Dad

Thank You

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I wish there was such a thing as after funeral obituaries or after funeral thank you notes published in the newspaper because so many of the people I want to thank will not see this.

I was worried with the viewing and funeral all being one day and so early on a Saturday morning that dad would not have a good turnout. Turns out I needn’t have worried, I was spectacularly wrong. You came, you all came, friends, family, neighborhood folks, coworkers, employers, all of my and Tommy’s families and friends, you were all there, every one of you.

Thank you for your time, your presence, your memories, your kind words, and your warm condolences, I am more than grateful.

A Life Well Lived in Photos

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Over the last five years I’ve had a lot of time to sit alone with my dad with each of us in the hospital so much and four years ago daddy accompanying me to my radiation treatments two days a week for more than six weeks so he and I have had lots of time to sit and pass the time together in hospital rooms and oncology waiting rooms. It’s hard to be grateful for sickness, but I’m so grateful for all the time we got to spend together over the last five years.

Writing to Help Myself Understand

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I can’t believe this photo is just 14 months old, so much has changed

 

Brooke Gladstone wrote in beginning pages of her book, “The Influencing Machine: Brooke Gladstone on the Media,” that she writes and reports to help herself understand things so she can help others understand them as well. Five years ago I wrote to help myself comprehend my cancer and all of the surgeries and treatments that went along with it and maybe also others on the same journey understand their own journey; so here I am again writing to make sense of what is going on in my life and work my way through what I’ve read described as anticipatory grief or grieving before death. I feel lost, and afraid, and helpless because I have no control over the inevitable.

 

Dad’s dying, there’s no two ways about it; last fall we learned he has stage 3 heart failure and stage 3 kidney failure and that there is nothing more to be done surgically or medically; basically, it is what is until it isn’t. During the same time period Dad’s primary care doc told my mother and brother, Dad could live five days or five years. Lately what is has been less and what isn’t has been more pronounced and it’s terrifying and sad and all too real.

 

Nine days ago in my last blog post I wrote about fearing that Dear Old Dad wouldn’t make it through the night. Well he made it through the night and went in to the hospital the next morning. He spent seven days there having blood transfusions to get his hemoglobin up to nine from a low of seven point five, receiving IV Lasix to reduce the fluid in his body that the oral meds just weren’t strong enough to remove, and being put on two liters of oxygen to keep his oxygen levels above ninety as opposed to the eighty-five they’ve been hovering around.

 

Because of the anemia the cardiology team took Dad off of his Effient, which is basically a blood thinner that helps keep plaque and blood clots from forming around the six or nine (I don’t remember the exact number) stents in Dad’s heart; so it’s a trade off to I suppose give him a little bit better quality of life and a little more strength and in all honesty he’s not much stronger after seven days in the hospital. We had him moved to the rehab he was in last September to hopefully get him stronger, but he had a bad day today with nausea and vomiting and confusion. I hope once he gets in the swing of the daily routine and gets a few days of therapy going he’ll feel better and more like himself and be able to come home feeling stronger.

 

The term the nurses in the hospital use to explain the confusion is sundown, which basically is exactly what is sounds like, elderly people get more confused as the day winds down; no one’s sure why. Dad is definitely better during the earlier part of the day although maybe not right as he’s waking up. I swore up and down that if Dear Old Dad would take his head out of his ass and just allow the heart failure monitoring service to put him on oxygen at home (he’s a stubborn one) he wouldn’t wake up so confused but he’s been on the oxygen for more than a week now and he still gets confused. I don’t think the confusion is going away.

 

So there it is, what is and what isn’t, and my attempt to wrap my head around the knowledge that Dad’s dying and me trying to come to terms with that fact. I honestly believe it’s harder to watch someone get old and die than it is when they finally pass from this mortal coil. Long, sad endings suck, you can quote me on that.

 

Write, He Said (Major Surgery & the Road to Recovery) — My Amazing Family — Sunday Morning Rerun

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I’m rerunning this post today because it’s as true today as it was then.

I told you two days ago that I’d be back to tell you about my amazing family. I’m sorry I didn’t get back here yesterday. I had a morning appointment with the plastic surgeon to have the sutures removed and then spent the day at mom’s house.

This one is hard to write. How do you put into words how much you love and appreciate those closest to you? Thank you just doesn’t seem enough to express my gratitude. I woke up from surgery surrounded by everyone I love and everyone who loves me. How do you say thank you to the folks who were there as the nurses removed the breathing tube? The people who were there urging me to breathe as so that the nurses would be able to remove the tube?

I never spent one day alone in the hospital or rehab. Someone was always there with me. They came in shifts; my parents during the day, Tommy and Arlene (my brother and sister-in-law) during the dinner hour, and Chuck (my husband) after work. Sometimes my room was full of the above mentioned cast of characters.

I’m so grateful they were all there for me, but I’m even more grateful they were there for each other. In particular I’m so glad they were there for Chuck. My parents always loved him like one of their own so I’ve no doubt they took good care of him during the days I don’t remember. I’m so grateful that Tommy and Arlene sat with him and kept him company.

There’s really a week of my life that I don’t remember and it’s comforting to know that my loved ones were all there watching over me; my five guardian angels. I don’t remember the really and truly terrifying days. Chuck had to make tough and frightening decisions for me. In a way only Chuck, my parents and Tommy and Arlene suffered through them. It was much less scary for me because for all intents and purposes I slept through the worst of it. I’m glad they were all there together.

I couldn’t ask for more kind, loving, generous loved ones. It’s not just the heavy serious stuff that I’m thankful for either. It’s the seeming little things that mean so much.

Chuck spent all of Saturday at the hospital with me in Critical Care ICU. He went home, fed the cats, ate dinner, got my laptop and Netflix DVD, and drove back to the hospital to watch The American President with me. All so we could have some time alone together and so I wouldn’t be alone my first night really awake and alert in ICU.

My mom brought me German Potato Salad and carrot cake from the Cannstatter’s so that I’d have something yummy to eat.

My dad brought me soft pretzels because I asked for them. He brought enough for my nurses also.

My sister-in-law saw to it that I had all sorts of comfort items. She brought me a plush cat that sang What’s New Pussycat with a Padre Pie rosary/medal attached. I prayed that rosary or just ran my fingers over the beads whenever I felt anxious or scared. Every nurse who took care of me loved (as did I) the Halloween footies she bought me. I’m actually wearing them now. And I’m quite sure that I was the only patient at Cooper University Hospital with a lighted Tigger the Tiger Jack O’lantern.

Tommy could always be counted on to bring me a fresh bottle of Coke, which I hoarded so I’d have it all day.

Really, the stuff that doesn’t seem like much is in fact much. I hated the food in rehab. Every day my parents and Chuck brought me lunch and dinner. That’s five days worth of stopping for food, paying for food and taking the time to eat with me.

I can’t begin to say thanks. I wouldn’t know where to begin. Chuck’s taken so many days off from work to be with me so that I wouldn’t be afraid or alone (in and out of the hospital). My parents have rearranged their lives to spend time with me in the hospital, at rehab and at home. Tommy and Arlene came nightly at dinner time putting their own dinners off to spend time with me as well as calling, texting and messaging several times a day.

I am so loved and I am so grateful. From the bottom of my heart, thank you.

Love,

~ Carol Anne