headphones off (he'd insisted on having tv on) he seemed to wake up a bit and said he didn't think he'd sleep now. He did very soon after saying that. Now he looks peaceful. I keep wanting to go in and check on him.
No comments:
Post a Comment