Letters By Your Bedside #2

Daddy today I viewed this beautiful facility where you would go and probably spend out your days. It had a fountain out front and the staff was super nice. I talked to everyone from the front desk staff, to billing, the head nurse and the respiratory care nurse and felt comforted that they would take care of you. They showed me your room and told me that I could decorate with family pictures. What pictures? Pictures of just Munch and I? Should I reach out to my siblings and ask could I get pictures for your room? All these thoughts and more ran through my mind. But the sun was shining. I felt it warm up and I knew that they would take care of you. Oh and there is some family friend that Auntie and Uncle know that works there and she promised she would look in on you every day she was there messing with you so you would smile. It was a good place daddy. I knew that you would like it.

Two hours later…

I arrived at the hospital after lunch with my uncle excited to see you and tell you about the facility. I sat there watching this big machine push air into your lungs and you’re sleep. What the hell happened? It hadn’t been 24 hours since I left. I called for the nurse and one of the lung doctors and the pallative doctor that I had just talked to the day before showed up with the nurse explaining that you had a bad night that you moved or pulled your trach out again and that the surgeon had to put it back I and put some cuff on around your neck. They explained that it can’t keep happening. That this will be your life and that the facility that I viewed two hours before is no longer an option. You needed long term care or pallative care and at this point I could choose between you dying in the hospital or another facility. There isn’t one near the hospital. I’m back to choosing. Choices.

You slept peacefully while they talked to me. The nurse tried to wake you up. You just closed your eyes. I told her she could leave. That I would sit here in silence and watch you while you slept. I’m okay.

The machine is loud. It hisses and pushes the air in your lungs. Your damn lungs. Why won’t they work the way the are supposed to? I kiss your hand and say a prayer. I need you to know that I’m here with you. Writing and crying and crying and writing but I need you to know that I got your back Daddy and I pray that you know that.

Too many damn choices to make. Daddy, this is so hard. I’m literally crying while you sleep, wiping my tears and praying you can’t hear my sobs. I just want you to wake up and go home. I am tired. This is the hardest thing I’ve ever done.

These are stream of consciousness posts that I’m writing as I sit in the hospital and watch my father deteriorate. It’s painful, but I’m here and when he’s sleep I’m writing. – TT

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