*WARNING: This post is rated “LD”–long and depressing.*
My sister and I rendezvoused at my parents’ house yesterday for a visit. I don’t much mention my dad here because I try to keep my content light and fluffy, but the fact is that life isn’t always so grand in my famiglia.
P-daddy has been sick for almost 5 years with a laundry list of maladies that run the gamut from heart ailments and cancer, to MRSA and E-Coli. He’s been closer to the edge more times than I care to recall. My mum has been taking care of him all this time and it’s quite a job. P-dad was having a good day yesterday and darling mumsy wanted my help getting him to sign some papers that he’d been avoiding.
I’m always trying to lend a hand, so I agreed without question. My sister and I were sitting with my dad in my old bedroom his room chatting him up when my mother swooped in, dropped a pile of papers on my lap, and departed with haste.
While dad-o was chatting away, I stole a surreptious glance at the papers and with horror, took note of the header: LIVING WILL: ADVANCED DIRECTIVE FORMS. Uh oh. I casually tried to scan the papers without my dad noticing, and words like LIFE SUPPORT, ORGAN DONOR, WITHDRAWAL OF LIFE SUSTAINING PROCEDURES lept from the page, and felt the color drain from my face.
Why oh why did my mom drop this burden on me? I know she’s tired and stressed, but for chrizzsake, I’m his DAUGHTER, not his lawyer. I’m 33, my dad’s 62; we’re both too young to be doing this. My little sister was angling to get a look at the papers over my shoulder and I heard her sharp intake of breath as she read the heading. I felt her edging toward the door and grabbed her pant leg. “Oh no you don’t,” I hissed.
By this point my dad realized the jig was up. I looked at him with an embarrassed smile and said I had some papers for him to sign. He looked at me with a raised eyebrow. He asked me what kind of papers, and I mumbled that they were a health questionnaire. (Well, come on! What would YOU have said?)
“Read my choices to me,” he murmured in a resigned tone, and I knew he was fully aware of the form’s content. And so, in a wavering voice that didn’t sound anything like my own, I read the options available to my dad should the day come where he couldn’t make these decisions on his own.
My sister stood by (because I still had a death grip on her pant leg) and listened as I asked my dad if he would like a feeding tube removed if it became evident that he wouldn’t be returning to the world of the functioning. I also queried if he’d like to be a tissue donor. “Yeah, sure,” he chirped, “I think I have a box of Kleenex around here somewhere…” An attempt at humor, but none of us laughed.
We slogged through the choices, designated his healthcare proxies (mum’s #1, I’m #2, and sistard is #3) and in the end he signed everything. I know we’re all mortal and will die sooner or later, but I for one prefer the quick and painless method and don’t relish the thought of facing up to such facts on a lovely spring day when the sky was so blue and the birds were chirping unawares.
Someone hand me my black hooded cloak and scythe, I’ve got to get the hell out of here because it’s too damn depressing.
Hopefully with this completely unpleasant task out of the way, you can focus more on enjoying time with your Dad then having to plan for the inevitable.
’s never a good day to fact the facts.
This is a big part of why so much time out on the road is so hard.
Like StopBouncing said, your next visit will be just that, a visit. Take care.
I am SO sorry you are dealing with these issues. **hugs**
Harsh. I’m glad that you all went through that process though. As painful as it was to go through, it is also very sensible and takes a lot of guesswork out of the picture.
My job often involves speaking to people whose families are facing exactly this type of situation: it has become obvious to me over the last ten years that as depressing as it can be to discuss these things, it is preferable to having no idea whatsoever how to handle things if ‘the worst’ happens.
I’m 39-ish (and have been for the last few years..), and I’ve made sure that all my ducks are in a row. It sounds ghoulish to some people, but I’d hate to be in a life-or-death situation and have everyone in my family fighting about it.
I’m with the other commenters — you did a tough thing, and it probably sucked large to go through it, but it was the right thing to do.
You are a brave woman, Nat. Almost as brave as your dad. Great job.
Isn’t it terrible when the natural course of things comes full circle. As a child, hopefully Dad looked after you and made a lot of decisions for you. No doubt you sometimes rebelled, because you were on the Up, getting older.
Now you will have to make decisions for Dad and he can only rebel from a position of increasing weakness. May the Good Lord help you to deal with each problem individually and not see it as a conglomerate of increasing pressure on you.
Oh Curly, my dear blog-ess, don’t despair! We are here for you in this time of non-fluffiness.
I think your dad is a very lucky man to have family that cares that much about him. When my grandmother dies, and my own father ends up with no place to go, he will not have a place in the love bungalow. He will be alone unless he can con someone else into taking him in.
You dad is surrounded by people who care for him. He is a lucky lucky man.