Enter Colleen
Monday, January 16th, 2023 04:15 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
snoozefestaudioI didn't sleep much, and got up at 11AM... hours earlier than Tim. First thing I did was give Dad more morphine, and then I walked Yvette. But it was a quick walk, because it was raining outside.
I found myself sitting in the rocker on the porch, listening to the rain while smoking a cigarette... and thinking about the argument Tim & I had had last night.
This side porch, upon which is the kitchen door, is the main entrance to the downstairs of the house.
And my main concern was really about the porch storm door, which doesn't latch, and hasn't latched in decades.
If the cat's were to get out onto the porch, when somebody opened the kitchen door and lingered there too long... they could easily push their way out the storm door and into the wide world beyond.
I had tried to get the old knob and handle to latch properly, back in 2021, when I was working on the porch, but never quite got it to work.
So today I realized I just needed to run to Ace Hardware and get a whole new goddam handle and latch set for the fucking door!
--<>--
I also badly needed a haircut, so... from that rocker on the porch, I got up, went to the car, and drove to the Lulu & Edi's hair salon on Clark Street, not far from Kevin's Air B&B. In fact I parked very near Dad's car there.
After my buzz cut, I went to Ace and bought the lockset for the storm door. Then I stopped at Walgreens for a cat litter scoop, for the new cat box downstairs.
--<>--
Kyangela came to bathe Dad while I was out. She'd called the landline, as answered by Tim... which got him out of bed.
She was gone by the time I got back, but Tim was up, so I went in his room, holding up the new storm door handle set and said, "Last night's argument didn't happen. I'm fixing the door so the cats won't get out."
He accepted that, and life went back to normal in the house, as I brought my bucket of tools out onto the porch, to do the work.
Lonnie, the nurse arrived while I was working on the door.
I told her we'd started Dad on morphine last night, mainly because of rapid breathing, but also other signs of discomfort, anxiety, and thirst.
She agreed it was the right thing to do, saying that once the rapid breathing starts, the morphine is needed to calm people down. Otherwise, the breathing will exhaust them.
She checked him out, spoke to him, took his vitals, and gave him another dose of morphine herself.
In the kitchen, she told Tim and I that Dad had definitely taken a turn, so she'd be back to check on him tomorrow. It's possible he could be put on oxygen... again just for comfort, but he did indicate to her today that he was not having trouble breathing, so... we'll wait another day on that.
She recommended we give him the 0.25mg dose of morphine every two hours from now on, or up it to 0.5mg if his breathing continues to be distressed.
Tim said his kids were arriving to see him on Friday and asked if, in her opinion, he'd still be alive on Friday.
She didn't give a direct answer, but was asking how far away they were, and how they were coming... suggesting that Friday was a bit of a stretch! If they were driving, could they fly instead? Could they get here sooner?
Tim seemed to understand from that... that he maybe should take it down a notch with the expectations of a happy reunion with a still living Grampa who might rally on Friday and start smiling and talking again.
--<>--
After Lonnie left, I finished installing the new handle on the side porch storm door. It now closes quickly, and latches soundly. I also installed a door sweep I had bought for this door two years ago, at the bottom, to cover a bit of a gap there.
I'm gonna get those reflective collars I got for Snoop & Prowly a while back, and put them on the cats. They have their names and my phone number on them as well.
These measures and a few more will waylay my fears of them accidentally escaping in the three ring circus that's to begin on Friday.
And if Dad does die before they get here, then I'll have three bereavement days off work, paid, to keep an eye on things.
So, I'm not gonna say another thing about the cats to Tim, or the big visit... and let him slowly process things his own way, while knowing he's free to stay here, and they're welcome to be here.
It is almost 5PM now, and Dad needs more morphine. We are also expecting Colleen any time now.
01:45AM
Dad's car backed into the driveway just before 6PM, with Kevin driving, and Colleen in the passenger seat... both of them with back packs, as they entered the house.
Colleen went into Dad's room with Kevin to say hello to Dad and... unlike with Sheila's arrival, Tim's, Kevin's, and even Brian's... there was no rally.
He's basically looked like a wax statue all day, with his eyes and mouth half open, and barely registeres a blip to outside stimulus... though we are acting on the assumption that he can still hear and see... and is having internal thoughts and emotions about what's going on.
Colleen's no stranger to this. She emerged in the kitchen to see Tim and I, ten minutes later saying this was the state that Mom had been in, in her last days.
She was shocked to see that Dad had gotten to that state so quickly, but... she understood what it was.
--<>--
We spent the next six hours at the kitchen table... the four of us catching up and reminiscing about everything under the sun.
The cat's stalked the downstairs. Yvette snoozed most of the time but did go for one late night walk with me.
I also administered more morphine to Dad every two hours, on the hour.
Thus far, other than Lonnie, the nurse, I'm the only person who's been giving Dad morphine.
