Not good...

2 days ago, my father went to the doctor for a scheduled appointment.  Prior to that, he had been experiencing severe "intestinal difficulties".  Probably the nicest way you can refer to something so incredibly horrible and private, but let's just say it was very bad, and caused dehydration.

The problem is, in his weakened condition, dehydration takes more of a toll on him.  According to his doctor, cirrhotic patients are more susceptible to MANY things, due to the liver malfunctioning, and a minor "flu-like" issue can cause great harm.

So, back to the appointment.  He has lost 14 pounds in 2 weeks, he is not on a diet, and is weak.  The doctor said he was weaker than she had ever seen him, and she started talking about something different...she talked about we (the family) need to consider the quality of life he has and will have in the future with multiple hospital stays, and we need to discuss the possibility of Comfort Care.

I asked, "what is Comfort Care?"

She replied, "Comfort Care is basically hospice.  We reduce his medications, get him on some pain medications that will allow him to die peacefully at home."

She looked at my father and said, "Mr. Wallace, you are not getting better.  You will not get better.  It is a matter of time until this discussion will be a reality."

My dad was pretty quiet. At that moment, I wish he had dementia and did not understand.

Unfortunately, he understood.

The doctor admitted him to the hospital for some tests.  She said it would be for about 3 days.

When we got on the elevator, I put my hand on his shoulder (that is about as close as we have ever come to a "hug") and said, "are you okay?"

He said that was a hard thing to hear.

I agreed.

I said, "Dad, if there is anything I know, it is I will not stop fighting until I am gone.  I will fight physically, and when I am unable to move, i will fight in my heart.  I will never give up, because if I can hope, there is a chance."

He said, "Me too."

I said, "come on - let's get this hospital visit over with so we can go home."

Inside, I knew differently.  Perhaps I should not have talked about fighting, but I don't want him to give up until it is time, until he is past the point of no return.  When is that?  I don't know...I really don't.

He was admitted on Tuesday.

Wednesday, he got worse.

Today is Thursday.  He is worse still.

Weak, confused, wondering if he is coming home, when will he come home?

He is alone.

I am past the stage of anger and complaining.  It is a hard drive to the hospital, she is 75 years old, so I am leaving it at that.

But he is alone.

I am starting to think of more things now.  I am trying not to be morbid, but this is not looking good.

I am going to talk with my dad and tell him some things he needs to hear.

1. The reason I have accomplished the things I have is due to his influence, his pushing me.  He demanded the best - academics, sports, and work (life).  He hated excuses. There are reasons for delay, never an excuse to quit or fail.

2. The reason I have not accomplished more is me.  Where I have failed to meet the mark, was my fault.  I paid the price and continue to do so.  My failures are my lack of following his lead.

3. He was and is a good man, and a good father. Even as a self centered teen, I knew any errors in judgement were just that, an error.  People make mistakes and they have to live with it forever.  It is only the most gracious that helps the fallen, that helps the discouraged get back on track.

I sit here, before the keyboard, in silence...

I just don't know what to say.

I hope this is just the most recent bout with the symptoms and I am over reacting.

I hope...

I think of the many things we have experienced this year, my grandfather passed away within 24 hours of my father in law passing away.  Both great men, both men of God, men of principle, heroes to our families.  Amazing enough, friends to each other.

The economy has been a thorn in everyone's side, worries over jobs and will we have one next week, next month...tomorrow?  A hard year.

No time to mourn, almost immediately after the death of my grandfather, my father began this dark journey.

Now, sometimes I feel this thing in my chest, it reminds me of times as a little boy when it hurt so bad all I could do was cry, but now nothing comes out. I regain my focus, I blink away the watery eyes, and I get back on track.

No time for that stuff right now.

Sometimes I remember the old saying, "Big Boys don't cry."  How true - they just get crazy!
(Try to laugh with me - if we can't laugh, we will cry).

So here it is...my dad is not doing well, I have to go to his house during the Christmas holidays and make sure everything is in order.

Then we can rest.

It was a long time ago, 1966 to be precise.  I was 6 years old.  My older brother was 8, my younger was 4.  We lived in Germany, on an American military base.  That summer, we went on a vacation to Italy.  2 weeks, camping in Italy.

I remember being in the tent at night (the old family tent), and my dad and mom outside, sitting around the camp stove, talking and playing cards with other Americans on vacation, listening to the final strains of some popular song on the radio as the night settled in.

It was good.

I was safe.

My dad was there, and nothing could hurt us.

He was 30 years old, with 3 boys and there was no one bigger or stronger.

That was 43 years ago.

Now, I want my dad to rest, while I listen to the old familiar strains of some song whose popularity faded long ago, and know all is okay.

I am here...This time, he can rest while I keep watch...

I am not leaving...