SO, WE WENT HOME
Posted by Debbie on: November 6th, 2008
After making a brave decision, Debbie continues the story in My So-Called (Caregiver) Life. Here, with hospice approved and in place she takes her father home.
As we were being discharged and I was beginning to fully realize what was going on, I became calm, so very calm. I had discussed and rehearsed this moment, and here it was—"showtime."
As we completed the various paperwork required in order to die at home, I demanded two things. I wanted drugs to keep my father calm, and oxygen—and we were not going anywhere without them. Funny, looking back I was like a two-year-old stomping her foot and saying, "not going." Right! Like we really had a choice. I was assured both would be ordered and once all the orders came through, we could go.
A lovely nurse walked by while we were waiting and looked at the equipment monitoring Dad and his failing heart. Even to me, the layman, it looked grim: alarms were going off, lights were flashing-the antithesis of the slot-machine jackpot. The nurse came in and asked if the cardiologist had spoken with us. "Oh yes, they're getting our paperwork together," I said, to which she nodded and replied, "Then we will get him settled in a room." In a matter-of-fact voice, I said, "Oh no, we are going home." Her face went blank and she looked at me and repeated, "going home?" I could hear in her nursey voice "Oh no, honey you don't get it." Not in a condescending way, but in a very caring way, concerned for this lunatic woman (me) who thought her very ill dad was going home.
I looked at her face, then into her eyes and realized that she was sad and worried about me because, from her perspective, I was not connected to reality. I patted her shoulder and told her it was ok, that we are going home and just going to rest-no more meds, no more shots, no more. She smiled when she realized that I was ok and her understanding dawned. We actually laughed about the situation because it turned out that she was the one who actually needed comforting.
Papers came and we went home. The staff waved. Everyone wished us luck and looked so sad. I had tried to explain my thoughts but some just could not understand. How could I do this? To me, it was simple. How could I NOT do this? How could I make this go on longer? It would only be cruel.
We got Dad home and settled and I sat and stared at the wall, waiting for the time I should go to work. I went in early, in the same clothes I ‘d been wearing, shorts, tank top and no bra. Let's just say that, at 40, gravity does bad things to the boobs and I would normally never go to work without a bra. As it had snowed, I had my Ugg boots on and a coat. I walked to my desk, left a voice message that basically said, "I am not here, I will not be here, I do not know when I will return, ya gotta call someone else." Left the same message (virtually) on my email. Talked to my boss and her boss (we are a department of three) and said,"I am out. Do what you can to preserve my job. I would love to come back, but I will be out for as long as it takes." I packed my lotion and perishables (amazing what accumulates in a desk at work!) and walked away. No regrets.
I went home and met with hospice. I immediately felt a connection with a lovely nurse named Yolanda and I knew my dad would love her. She is an American Indian and looks like my mother, who was fiercely proud of her American Indian heritage. They even sound alike. I knew it was going to be okay.