I went to bed. 30 minutes later my mom calls on the cell phone saying she needs help. My dad decided to sit on the edge of the bed, he starts to slide off the bed after a short while and he is just dead weight. We talked him into going down to the couch and sleeping. This way he can sit upright without mucus issues and he won't fall onto the floor. The couch is very comfortable, I have slept on it for hours myself.
I get up just 90 minutes after we put my dad to bed on the couch. I wasn't as exhausted as I figured I would be.
I had to work today, but since it was a holiday weekend we got out early. I get home around 3:45pm. CUT is sitting on the couch watching TV. Duane is on the lower lanai smoking and my dad is standing just a few feet from the front door in a zombie like state, staring at a large box in the floor. It is the TV that I got him for Christmas, that Duane so kindly shipped for us.
He is confused. He is constantly asking for my mother, who was at her doctors visit. She was a bit delayed.
My mom told me to get my dad some ice cream. I reminded her about how much pain he is in when he eats ice cream. She bursts into tears and says that it doesn't matter. The Hospice nurse told my uncles and my mom that he has just a couple of days left in him. My mom thinks these last few days should be filled with things that make him happy, but I think a few minutes of pleasure (enjoying the ice cream) is not worth the hours of pain (after eating the ice cream). I am a pussy, I cave in and buy the ice cream. I am an enabler.
My dad drops things quite regularly now. He drops his pills, he drops the remote and he spills his drink. Last night he dropped two glasses, shattering them on the counter. I don't care about the glasses. I don't want him to cut himself.
Tonight he spilled his bowl of ice cream (that's another thing, my parents won't eat at the table, they only eat on the couch). After I cleaned up the couch and got my dad changed into clean clothes, he spilled the rest of his ice cream. We clean it up again and toss out the ice cream. Then he spilled his ice water on himself, twice. He then told me he was tired of using plastic cups (I switched his drinking vessels late last night). He only wants to drink out of glass. I am afraid he is going to cut himself.
Speaking of cutting himself, before all the spillage today, he went upstairs to talk to my mom. About 10 minutes later she comes down crying and says your dad want to talk to you. I figured it was going to be the death bed conversations where he says he loves me--the first time in many many years. He calls me into the master bedroom, he is sitting on the bed and says "Tim, come here. Tim, I want you to know something" at this point he gets choked up and goes into the bathroom to get water and explains that he has problems swallowing. He continues "I want you to know (I was getting a little emotional at this point) that suicide is not an option".
WTF? No one mentioned that in 2 years, and at that point he brought it up as the doctor assisted suicide issue. After trying to figure out who planted this idea in his mind (and him confirming that no one mentioned this) I told him no one wants that. He's been fighting for 2 years and he hasn't given up and he doesn't give up. We will fight along his side until the end. For the next 10 minutes he continued telling me "Not an option."
I guess I cannot expect a television moment from real life.
I can't even count how many times over the past couple of years that I thought it was the end. Are we almost to that point now?
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