Dad has been on hospice care at home for nine months now. Last spring, we were expecting him to pass on at any time. He could barely swallow, and it seemed he would choke TOO much or quit eating because it was so torturous. But we had no idea of his will to live!
Somehow, amazingly, miraculously, his throat has remembered(?) how to swallow better. We feed him his favorite, (virtually) pureed foods, too, which helps.
Nevertheless, he has grown weaker at an increasing rate. He has not been able to stand in over a month. Now he cannot even sit unsupported, except rarely, for brief moments. He sleeps more than ever, now about 20 hours most days.
On Fridays, both the hospice RN and CNA visit Dad. They are my main resources for Dad’s changing needs and how to meet them. Hospice also provides most of Dad’s equipment, medicines, and supplies. Today they carpooled up the Canyon. Dad actually heard them enter and greeted them cheerfully. That was the end of his attention and energy, however. He slept through all their ministrations!
The RN, Anita, takes his vital signs and measures his “INR,” to see if his Warfarin/Coumadin (blood thinner/anticoagulant) is within range. Dad had embolisms almost 6 years ago, with blood clots probably from his feet passing into his lungs. (That’s what started my caregiving visits during all summer and winter holidays.)
Now that Dad does not move, his feet have a tendency to swell alarmingly if they dangle very long. (At Christmas, one foot swelled like a balloon, turned red and then purple!) I moved the bedrail on one side of his hospital bed down to block his right foot from hanging over the edge when he rolls to his right side. Also, I brought up an old hassock from the basement to put next to the sofa. (Dad spends about 12 hours in bed and 10 on the sofa, with two one-hour meal breaks in his wheelchair.)
Caroline (hospice CNA) came once a week for months, then twice a week, to shave and wash Dad. At first he could stand in the shower. By the end (February), he was bed bound. She is standing next to a painting my father did way back when. (We just found it, hidden away. It’s too late to ask Dad when he painted it and which horse it is.)
The CNA, Caroline, shaves Dad while he’s still on the couch before she moves him back to bed and bathes him there. When he is cleaned, slathered with lotion, and dressed she returns Dad to either sofa to sleep on or to the dining table for lunch. Today, he was back to the couch, still asleep!
Anita and Caroline both talk with me a lot, too, to check on how I’m holding up and to keep tabs on the changes I’ve noticed over the past week. We all compare notes. They give me hints on what changes may be developing soon. Lately, we’ve noticed that Dad has been warmer than his usual block-of-ice snuggling up to a space heater. Hmm, nice.
Dad has had a couple of resurgent energy periods, lately, as well. I’m not sure, but I suspect that the more we speak of death and dying, the more determined he becomes to stay alive! His two very best longtime friends have died in the past month. I have been telling him of my research into what one’s soul does when one’s body dies. He listens attentively, asks a question or two—and that’s the end of it!