I've made multiple numbering errors. If I add 160 onto the amount, I might be close or not. Someday when I have massive amounts of time on my hands, I will fix the numbering. Or not.
The ides of March, made famous by the line in Shakespeare's Julius Caersar. "Beware the ides of March" which sounds creepy and cool so, since I was in high school, I tried to make a point of intoning that line every March 15, just to make myself sound well-read and knowledgeable.
But today, I reflect on the Ides of March two years ago, several months before I started this blog. I went to Rockford to help out, do whatever. My father was very ill. I was trying to convince my family that hospice could help but nobody wanted to hear that. He had a metastasic tumor in his brain, I certainly knew what THAT meant. I took all of my brain tumor stuff with me.
Several difficult tasks awaited me. I think I knew about them before I went though I didn't comprehend their enormity until I started through them. My contribution was to make these events come off.
My father had been in the intensive nursing unit for some time. As usual, he was complaining that he wanted to come home. I'm sure that his brain tumor did not help his cognitive abilities. Quite a few times, he insisted that he could go home. As an example, I asked him if he felt that he would be able to go out and get the mail, which is quite a complicated process when you break it down. Of course I can, he assured me, which told me that he had lost the judgement regarding his own capabilities.
A care plan meeting was planned in the morning. I knew that my mom did not feel that he could 'come home' under any circumstances. 'Come home' meant to physically be in their cottage 'across the street'. I realized that when my father said 'come home' he meant coming home and be in the condition that he was 10 years ago. We all want that. So on my arrival, I conferred with the social services staff and realized that there had to be a pre-meeting and a pre-pre-meeting to make this all happen. I arranged all of this. When we had the meeting itself, my father had to sit there in his wheelchair and be told that he could not 'go home'. Tears welled in my eyes because I knew that this was NOT what he wanted to hear. I felt so badly for him.
Aside #1 - apparently my father was not taking any decadron, I never did figure that out. They weaned him off and, even at the end, I don't think he got any
Aside #2 - as part of the deal with WW, he got 10 free nursing days. I was convinced he would pass away after Day 10 because, above all, my father liked to save money
But that was just the start. In the afternoon, there was an appointment with his internist. Arrangements were made to go in a wheelchair van. My mother and I went and waited anxiously with him. Generally, my father would not allow me into his medical appointments, he wouldn't let me in the waiting room; he wouldn't even let me in the car. But now it was different, I was the one in charge.
As expected, the doctor told him that the tumor had not responded to the radiation and he revealed (which I figured all along) that treatment was palliative. No other treatments were suggested. Nothing more could be done. He would die of this brain tumor. All that could be done was to keep him comfortable. The doctor communicated this quietly and clearly. Yikes!
We went back to the nursing home and I helped him back into bed. Then he said something very surprising. I don't know how much he comprehended about what had gone on that day. He said "Thank you very much Sandy for all of your help today". I was stunned, this was so unlike him in regards to me. Usually he was fighting me all the way, it was none of my g-d business. It was very touching on such a tragic day.
Then I had to go back to my parent's home and set up hospice and talk to the hospice worker.
What a day, I contributed by facilitating all of the pieces, I kept this all going and moving forward. That was my task.
But I will never lightly say "Beware the Ides of March" because I've already had it.
My father passed away on April 19, 2007. On my birthday. Picture taken June 2006 as he was pretending to work on his roses.
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