Farewell Frank

Chapter 29

Dad didn’t say much on the way home. It was heavy news, and I knew it would take him some time to accept the news. After all, it’s not every day that you’re forced to face mortality.

The following day, he made an appointment at the bank. It was time for him to give me power of attorney so that I could access his funds should the need arise. He hadn’t given me any money for the groceries I had been buying him over the past year, and he didn’t offer to give me any money now either. He was in so much pain that he didn’t think about too many things for very long.

When palliative care called, they asked what supplies I needed and suggested a few things I hadn’t thought of. An appointment schedule was set. A nurse would come and check on Dad once per week.

Nursing Dad was easy at first because he was moving around ok, but by the third week, the pain intensified and interrupted his sleep. He woke one night to go to the bathroom. He was so delirious that he couldn’t wipe himself properly. He used the walls to steady himself as he walked, so whatever he got on his hands in the washroom ended up smeared all over the walls in the hallway and beside his bed. I heard him get up and asked him if he was ok, but I didn’t get up until morning. When I saw the mess, I realized that he wasn’t fully aware of what he was doing and that I would have to help him with his personal care.

I went into his room and saw that the wall beside his bed also had what I thought were excrement smears. I pulled back the sheets to check his ostomy bag and couldn’t believe what I saw. He stirred when I checked on him, and he was ashamed when he saw the mess on the walls and in the bed.

“Oh, Penny! I’m so sorry,” he said. “I don’t know when that happened.”

“It’s ok, Dad. I’ll clean it up, but we’ll have to get you in the shower and get you cleaned up. I think it’s time you use my walker, so let me get it and the bath chair from the spare room downstairs. I’ll be right back.”

Luckily, I still had the walker and a bath seat from my last round of surgeries. I had installed a shower wand to make bathing my dog easier, so all I had to do was get him to sit on the bath seat, swing his legs over the side of the tub, then turn the water on and spray him down. I couldn’t imagine how he felt knowing he had reached that point where he needed help to bathe.

In my mind, I was trying to devise a plan to maintain his dignity, get him clean, and try to figure out what all that mess was. My dad was a proud man. He didn’t want to go to the hospital and didn’t want the palliative care nurse to look after him, so that left me.

I went downstairs, retrieved the walker and bath seat, set up the bath seat inside the tub, and took the walker into Dad’s room. I gave him an oral dose of morphine and set the patch aside for after he got out of the tub.

“Ok, Dad. Let’s get you cleaned up,” I said.

“Ok.”

Until now, Dad would lean on my shoulder to support him, but he was over six feet tall, and I’m barely over five feet tall. If he started to fall, there was no way I could have held him, so the walker was the only way to ensure that both of us wouldn’t get hurt.

Once in the bathroom, the realization that I was about to help him bathe set in. I could see he was uncomfortable, so I gave him a towel to cover himself and turned away so he could undress.

“Let me know when you’re ready,” I said.

After a minute or two, he said, “Ok. I’m as ready as I’m ever going to be.”

When I turned around, I could see him struggling, and I felt bad for him.

“I know this is embarrassing, Dad, but it’s either me or the nurse. You’re oozing this stuff everywhere, and we have to keep you clean!”

“I know. Let’s just get this over with.”

I started the water and found a temperature that wasn’t too hot. I started spraying him down and told him to keep hold of the towel.

“I think we’re past that now,” he said as he moved the towel away.

I wasn’t prepared for what I saw. It wasn’t excrement that was smeared all over the walls. It was blood and tissue that was oozing from the end of his penis.

“Oh my God, Dad!” I said, imagining how painful this must be. “We need to clean all of that away.”

I started to spray his groin area.

“Be careful! That spray hurts!”

“Ok,” I said, turning the dial on the shower head to a finer mist.

“Is this better?”

“Yeah, I guess so.”

I tried to get him as clean as I could as fast as I could. Once I was satisfied that all the blood and tissue had been washed away, I handed him a clean towel, turned away, and let him dry himself off.

“Here’s some clean underwear. Are you ok to go into the living room for a bit? I need to change your bed.”

“Yup,” he answered.

Once he was on the couch, I helped him get some sweatpants on and applied the morphine patch to his upper arm.  

“Are you ready to have a coffee and some toast?”

“Yes, please.”

I turned the TV on, went into the kitchen, and put some bread in the toaster for him. I poured him a coffee, added his milk and sugar, then took it to him.

“What do you want on your toast today?” I asked.

“Peanut butter is fine,” he answered.

I got his toast and peanut butter and joined him in the living room.

Dad’s appetite had been decreasing every day. Most days, he only ate toast and yogurt. Occasionally I could get him to eat some meat and a spoonful of mashed potatoes and cooked veggies. One of the Palliative care nurses suggested he drink a can of Ensure every day, and to my surprise, he liked the taste of it, so getting him to drink a can a day was easy.

It was summer, and I didn’t have AC. Summer in Saskatchewan can be brutally hot. The temperature could easily hover around thirty degrees Celsius for days on end, never cooling enough at night to give you relief.