Tim, Kevin, and Collen are understandably put off by doing it, as I was last night the first time. But... I'm the guy who's taken care of him for the past eight years. And I'm the guy who got him enrolled in this home hospice program, and to whom they gave the morphine back before Christmas, for when it was needed.
So... I'm the guy who's been giving it to him all day.
--<>--
As with two nights ago, before he was on morphine, when it was just the three brothers in the kitchen, I think that tonight, the ambient sing song of us out there for several hours, was reassuring for Dad... in his morphine trance.
In the text above, I said he was like a wax statue, but... that means his breathing has been normal, and he's not in any distress.
But he is still very close to the end, now.
--<>--
Tim was still holding out hope that Dad will not only make it to Friday, but rally for his kids... even though he was a wax statue for Colleen tonight, his own first born daughter.
It's a little baffling to me, how important it is to Tim, that his kids get rewarded with such a miracle, but... I guess it stems from feelings of guilt that they never saw much of him at all, over the past ten years... except for Veda.
That wasn't his fault. They live thousands of miles away, and with so many kids, money was just too tight! At the same time, Dad was already too old to go visit them.
But, if this whole crisis has shown anything, it's shown how unprepared everybody was for Dad to die.
Even though Mom died eight years ago, and Dad was CLEARLY living on borrowed time for the past five years... everybody kept thinking he'd make it one more year.
--<>--
I think it will be a blessing if Dad dies before Tim's kid's get here, because if he doesn't... they're gonna bust in the door to see an extremely whithered... skeletal Grampa, with his eyes and mouth half open, totally unresponsive.
And I think that will scar them.
------------{=0=}------------
Around midnight, Kevin said his goodbyes to Dad, and to us, and with his backpack, walked off into the night, back to his Air B&B. He'll be on his way back to LA in the morning.
He left Dad's car, along with the keys, for Colleen, who... an hour later, drove it back to her hotel room by the train station.
Over the next four days that Colleen is here, we need to resovle some final, pivotal issues.
We need to figure out how much life insurance Dad has, and if I'm the beneficiary of all of it. It looks to be about 12K, but that could get tied up in probate.
We need to look into our options for how to deal with Dad's body, immediately after his death... like does he go to a funeral home, or directly to a crematorium?.. which depends on the amount of life insurance money that's available.
We need to get Father Leak out to give Dad last rites.
And we may find ourselves on a death watch around his bed, as he expires in the dead of night.
But he hasn't expired yet... so I have to go to work tomorrow.
I did do my laundry, trim my beard, and take a shower, over the course of the day, so I'm ready to go.
And we'll just see how this week plays out.
°¦}
https://soundcloud.com/snoozefestaudio
I found myself sitting in the rocker on the porch, listening to the rain while smoking a cigarette... and thinking about the argument Tim & I had had last night.
This side porch, upon which is the kitchen door, is the main entrance to the downstairs of the house.
And my main concern was really about the porch storm door, which doesn't latch, and hasn't latched in decades.
If the cat's were to get out onto the porch, when somebody opened the kitchen door and lingered there too long... they could easily push their way out the storm door and into the wide world beyond.
I had tried to get the old knob and handle to latch properly, back in 2021, when I was working on the porch, but never quite got it to work.
So today I realized I just needed to run to Ace Hardware and get a whole new goddam handle and latch set for the fucking door!
I also badly needed a haircut, so... from that rocker on the porch, I got up, went to the car, and drove to the Lulu & Edi's hair salon on Clark Street, not far from Kevin's Air B&B. In fact I parked very near Dad's car there.
After my buzz cut, I went to Ace and bought the lockset for the storm door. Then I stopped at Walgreens for a cat litter scoop, for the new cat box downstairs.
Kyangela came to bathe Dad while I was out. She'd called the landline, as answered by Tim... which got him out of bed.
She was gone by the time I got back, but Tim was up, so I went in his room, holding up the new storm door handle set and said, "Last night's argument didn't happen. I'm fixing the door so the cats won't get out."
He accepted that, and life went back to normal in the house, as I brought my bucket of tools out onto the porch, to do the work.
Lonnie, the nurse arrived while I was working on the door.
I told her we'd started Dad on morphine last night, mainly because of rapid breathing, but also other signs of discomfort, anxiety, and thirst.
She agreed it was the right thing to do, saying that once the rapid breathing starts, the morphine is needed to calm people down. Otherwise, the breathing will exhaust them.
She checked him out, spoke to him, took his vitals, and gave him another dose of morphine herself.
In the kitchen, she told Tim and I that Dad had definitely taken a turn, so she'd be back to check on him tomorrow. It's possible he could be put on oxygen... again just for comfort, but he did indicate to her today that he was not having trouble breathing, so... we'll wait another day on that.
She recommended we give him the 0.25mg dose of morphine every two hours from now on, or up it to 0.5mg if his breathing continues to be distressed.
