Well, my dad's still in Royal Columbian Hospital. I guess I never really did update my blog about it. He's had multiple surgeries, and the nurses have hinted on occasion that he might not make it through the night.
We had another such call tonight. He went in for some surgery, and it looks like he's having trouble pulling out. Breathing is weak. The hospital called to let us know, and of course they are doing their best and trying this and that.
I missed the call and they spoke with my sister. Who then relayed it to me in the most long-winded fashion imaginable. And she wanted me to call the specialist later to get an update.
I suppose the feel-good thing would be to call the hospital, but at this point, I'm not sure what the point would be. I'm sure if they're not busy with my dad, they're busy tending other patients. And if something happened, they'd try to call. Meanwhile, why bother them?
And why load me with detailed information about the exact procedures? Where I know about them or not makes no difference. All I really needed to know was that he was having a hard time -- to put it bluntly, that he might die and I should go see him. Just in case. To be there at the end. If it really will be the end this time.Even if I were right there in the hospital throughout the night, there's nothing I could do to change his condition. It's up to the hospital staff now, and we have to trust that they are doing the best they can. We've never really had a choice there.
We've all seen him deteriorate so it wouldn't necessarily be a surprise if he did pass away, but I guess no one is ever really ready to lose someone to something as permanent as death.
And if he does pull through, he can expect mashed potato for lunch. Again. Just like every other day for the months he's been in the hospital. Every. Single. Day.
Swell.
We had another such call tonight. He went in for some surgery, and it looks like he's having trouble pulling out. Breathing is weak. The hospital called to let us know, and of course they are doing their best and trying this and that.
I missed the call and they spoke with my sister. Who then relayed it to me in the most long-winded fashion imaginable. And she wanted me to call the specialist later to get an update.
I suppose the feel-good thing would be to call the hospital, but at this point, I'm not sure what the point would be. I'm sure if they're not busy with my dad, they're busy tending other patients. And if something happened, they'd try to call. Meanwhile, why bother them?
And why load me with detailed information about the exact procedures? Where I know about them or not makes no difference. All I really needed to know was that he was having a hard time -- to put it bluntly, that he might die and I should go see him. Just in case. To be there at the end. If it really will be the end this time.Even if I were right there in the hospital throughout the night, there's nothing I could do to change his condition. It's up to the hospital staff now, and we have to trust that they are doing the best they can. We've never really had a choice there.
We've all seen him deteriorate so it wouldn't necessarily be a surprise if he did pass away, but I guess no one is ever really ready to lose someone to something as permanent as death.
And if he does pull through, he can expect mashed potato for lunch. Again. Just like every other day for the months he's been in the hospital. Every. Single. Day.
Swell.
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