"Will I Lose My Dignity? Will Someone Care? Will I Wake Tomorrow from this Nightmare?" ~Rent
I've been wrestling with myself on whether or not to do this. I may end up depressing everyone out there. But, I'm thinkin' it could be good for me to do.
On March 16th my Dad passed away. He really was a great man. But he had problems with lonliness, expressing himself and being a workaholic. Somewhere in all that, he became an alcoholic.
My sister and I didn't even know until 2 years ago when we got this crazy emergency call from his fiancee. We rushed to Texas. He was in the hospital due to rectal bleeding and they found that the alcohol had done some serious damage. His liver, stomach and esophagus were unrepairable. He was told, one more drink and he wouldn't last more than 5 years.
We got him into an outpatient program. His finacee could no longer be with him. So, we called a lot to check in on him.
He seemed to be doing so much better. He was no longer crying when he talked to us, he called us a lot, and he just seemed happy.
Dad did start sounding odd not too long ago. He said that his electrolytes were low and that it wasn't alcohol related. Hey, addicts never lie.
Carol and I got a call in Jan. Dad had some confusion in an airport and his secretary had to call the airlines to help him out. They took him to a Houston hospital. Carol left for Texas to see what she could do.
Carol and Erin (his ex-fiancee but good friend) took Dad to the Dr. Carol called me that night at work to tell me that without a liver transplant he only had 3 - 6 months to live.
Dad didn't make it a month. I had plans to see him the week after he passed. I made an emergency trip to Texas on Tuesday morning. My younger brother was there on spring break and I had to get there for him and Dad. Mostly Dad.
I went to see Dad Tuesday. Things weren't looking good at all. His kidneys were in the process of shutting down. But, the docs seemed hopeful that he'd make it through the transplant evaluation and possibly to transplant.
That liver is a handy organ. Possibly the most important. When it doesn't work the amonia levels rise in the brain, the blood isn't filtered from the bad stuff and the organs start shutting down one by one.
I went back to the house that afternoon. I told Dad I'd try to get back out to see him that night. He wasn't all that lucid... he mumbled something to me. I went to the grocery store and then the house. I was so tired and stressed by other things and poor Dad that I decided to stay there for the night. I wish I'd gone back, he was aware and talking a bit that evening.
Carol and Robert were driving into town Wednesday. I went to see Dad that afternoon and the prognosis seemed so hopeful. His kidneys were working, they just had to get those amonia levels down. He was totally out of it, but things were looking up.
I went back to the house to wait for Carol and Robert. Then all together we went back to the hospital.
By the time we got there, Dad wasn't in his room. Possible stroke and he was bleeding from somewhere. He went into respiratory arrest (which is common for liver patients). When they got him back, his eyes were all yellow and unblinking. He was on a respirator (he hated that, we could tell). We made the decision not to have the doctor search for the bleed, Dad wanted NO unneccesary actions.
Long story made sorta shorter, we had Dad taken off the respirator at 11:45pm. This was after we confirmed that there was no hope. Through those hours he was on it, we could see him watching us... unblinking. We apologized for keeping him on it. I wiped the tears from his eye that was crying. All I wanted to do was let him die.
Dad passed at 2:45am. I know this for a fact because I saw the electrical pulses fade from the heart monitor. The hospital's official time is 3am.
I'm 33 years old and I lost my father. When we found out how serious it was, I thought that maybe it wouldn't make a huge difference in our lives since he lived so far away. But it does. I feel part of myself missing. There was a comfort knowing that he was there when I wanted to talk to him. Now I can't.
My kids will never know their Granddaddy. They loved him, but never got to know him. I'll forever wish I'd stayed with him that night. Just for some last words from him. Just to hear him say he loved me, one last time.
Here is why I'm putting this here. He escaped from his pain in alcohol. I find myself trying to hide my pain all the time. I have a real aversion to crying in public or showing negative emotions altogether. I feel like I'm burdening my friends with my problems, that they wouldn't want to know. Even though I always want to know theirs. I don't want to fall into that trap. I'm going to be making a real effort to express those bad things more.
Also, I know that some of you are heavy drinkers. I know that some have small children, some don't. I'm now going to go into some horrific details of what it is to die of end stage liver disease. You need to know.
The amonia levels in the brain rise. People can become nasty mean and overly confused. Thier conversations travel in circles because they rarely remember what's been said.
The treatment for this, lactulose, makes you have to poo all the time. Dad was trying to wean himself off this stuff because he hated living on the pot. It was that or die.
So, they were giving him the lactulose. He was shitting himself. They had to keep cleaning him up. When the poo became more liquid then they inserted a tube. I could watch it coming out of him and into the bag. I saw the blood come through with it.
The bilirubin levels rise. That yellow skin and yellow eyes is jaundice.
Dad had to have his esophagus banded. Surgery to band the veins so that he wouldn't bleed out.
He lost his sense of balance. The night before he went to the hospital, he face-planted in a parking lot. The side of his face was horribly bruised.
The water retention called ascites is horrendous. Laying on that bed, Dad had a belly the size of mine when I was 9 months pregnant. Full of air and fluid. Many times the doctors can drain you. The stomach, the ankles...
Dad was losing a lot of blood. He was filling 1000 cc cups rapidly. At one point, blood started seeping out of his mouth. It got heavier and heavier. Blood was everywhere. All over him and the floor. I had to see this.
