I just brought dad back from his stay at the hospital. He went there in bad shape, with kidney failure, weak and sick. While there, he suffered a heart attack, the worst yet. Last year he had a small heart attack while in the hospital. This one was much worse. He was unconscious for over an hour, he says, and his breathing is still halting, different from before. He is stooped over and silent, barely able to walk with the walker, though the doctors say he must exercise, getting back to his usual routine as soon as possible.
He must be on a strict diet and limited liquid because of the danger of congested heart failure. This concerns him more than anything else, it seems. He will not be able to eat the wonderful foods he loves so much, like a big bowl of matzo ball soup or a lamb chop. He must be weighed every day, so I stopped and bought a scale on the way home, which we put in the bathroom. If he gains more than 3 lbs in a day, he must go to the emergency room.
So many rules. He doesn't think he will be able to go to the center anymore because the food they get there will not suit his diet.
Meanwhile, when we got there, the caregiver told me that my mom will not eat. She wanders around all night. The caregiver had to lie down next to her to get her to stay in bed, and had to feed her to get her to eat anything at all. My mom keeps saying she wants to go home. I don't know what to do about this.
Clearly, this is close to the end. He may improve somewhat, but I don't think he is ever going to be the same again. This episode has diminished him, has made him grasp his mortality, and saddened all of us.