Some personal news

An update regarding my dad's recovery and condition

I didn’t want to write this. Of all the things I dislike writing about, I dislike writing about my own life the most. I genuinely hate sharing my personal problems on the internet, and I really do try to respect that people didn’t subscribe to hear me vent - so I’ll try to keep this as light as I can. No cutesy title, no calls to action, no begging you to subscribe.

Over the past 6 weeks, my dad has been rapidly declining in his recovery. For those unaware, my dad was struck by a motorist in January while out walking, and was rushed to the hospital in critical condition where he spent several months barely clinging to life. Beyond broken bones and the superficial, he suffered severe traumatic brain injuries and required considerable amounts of neurosurgery just to survive. Through the spring we, my mother and I, held firm that he had a strong chance to recover in a meaningful way and was on track to do just that.

He was eventually transferred out of hospital in a more stable condition to a critical care nursing facility which did their best to give him every chance at recovery they could. For a while, things looked promising - he was argumentative, he was somewhat ambulatory, he was able to tolerate solid food and seemed in good spirits, but eventually eating became too risky as he had trouble swallowing without aspirating.

He was put on tube feeding, and over time he became depressed, unable to share in something we all take for granted - the joy of eating. He was enjoying his time in the company of others who faced similar challenges, breaking bread (and horrible cafeteria food) with strangers in similar circumstances, who showed him nothing but kindness.

Fast forward to mid-August. He contracted pneumonia, apparently from his own saliva, and was sent back to the hospital. He recovered enough to be returned to the nursing facility, and though that was a welcome reprieve, the sands were clearly shifting against him. He spent another few weeks at the nursing facility, and was sadly transferred back to the hospital 10 days ago for pneumonia yet again.

This time however, it was much more serious. He spent about a week recovering and things seemed to be going just ordinarily. Though, as they were readying to return him to the nursing facility, his condition took a turn for the worse and he was instead transferred to intensive care under intubation, where he has been for the past 2 days. I am told he had such low oxygen saturation as to be deeply troubling, and the decision to intubate was made.

I took a conference call this morning with his care team, including a social worker, palliative care, nursing, neurosurgery, et al - and their conclusion is that I should in fact be preparing to make the hardest decision a child can make with regards to their parent. While things may have appeared more cautiously optimistic a few months ago, a series of aspiration pneumonia incidents along with a noticeable decline in what mental/cognitive abilities he had remaining has lead his medical team to believe this is the beginning of the end.

I spoke to my mother and informed her of the bad news. She was shaken and deeply upset. Even though they separated on the worst possible terms more than 20 years ago, she still cares for him in a meaningful way, and the news shocked her. Any hopes we may have shared vanished in an instant. We cried. We discussed what his desires in this situation might have been, as he never left a living will or any sort of advanced directive, and the conclusion she arrived at was not unexpected but still heartbreaking to hear.

”He probably wouldn’t want to be a vegetable.”

And this is the painful truth I’ve been trying to find, in between balancing my desire to keep him alive, and his need to have a meaningful quality of life. My father probably wouldn’t want to have his suffering prolonged just for the sake of having a pulse, lying motionless in a hospital bed.

Though I very much hate the term “vegetable” when speaking of humans, his condition is in fact vegetative. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t answer to commands. He cannot move on his own, and cannot care for himself. He can open his eyes and make eye contact, but there’s nothing behind it. It’s a thousand-yard dead stare. Most of his time is spent sleeping, or occasionally groaning. My dad is gone, the man I knew left this earth 9 months ago, and I’ve been left to make decisions in the care of an empty vessel - his earthly body; frail and withering away.

Hours before he was transferred to the ICU, I was able to have a brief video call with him, and I didn’t recognize the man. I recognized his facial features, the deep brown eyes, thick black hair, but he wasn’t there. I cried like an infant for hours after that call, knowing it would be the last time I saw my father alive. The nursing team seemed to think he kept saying the word “beautiful”, though I could barely make out anything beyond an unintelligible moan. I hope they’re right, and that even in the end, my dad thought I was something special.

I wouldn’t wish this on my worst enemy, even though as our president says, “I don’t want the best for them”. I couldn’t begin to inflict this level of emotional and mental torture on another living creature.

So that’s it, my dad is dying, and there’s nothing I can do about it. No amount of hoping for the best, no number of prayers, no GoFundme, nothing. It’s all for not. He’s been given the best possible quality of care for 9 months and unfortunately it did little more than comfort him somewhat, reduce the pain, and keep him clinging to life - just as he was in those first few weeks after the accident.

I hate this. I hate being an adult. Nobody told us as kids that someday, we would be in a position to decide if our parents lived or died. Nobody warned us. Nobody prepared us. And yet, in spite of that, so many of us - myself now included - have had to make that judgement call, to mercifully decide it’s time to let go. I don’t know what else to say or do. I’m not coping well, though in time the pain will fade. I’ll always have memories, some good, some bad, some indifferent - but they will remain. He was by no means a good man, or a perfect one, but he’s the man who gave me life and raised me to be who I am, and I’ll always appreciate him for that.

It’s a good thing I don’t drink, or else this would be a great excuse to go get hammered and avoid my responsibility. I’m thankful I got that out of my system years ago, when I was young and irresponsible.

Thanks for reading. If this touched you in some way, or made you feel, call your parents if they’re still with us - and consider dropping a few dollars in the tip jar. Just click the coffee cup below.