No updates Saturday. Ann made sure I got a few hours of sleep, but am back at it with Dad now, though he’s finally sleeping a little, when not grumbling “damnit” and quiet chants of “watch, watch, watch”  . . . 

This past Thursday morning Ann and I arrived in the hospital to find Dad ready to die. And, by that, I mean he was in a hurry to get home that day, because tomorrow (Friday) he had to die. There was little emotion to it; just certainty in a matter-of-fact way. As he stated his position, the nurses told me he’d had a bad night Wednesday night, and that they had had to drug him, which didn’t do much good they added, and have someone present to keep him calm.

At this point, the 85-year-old man (who from his face still looks like he is in his late-60s and who the staff took for someone who was full ambulatory and ready to return home to live, not die) is bed ridden. He has spent the last two months in either the hospital or rehab, the latter of which he hadn’t successfully completed. His former 210lb body has shrunk to a 158lb shadow. His heart is pumping about 20% of what it should, causing a number of issues.

He’s aware of all this; he feels like crap; he can’t sleep well; and he’s just done with it all.

So, all morning on Thursday we discussed his wishes and exactly when he planned to die. Eventually, perhaps clearly being understood, and knowing mom had a long planned “girls trip” over the coming weekend (with her friends from high school), a break my tired mother really needed, that just happened to start on Friday (the day he planned to die), he decided to switch his upcoming death to this coming Tuesday, the day after she returns from her trip. It was important to him that she go on the trip, so he was willing to wait to pass.

These are strange conversations to have. But, hey, if he can last through Tuesday, we’ll take another few days with him.

Following that meeting of the minds, on Thursday afternoon we met will palliative care to arrange hospice. Then, Dad was pulled off IVs, etc. He was happy as a clam, except for one issue. He wanted to go home NOW.

Appealing to his practical self, I told him in order for him to return home and have Medicare pay for it, and insure mom had help when he was home, we had to go through certain steps. That meant he couldn’t go home until Friday. This line of reasoning resonated with him and kept him calm.

But I was still concerned he would get agitated at night, so to help him, I reassured him that I would stay with him until he went home. That made him happy, which was strange as he was normally the stoic person who told us when it was time for us to leave the hospital when visiting him.

So, from Thursday morning through Friday evening, I spent time adjusting him, getting him a snack (because his diet restrictions were removed), getting him cocoa, and whatever else he needed. And, of course, I continuously had to answer why he couldn’t go home right away and appeal to his logical brain that certain hurdles had to be jumped (example, hospice had to delivery equipment to the house) in order for him to return home. During that time, he slept in mostly short stints of a few minutes here and there.

On Friday night, dad finally came home, arriving in the evening. I can’t tell you how close we were to not returning on Friday, as the hospital equipment had to arrive at the house before they would release him. And here I must thank the St. Francis Hospital staff in Federal Way, who organized everything we needed to insure that should the hospital equipment arrive by 5:30pm (our deadline was 5:30pm or he would have had to stay an extra 12 hours), that Dad would get released immediately. Literally, five minutes after I got the call that the equipment was finally arriving 4:45pm Friday afternoon, and after the doc and social services had already left for the weekend, the nurse had me signing the paperwork to let him go.

So, he arrived home in an ambulance and was wheeled inside the house on a gurney, happy as a clam. He asked and received some Chinese food. He was able to pet his dog again.

Now, his goal is to last until mom’s return on Monday, then go to sleep on Tuesday and not awaken, or as his stroke-altered speaking style puts it, “I will then be six-feet under, flat”. We don’t want to burst his bubble, was we suspect he still has at least a few weeks, but if he can will himself to pass on Tuesday, then we all support him.

Due to his stroke 17 years ago, it’s been a long road for him to this point. He’s tried lightly to recover. So, if he’s ready to go, so be it. He’s earned it.