Update on Dad 12-23-11

Hello, Everyone,

I'm sorry to be so late this with post. I wanted to get something up before I came to Utah, but it didn't happen, so I waited until I was able to see Dad yesterday to write my update.

I need to report a new decision about Dad's care; my sister Lucy sent me a brief description of her visit with Dad; and I have a report about my visit to him.

The family decided recently to put Dad back on hospice care. He's still at the same facility, but his care will be overseen by a hospice company, so he will have an aide from hospice who will visit him regularly to bathe him, wash his hair, and so on--I'm not sure if it's daily or three times weekly. My friend Barbara will again be his nurse, and we're very pleased to have her because she is so thorough, meticulous and caring. Dad's medications will be reduced to those that give him relief from pain, and since he no longer wants to eat, he will be offered food but not otherwise urged or cajoled into eating. Dad's not yet at the point where he's not eating at all, but he's eating a lot less. He may continue to decline, but we all know he's surprised us before by rallying when we thought he was close to dying. (I've probably mentioned before that Barbara has explained that starving is actually a gentle, natural way to die that does not cause pain and that allows the dying person the choice to stop eating.)

Here's Lucy's report on her recent visit to Dad with her husband Bob:

"[Dad] was hard to wake up and as always, seemed pleased to see us, but just kept drifting off.  I held his hand, which he likes, and we didn't try and talk much, and left after about 15 minutes.  We did talk to Angie, [the head nurse] who was there, and I'm glad to know that people who care about him are taking care of him."

Here's my report of my visit to Dad:

Yesterday I visited Dad, arriving just at dinner time. I asked an aide where Dad was, since he's in a new room now, and the aide pointed out that Dad was being wheeled down the hall. Dad's head was tilted off to the side, and he looked old and frail, but he greeted me, seemed clear about who I was, and I sat down across from him in the dining area.

I told him I'd been to see the new Springville Public Library--Dad was head of the library board for a number of years. He said, "They have a new one?" "Yes." "Is it in the same place?" I told him it was across the street from the old library where the fire station had been. I told him I'd seen one of the librarians and could only think of his last name. I said, "Is his first name John?" Dad said that sounded right. (I was amazed at this level of conversation from Dad after phone conversations where his responses are usually minimal.)

I told Dad I'd been reading Great Expectations by Dickens--I got just a minimal response. Then I told him that someone in my reading group had told us that in America when another chapter of Great Expectations was due to come in by ship, people would gather on the docks to wait for the ship, some even swimming out to the boat to ask, "What happened to Pip?" Dad chuckled at that story.

I asked him if my sister Christie had seen him yet, and he said no. I told him about Christie's son-in-law's mother passing away unexpectedly, and he was a aware and responsive as I told him briefly about that.

Then I sat for a few minutes just looking at Dad. He put his hand behind his ear, suggesting he couldn't hear what I was saying. I decided to move around the table to be closer to Dad and hold his hand. He was rubbing his hands and agreed they were cold. When I held his hands, he told me how warm my hands were.

As we were sitting together, a nurse came with Dad's meds and asked who I was; Dad said, "She's my . . . , and couldn't finish his sentence. I said, "I'm your daughter, Dad." He said, "I know, but I wanted to say which . . . ." I told the nurse that I was his fourth daughter, and Dad was pleased.

While I was sitting there, Dad said, "Tell me about you and yours." Just using their first names, I mentioned that Michael (my son-in-law) had passed his comprehensive exams for his doctorate and that Christine (my daughter) had survived a stressful semester.

I felt like he wasn't sure who I was talking about, so before I talked to him about my grandchildren, I said, "Do you remember I'm a grandma?" Dad said, "I can't believe it!" I showed Dad a couple of pictures of my granddaughter who he hasn't seen, and he really looked at them. I told him the same story I'd told him on the phone about Evelyn squatting down to play peek-a-boo with herself in a mirrored box at the library. I'm sure it was easier for him to understand with me gesturing to show the dimensions of the box, smiling as I described what she did, and so on, and this time he chuckled, without my having to prompting him overtly.

For my story about my grandson, I told him that recently I was sewing a pillowcase and Jeffrey sat down beside me and asked, "What are those three circles for?" I explained that one dial adjusted how tight the thread was, one changed the kind of stitch the machine made, and one changed how long the stitch was. He wanted to see where the light was and watch the mechanism inside that moves the needle up and down. I told Dad that Jeffrey stayed with me the entire time I was sewing, handing me pins and putting pins back in the pincushion. Dad seemed engaged by the story but didn't really respond until I prompted him by saying, "He's so smart." Dad agreed.

Dad told me it was wonderful to see me, and during our conversation, he was brought his supper. Clearly the word that he's not to be pressured to eat hasn't gotten around to everyone at the facility yet. The man Rueben whose wife is in the facility has been helping Dad to eat and got him to eat one forkful of food. When Dad wouldn't eat more, an aide suggested he might eat for me. (I'm sure they were puzzled that I didn't try to get Dad to eat.) When another aide saw that Dad wasn't eating, he brought him a protein shake, and when Dad wanted to go back to his room, the aide said he'd take Dad after he drank his shake. Dad drank about two-thirds of his drink and asked again to be taken to his room--and this time got his wish.

Although I wished the staff and Rueben weren't trying to still get Dad to eat, I didn't think it was wise for me as the daughter who'd just arrived from Pennsylvania to try to get them to stop feeding him. I was pleased to see how much he's loved. Rueben hugged Dad and told me how much he loved him, and one young aide came up and gave Dad a kiss on the cheek. She told me how much she cares about him too, and we actually talked about Shakespeare a little--she and I talking and Dad mostly listening.

When Dad got back into bed, he went right to sleep, and after a little while, he had a big smile on his face as he slept. He woke up for a minute or two as my friend Barbara checked his blood oxygen level, adjusted his concentrator, and rechecked his oxygen level. I told him I loved him as I was leaving and got a wink in return.

I felt amazed and blessed to be able to have such a conversation with Dad--and I'm glad I've got a record of it here, so I can read it and remember it after I go back to Pennsylvania. I hope to see Dad more before I go back and will write about those visits also.

Merry Christmas to everyone!