Tim said his kids were arriving to see him on Friday and asked if, in her opinion, he'd still be alive on Friday.
She didn't give a direct answer, but was asking how far away they were, and how they were coming... suggesting that Friday was a bit of a stretch! If they were driving, could they fly instead? Could they get here sooner?
Tim seemed to understand from that... that he maybe should take it down a notch with the expectations of a happy reunion with a still living Grampa who might rally on Friday and start smiling and talking again.
After Lonnie left, I finished installing the new handle on the side porch storm door. It now closes quickly, and latches soundly. I also installed a door sweep I had bought for this door two years ago, at the bottom, to cover a bit of a gap there.
I'm gonna get those reflective collars I got for Snoop & Prowly a while back, and put them on the cats. They have their names and my phone number on them as well.
These measures and a few more will waylay my fears of them accidentally escaping in the three ring circus that's to begin on Friday.
And if Dad does die before they get here, then I'll have three bereavement days off work, paid, to keep an eye on things.
So, I'm not gonna say another thing about the cats to Tim, or the big visit... and let him slowly process things his own way, while knowing he's free to stay here, and they're welcome to be here.
It is almost 5PM now, and Dad needs more morphine. We are also expecting Colleen any time now.
Dad's car backed into the driveway just before 6PM, with Kevin driving, and Colleen in the passenger seat... both of them with back packs, as they entered the house.
Colleen went into Dad's room with Kevin to say hello to Dad and... unlike with Sheila's arrival, Tim's, Kevin's, and even Brian's... there was no rally.
He's basically looked like a wax statue all day, with his eyes and mouth half open, and barely registeres a blip to outside stimulus... though we are acting on the assumption that he can still hear and see... and is having internal thoughts and emotions about what's going on.
Colleen's no stranger to this. She emerged in the kitchen to see Tim and I, ten minutes later saying this was the state that Mom had been in, in her last days.
She was shocked to see that Dad had gotten to that state so quickly, but... she understood what it was.
We spent the next six hours at the kitchen table... the four of us catching up and reminiscing about everything under the sun.
The cat's stalked the downstairs. Yvette snoozed most of the time but did go for one late night walk with me.
I also administered more morphine to Dad every two hours, on the hour.
Thus far, other than Lonnie, the nurse, I'm the only person who's been giving Dad morphine.
Tim, Kevin, and Collen are understandably put off by doing it, as I was last night the first time. But... I'm the guy who's taken care of him for the past eight years. And I'm the guy who got him enrolled in this home hospice program, and to whom they gave the morphine back before Christmas, for when it was needed.
So... I'm the guy who's been giving it to him all day.
As with two nights ago, before he was on morphine, when it was just the three brothers in the kitchen, I think that tonight, the ambient sing song of us out there for several hours, was reassuring for Dad... in his morphine trance.
In the text above, I said he was like a wax statue, but... that means his breathing has been normal, and he's not in any distress.
But he is still very close to the end, now.
Tim was still holding out hope that Dad will not only make it to Friday, but rally for his kids... even though he was a wax statue for Colleen tonight, his own first born daughter.
It's a little baffling to me, how important it is to Tim, that his kids get rewarded with such a miracle, but... I guess it stems from feelings of guilt that they never saw much of him at all, over the past ten years... except for Veda.
That wasn't his fault. They live thousands of miles away, and with so many kids, money was just too tight! At the same time, Dad was already too old to go visit them.
But, if this whole crisis has shown anything, it's shown how unprepared everybody was for Dad to die.
Even though Mom died eight years ago, and Dad was CLEARLY living on borrowed time for the past five years... everybody kept thinking he'd make it one more year.
I think it will be a blessing if Dad dies before Tim's kid's get here, because if he doesn't... they're gonna bust in the door to see an extremely whithered... skeletal Grampa, with his eyes and mouth half open, totally unresponsive.
And I think that will scar them.
Around midnight, Kevin said his goodbyes to Dad, and to us, and with his backpack, walked off into the night, back to his Air B&B. He'll be on his way back to LA in the morning.
He left Dad's car, along with the keys, for Colleen, who... an hour later, drove it back to her hotel room by the train station.
Over the next four days that Colleen is here, we need to resovle some final, pivotal issues.
We need to figure out how much life insurance Dad has, and if I'm the beneficiary of all of it. It looks to be about 12K, but that could get tied up in probate.
We need to look into our options for how to deal with Dad's body, immediately after his death... like does he go to a funeral home, or directly to a crematorium?.. which depends on the amount of life insurance money that's available.
We need to get Father Leak out to give Dad last rites.
And we may find ourselves on a death watch around his bed, as he expires in the dead of night.
But he hasn't expired yet... so I have to go to work tomorrow.
I did do my laundry, trim my beard, and take a shower, over the course of the day, so I'm ready to go.
And we'll just see how this week plays out.
°¦}
