Lets see, can't remember the last blog, but it probably contained the words "only four weeks to live" or something very much like it. Since then I have been an emotional wreck, alternating between nursing mode and daughter mode at the drop of a hat. I have dreaded the phone ringing when I not at my Dad's house, and dreaded the pause in breaths from upstairs when I have been there. Its amazing how the human ear is able to detect the sound of breathing despite other sounds being present. Rob and I have shared the care, but he has done the donkey work, me doing 10 till 3.30 and then him taking over.
My father has been very poorly, very weak, not eating, in pain and bedridden for most of the past three weeks. We have had help from the fabulous Marie Curie nurses who have come and Dad sat every other night. Their support has been for us as well as Dad. The district nurses have been daily and for the past week we have had 2 carers to come in and give Dad a good wash and freshen him up. When he is awake he is very grumpy and sharp on occasions, frustration I know, but still hard to ignore sometimes.
The decision was made last Friday to place Dad in a hospice because Rob is going away over Christmas, and we are unable to give him the 24hr care he needs. Dad agreed to this, we would have been unable to give the go ahead without his say so. He brightened up over the weekend, demanding food, complaining about it, but being very lucid in his conversations, which he hasn't been for a while.
Tuesday he was admitted to St Peters Hospice. He said he was relieved, but didn't seem very happy to be honest. The doctor is worried about his mood, he is hardly speaking to anyone and is very low. Hardly surprising given the circumstances, so she has started a course of anti depressants.
Okay, here comes the rollercoaster bit. The doctor informed me that although Dad is very poorly and his mind is ready to die, his body is not. What?! Remember, we have all been living with the notion that he could die at any moment. I told the doctor what I have been told and how he has been at home, but she still feels he is not about to die. She is planning to send him back home on 3rd January. I should be happy, I know, but he is soooo ready and this is partly why he is depressed. He is a very proud man and hates it that he is unable to do anything for himself and is reliant on others. I can't get my head around everything. He does not speak to me unless I get into his face almost. I took Specks in to see him today and after a minute he told me to take him away. This is not my father. I know it is probably because of toxins and illness, but I just cannot take it all in. I feel like my brain has now totally shut down and is unable to process any more information, good or bad. To be honest I can't really express how I feel, except maybe to say that a dark den, cosy and warm might just be the way to go!
By the way, Speckle enjoyed his visit to the hospice, once he realised it wasn't the vets clininc. He said hello to everyone he met and the staff nurse found him biscuits. What more could a dog want!