I kept the house shut up and the fans running steady during the day. At night, I opened every window in the house, hoping for a little breeze to help cool the house down.

On hotter days, he liked to have a Dilly from DQ, so I made sure to keep a box in the freezer.

Every day he would ask me if Leanne had called, and every day I had to tell him no. It totally pissed me off that she never phoned or came by to see him, but there was nothing I could do about it, and it seemed to me that these were the consequences of his overly critical behavior anyways.

Leanne never figured out how to deal with his constant criticism. Even when she was drunk, she couldn’t let his words slip by. She cried at the drop of a pin, and that made him even madder, so her answer was to just stay away.

Her one daughter made an effort to bring the grandchildren by a couple of times for a short visit. Dusty was there every day, but as Dad declined, no one felt comfortable staying alone, making breaks non-existent for me.

By the fourth week, Dad was in bed most of the day. He was oozing a lot of blood and tissue, so I had to give him bed baths twice a day and change his sheets at least once. He couldn’t get out of bed anymore, so I had to change the bed while he was in it. Once again, all that education from me living in the hospital came in handy, so changing the bed with him in it wasn’t a big deal.

The cancer had grown, and now his entire pelvic area was bright red, warm, and hard to the touch. It was no wonder that his pain was getting more difficult to manage. I had increased his meds, but I knew the day was coming when oral meds wouldn’t be enough. He had lost so much weight that his abdomen was concaved.

He wasn’t sleeping through the night anymore, so I napped when I could. I was starting to get worn out. I was smoking nearly a pack a day, which was unusual for me, but I didn’t care. It was the only support I had.

I received a call from the general surgeon that a time had come available for outpatient surgery to remove the sebaceous cysts that had been plaguing me for quite some time. They were painful and I was eager to have them removed. I had to convince Dusty that everything would be ok for the few hours would be away in the hospital having the cysts removed and that I couldn’t put it off. Thankfully, he booked the time off, so I could have the surgery. Stress inflamed those cysts, and I was definitely under a lot of pressure, so I was eager to have them cut out.

Ten days later, I finally wore out. I was only getting a few hours of sleep a day and couldn’t think straight. I had to write down when administering meds because I couldn’t remember anything. Finally, I called Palliative care and asked for a respite. I explained that I just needed a few days of sleep, and then I could bring him back here. When I called, no beds were open, but they told me I would get the next available bed. Two days later, I got a call that the ambulance would be at the house to pick Dad up.

Relief!

I didn’t bother to tell Dad what was happening because I knew he wouldn’t like it, and if Dad was upset, Dusty would be furious with me, so I didn’t tell him either. Instead, everyone but me was surprised when the EMTs showed up.

“Hi, Frank. How are you doing?” asked the taller EMT.

“Well, I’m about as good as to be expected,” Dad answered.

“We’re going to take you to the hospital for a few days, just to help get your pain under control.”

“You are?” Dad said, looking at me accusatorily.

“Yeah, it’s just for a couple of days,” the taller EMT said after noticing the daggers I was getting. “The doctor wants to see how you’re doing.”

“Does he? Funny no one told me that,” he said. “Did you know about this, Penny?”

“Yeah, I knew, Dad. It’s just for a couple of days.”

“I can’t believe you did this,” he said, disgust dripping from his voice.

“OK,” the EMT interrupted. “How about we get a blanket wrapped around you, then we’ll carry you outside to the gurney. We can’t get it in the house, but it’s on the deck outside the door.”

“You’re not going to carry me!” Dad said and, with all the energy he could muster, made his way outside to the gurney.

“Are you going to come to the hospital now?” Dad asked me as the EMTs got him secured on the gurney.

“Yes, I’ll be right up,” I answered.

They carried the gurney down the stairs and loaded him into the ambulance. Shortly after they drove away, Dusty felt he had the right to criticize me.

“You didn’t bother to ask him?” he said.

“Look. Are you the one bathing him twice a day, changing the bed, doing the wash, and staying awake all fucking night?” I said.

“No, but you should have told him at least,” he said, storming down the driveway to his vehicle.

“That figures,” I muttered to myself.

When I got up to the hospital, the nurses had already started an IV and begun administering pain meds through the IV.

“You have a bit of thrush,” the nurse said to Dad. “Have you been cleaning your teeth every day?”

Dad shot a look over to me as if to say, how did you let this happen?

“Yes, I’ve been cleaning my teeth every day,” he answered.

“I had no idea he had thrush,” I said. “I guess I missed that.”

“It’s normal at this stage,” the nurse said.

She gave Dad a swab for his mouth, let him swish it around, then left the room. Dusty was out in the hallway and wouldn’t come in the room with me there. He was furious with me. Again.

“Ok, well, you look like you’re all settled in, so I’m going to go home and get some sleep, ok?”

“Ok. I’m sorry I was angry with you, but you know I hate hospitals.”

“Yeah, I know Dad, but honestly, I need to get a good night’s sleep. Dusty’s here, so I’m sure he’ll visit with you for a while.”

