What Must He Think?

The last few days feel like a blur to me despite (and maybe because of) the intense focus on planning, explaining, thinking, grieving, and feeling my way through unknown territory. I've spoken with so many people; family, caregivers, doctor, dentist, pastor, social worker, nurse(s), and my colleagues at work about these tough times with Dad's failing health. I'm amazed at the support and encouragement offered from people who really care about this tough situation. Dying is a family affair; a loved one's anticipated transition is part of living and we are preparing ourselves as best we can.

The curious and mysterious manifest in unpredictable ways (such a theme in my life of late) as the day to day events evolve. Several nights ago I could not imagine that my Dad would live longer than another few days. Today he looks the brightest I've seen him in several weeks. But things can change quickly, even over a few hours time. I'm learning not to draw too many conclusions. My experiences as a doctor, witness to countless deaths gives me a frame of reference but since my Dad is not my patient all my perceptions, conclusions, and predictions have questionable meaning.

As he rallies (slightly), I have to wonder what it must feel like to be on the receiving end of all this focused attention. Out of town family arriving, his pastor visiting, local family dropping by, new faces from the Hospice Services team must be a very strange experience. Add to this house calls from his personal physician and his dentist. Amazing. If it were me sitting in that chair watching people come and go, inquiring about my health and status, making small and large talk (on heavy topics such as end-of-life plans), I'd likely feel pretty weird inside. He doesn't say much but that isn't surprising to me. He has always been a private, inwardly directed thinker. I'd love to know but can only pray that his mind is comforted by all this loving attention and care.

He understands that I cannot wear the dual hats of doctor and daughter any longer. I'm obviously not his doctor but I have run interference for him in the confusing maze of our medical system. I've (perhaps) been a catalyst for superior care delivered at astonishing speed and efficiency simply by being present at all his doctor's appointments, by his bedside in the Emergency Room, and available to talk to any and all caregivers 24/7. In the last weeks I've found myself too involved and making decisions on his behalf that clearly belong to his personal physician. Sometimes it's just much easier to "do it myself" because I can. But that doesn't make it right. I get that. We move ahead with new plans that I hope I can live with; this will be my next challenge to quell the doctor in me and stick to being daughter.

We are moving into a phase where I'm hopeful that I'll be able to surrender some of the hands on care to qualified people and be a daughter to my Dad for whatever days are left. As he told me on Saturday, "I didn't realize I was that bad off." That one broke my heart for I can see with eyes that know what he does not. I cratered in that moment. Had my honesty been a dagger or a gift?

And so I ask, what must he think of all this? My hope is that he feels loved, cared for, protected and revered. All I know for sure is that he is my Dad, I am his daughter, and that I love him. Deeply.