After all the haze surrounding Mommas death, life changed dramatically. Everyone knew that it was time to get help for taking care of Daddy. The "H" word was being brought up. Hospice. For anyone unaware of this term, Hospice care is for terminal patients. Its sole purpose is to keep the patient as comfortable as possible until the end.
I remember sitting around the table with my aunts and uncles while we set up everything for Daddy. Around the clock nurses and in home hospice care. I tried to be brave, but I felt like in signing the hospice papers, I was signing Daddy's death sentence. The monster cackled over my shoulder... "He's mine..." Tears roll down my face.
The monster had pulled a bait and switch on us. He broke Mommas heart and distracted us from noticing how much more strength he had syphoned away from Daddy. As Hospice and the ALS association swarmed the house, bringing in this and that, it kept sinking in deeper. This is real. The house was filled with equiptment, most of it was terrifying. He now had a hospital bed, an oxygen machine, nebulizer, two wheelchairs, a lift chair, and a long list of medication.
The worst was the Hoyer lift. Daddy took one look and shook his head, "No." It was basically a cherry-picker (engine lift), with a sling attached. There was no way I was gonna trust that thing to lift and move my Daddy. Nope, I'll move him myself as long as I can.
The first nurse arrived, a young lady not much older than myself. I'll call her "R" for the purpose of the blog. We hit it off immediately. She took care of Daddy as if he was her own father. She was Daddy's favorite nurse. R was the best nurse we had, but unfortunately I would find out that the others from this agency would not measure up to her standards.
No comments:
Post a Comment