Today the day came that I have dreaded for a long time. I was in yoga class and thought I heard my phone ring. I don't answer during class, but afterwards, I picked it up when it rang, and found it was the social worker from hospice, and that there were other calls there as well. My dad was dying, the social worker said... not my mom, as I expected. After I left yesterday, he fell asleep, in some pain because of the bladder infection, and apparently, his Congestive Heart Failure just flared up, filling his chest with liquid. By the time I arrived, at about 11:15, his mouth was open; he was unconscious, and raspy, rattly breathing was coming from his throat, very laboriously. He was somewhat cold to the touch, and very pale. I watched him for hours, occasionally holding his hand and speaking to him, but mostly just sitting there.
My mother was very anxious, throwing her legs around, and said my dad was calling to her. But today she was more alert than usual, and ate more, even some potato salad I left the day before by mistake, so I will leave it there, hoping she will eat it. There is chicken salad too, and maybe she will eat it.
The doctor refused to sign the papers for hospice, despite the fact that she is the one who told me to take mom out of the nursing home and put her on hospice because she wasn't eating. The caregiver called her up and yelled at her, and finally she gave in. The nurses came in the afternoon, and gave my mother morphine because they said she was uncomfortable.
I spent all afternoon going to the Omega Society arranging burials and learning more about that whole process. What a horrible business!
If dad dies tonight, I must get up and go there to give them a check because they wouldn't take it today, before the fact.
Kurt called from school, and said I could take two more days off. I hope it is all over by then. I have my doubts.