Tuesday in the ICU

Pretty in pink: The single-use oral swabs in the ICU are green,
but it makes me feel useful
 to dip one in water and quench Dad's thirst.
 In pink, you can almost mistake them for lollipops.

Today, Sis and Don came from Connecticut, and that was good. Sis is a scientist at NYU in New York City; she works three days a week on a team that develops and tests artificial limbs. But she can switch her days around when she needs to. Tomorrow, our brother Will is coming from NYC for a noon visit, and I think I'll try and meet him there.

Dad is hanging in there. But it turns out he has had about three heart attacks over the last week.

He's not going home. He's not going anywhere, the doctors said. At least not now. So I called Van Dyk Manor and told them not to hold the bed, which we'd been paying for by the day.

The Conversation
Sis and I, wearing yellow paper gowns over our clothes, conferred with him about the measures he wants taken should his body fail him. We've done it before, but not this directly. I'm his health care proxy by default--since Sis is the executor of his will, he chose his other daughter for health stuff. Or did he choose me because I'm a big softy, more emotional and less businesslike than Sis?

Basically, he wants it all. And I see why. He does not want to die. Who would?

I think this dialogue is accurate, but I may have a few words wrong:

Dad, the doctor said we should talk to you about some things. We want to find out what you want to do in certain situations. Like if you stop breathing, whether you want a tube in your windpipe.
Of course. Nobody should have that burden.
Burden?
Making that decision. You feel like a louse. 
A louse?
Yeah.
Okay, and if your blood pressure stays this low, they want to insert a line in your body for medicine to increase it. That would probably be in the groin area. Do you want that?
Why not. 
And if you stop breathing, do you want them to put a tube down your windpipe and attach it to a respirator?
Yes.
Okay. 
You're not going to go gracefully, what is that saying? quietly? into the night, Sis said with a laugh. I laughed back. It's true. And Dad, Sis and I have always joked a lot about things, seen the humor in them. I was very grateful to have this conversation with them.

Sis's Side
She is really worried that if they have to resuscitate him, it will hurt him and that then he will be stuck in a very uncomfortable, painful and limiting position, one she would not choose for herself.

I'm telling you now, don't pull the plug on me either, when I'm dying, I told her.
You better get it in writing, she said, smiling.
But I think Daddy is coming at this from his perspective about Mommy. He really thought she would get better, and wanted them to try everything, until the end.
Yeah, but she was fifty-six, and he is almost eighty-eight. And we all thought she'd get better.

Night Shift
I went back to see Dad tonight from about 8 to 9:20. He was resting kind of peacefully, and I swabbed out his mouth a few times and gave him a couple of ice chips. He told me again that I burned the soup, and asked if I finished my article about car repairs [yes].

I put my hand over his cotton hospital gown.
What are you doing? he asked.
Putting my hand over your heart. But actually, I'm not sure where it is. I'm never exactly sure where my heart is. Whether it's down lower, or more to the center of the chest.
He put his hand down more toward the center.
See, I knew you would know. You know so much.

Loose Ends
Did I mention that I also thought about Dr. Kevorkian tonight while I sat there? [Was he right or wrong to assist in suicides for the terminally ill?] And that while Dad snoozed a bit, I texted Moey, Anne and Patsy, and called Sis and Figgy?

Also made one more vital call: to the parish office at Saint Cassian, the church I've attended since 1990. I left a message asking if someone could go see him tomorrow. But I'm sure they will be busy, it being Ash Wednesday and all.

Good night. Thank you for listening. Must do revise of Miami article before head hits pillow.