“Ok. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

I left, went straight home, fed the dogs, let them out one last time, and went to bed. I slept twelve hours straight.

In the morning, I called Palliative care.

“How’s Dad doing?” I asked.

“He’s settled in, and his pain is under control. He had a good night. How about you? Were you able to get some sleep?”

“Yes! Thank you. I slept straight through the night! I’m just going to have a shower, and then I’ll be up.”

I hung up the phone, made a pot of coffee, let the dogs out, and before I could get in the shower, the phone rang.

“Penny?”

“Yes.”

“You need to get up here as quickly as you can. Your dad has taken a turn.”

“What? I was just on the phone with the nurse, and everything was ok. Geez, Ok. I’ll shower quick and be right there. I have to stop at the drugstore to get some saline. I have to clean my sutures. I’m only a few minutes from the hospital.”

“Sutures? Did you have a surgery?”

“Yeah, I had a could of cysts removed.”

“Don’t worry about that. We’ll give you some when you get here. You need to get here as quickly as possible.”

“Oh. Ok.”

I showered in record time, got the dogs back in the house, and headed to the hospital. I stopped at the desk and asked,

“What changed? He was doing ok, and now he’s not?”

“He’s already starting to rigor. We think that once his pain was alleviated, he let go, and now it won’t be long.”

“Oh. Ok.”

“I understand you needed some saline?”

“Yeah, I just need to clean my incisions.”

“You had surgery? Are you Ok?”

“Yeah, I’m ok. I just had a couple of cysts removed. Thanks for the saline and for asking.”

I went into the bathroom in Dad’s room and cleaned my incisions. When I entered the room, I saw that Dad’s face was completely relaxed. I reached down and touched his leg. Rigor was moving up his leg passed his knee. I was just beginning to wrap my mind around the new situation and the fact that it was literally six weeks from when I moved him into my house when Dusty showed up.

“What’s going on? Are we taking him back to your place now?”

“Didn’t the nurse tell you?”

“No. Tell me what?”

“It’s time.”

“Time for what?”

“Dad won’t be leaving here. He’s only got a few hours left.”

Dusty stared at me as if this was my fault.

“How do you know that?” Dusty said, the anger present in his voice.

“Go talk to the nurse,” I said, knowing that, unlike my experience at the General, the nursing staff would fully support me this time, and I was. The head nurse carefully explained to him that I hadn’t done anything wrong and that Dad’s cancer had reached the point where his body couldn’t fight it any longer. He calmed down and came into the room. Sadness had replaced his anger. He sat beside the bed and held Dad’s hand.

Every hour the nurse would come in to check Dad’s progress. The social worker came by to see if she could help us in any way.

“Does Leanne know?” Dusty asked.

“Oh. No, she doesn’t,” I said.

“No problem,” the social worker said. “I can call her. Do you have her number?”

“No, I don’t. Do you have it?” I said, looking at Dusty.

“No, I don’t know how to get a hold of her either,” he said.

“Isn’t that great?” I said, looking at the social worker. “We’re such a close family we don’t even know how to get a hold of her.”

“Ok. That’s ok,” she said calmly. “Do you know where she works? We can look the number up and call her.”

I thought for a moment, then said, “No, I don’t know the name of the company she works for, but I do know that she works for the same answering service that answers for Dr. Brown’s office.”

My emotions were all over the map. I was embarrassed that the social worker and nurses now knew I had no idea how to get a hold of my sister. I was stunned that after only one night of IV pain meds, Dad’s body was ready to let go and that this was it – he was going to die. I was on edge, waiting for Dusty to lash out at me again, and I was angry that I was feeling all these feelings at once.

The social worker came into the room to tell me she had gotten a hold of Leanne and asked me how I was doing. It didn’t take a social worker to hear the frustration and grief in my voice.

“You know,” I said, “my Grandma, his mom, was an amazing woman. She was quite religious. She never said a bad word about anyone to anyone. She died peacefully at home at 94. Him? He was a miserable old man, and look at him. Cancer literally ate his body and made him suffer. I guess we all get what’s coming to us in the end, don’t we.”

She listened with compassion. Her eyes said everything I needed to hear. She touched my arm, then left the room. About an hour later, Leanne and her crew showed up at the hospital. She put on quite a show, sitting beside Dad, bawling and muttering something about not wanting him to die. In my mind, I was screaming at her. “Are you fucking kidding me? Now you give a shit? Fuck you! And oh, by the way, thanks for all the help for the past two months.”

By 2 pm, rigor had made its way up to Dad’s chest. By 3 pm, he was gone. Everyone left except me. I had to wait for the funeral home to pick him up. I stood in his room, looking out the window to Dewdney Ave. It was just me and him.

“Well, I hope you find Mom and Grandma, and I hope you have peace now,” I said aloud. “You sure didn’t have peace for the past year, did you.”

As soon as the funeral home arrived, I left. I went home, sat in the kitchen, and stared into the empty space of my upstairs living room for quite some time before I climbed into bed.