My dog died with more dignity. This is a man who was a fucking genius. He went to accelerated med school. He retired as a colonel from the Air Force. He made himself a name in the world of medical research, engineering and as an expert witness. No fucking dignity in this. I would have wanted it over too.
On March 16th my Dad passed away. He really was a great man. But he had problems with lonliness, expressing himself and being a workaholic. Somewhere in all that, he became an alcoholic.
My sister and I didn't even know until 2 years ago when we got this crazy emergency call from his fiancee. We rushed to Texas. He was in the hospital due to rectal bleeding and they found that the alcohol had done some serious damage. His liver, stomach and esophagus were unrepairable. He was told, one more drink and he wouldn't last more than 5 years.
We got him into an outpatient program. His finacee could no longer be with him. So, we called a lot to check in on him.
He seemed to be doing so much better. He was no longer crying when he talked to us, he called us a lot, and he just seemed happy.
Dad did start sounding odd not too long ago. He said that his electrolytes were low and that it wasn't alcohol related. Hey, addicts never lie.
Carol and I got a call in Jan. Dad had some confusion in an airport and his secretary had to call the airlines to help him out. They took him to a Houston hospital. Carol left for Texas to see what she could do.
Carol and Erin (his ex-fiancee but good friend) took Dad to the Dr. Carol called me that night at work to tell me that without a liver transplant he only had 3 - 6 months to live.
Dad didn't make it a month. I had plans to see him the week after he passed. I made an emergency trip to Texas on Tuesday morning. My younger brother was there on spring break and I had to get there for him and Dad. Mostly Dad.
I went to see Dad Tuesday. Things weren't looking good at all. His kidneys were in the process of shutting down. But, the docs seemed hopeful that he'd make it through the transplant evaluation and possibly to transplant.
That liver is a handy organ. Possibly the most important. When it doesn't work the amonia levels rise in the brain, the blood isn't filtered from the bad stuff and the organs start shutting down one by one.
I went back to the house that afternoon. I told Dad I'd try to get back out to see him that night. He wasn't all that lucid... he mumbled something to me. I went to the grocery store and then the house. I was so tired and stressed by other things and poor Dad that I decided to stay there for the night. I wish I'd gone back, he was aware and talking a bit that evening.
Carol and Robert were driving into town Wednesday. I went to see Dad that afternoon and the prognosis seemed so hopeful. His kidneys were working, they just had to get those amonia levels down. He was totally out of it, but things were looking up.
I went back to the house to wait for Carol and Robert. Then all together we went back to the hospital.
By the time we got there, Dad wasn't in his room. Possible stroke and he was bleeding from somewhere. He went into respiratory arrest (which is common for liver patients). When they got him back, his eyes were all yellow and unblinking. He was on a respirator (he hated that, we could tell). We made the decision not to have the doctor search for the bleed, Dad wanted NO unneccesary actions.
Long story made sorta shorter, we had Dad taken off the respirator at 11:45pm. This was after we confirmed that there was no hope. Through those hours he was on it, we could see him watching us... unblinking. We apologized for keeping him on it. I wiped the tears from his eye that was crying. All I wanted to do was let him die.
Dad passed at 2:45am. I know this for a fact because I saw the electrical pulses fade from the heart monitor. The hospital's official time is 3am.
I'm 33 years old and I lost my father. When we found out how serious it was, I thought that maybe it wouldn't make a huge difference in our lives since he lived so far away. But it does. I feel part of myself missing. There was a comfort knowing that he was there when I wanted to talk to him. Now I can't.
My kids will never know their Granddaddy. They loved him, but never got to know him. I'll forever wish I'd stayed with him that night. Just for some last words from him. Just to hear him say he loved me, one last time.
Here is why I'm putting this here. He escaped from his pain in alcohol. I find myself trying to hide my pain all the time. I have a real aversion to crying in public or showing negative emotions altogether. I feel like I'm burdening my friends with my problems, that they wouldn't want to know. Even though I always want to know theirs. I don't want to fall into that trap. I'm going to be making a real effort to express those bad things more.
Also, I know that some of you are heavy drinkers. I know that some have small children, some don't. I'm now going to go into some horrific details of what it is to die of end stage liver disease. You need to know.
The amonia levels in the brain rise. People can become nasty mean and overly confused. Thier conversations travel in circles because they rarely remember what's been said.
The treatment for this, lactulose, makes you have to poo all the time. Dad was trying to wean himself off this stuff because he hated living on the pot. It was that or die.
So, they were giving him the lactulose. He was shitting himself. They had to keep cleaning him up. When the poo became more liquid then they inserted a tube. I could watch it coming out of him and into the bag. I saw the blood come through with it.
The bilirubin levels rise. That yellow skin and yellow eyes is jaundice.
Dad had to have his esophagus banded. Surgery to band the veins so that he wouldn't bleed out.
He lost his sense of balance. The night before he went to the hospital, he face-planted in a parking lot. The side of his face was horribly bruised.
The water retention called ascites is horrendous. Laying on that bed, Dad had a belly the size of mine when I was 9 months pregnant. Full of air and fluid. Many times the doctors can drain you. The stomach, the ankles...
Dad was losing a lot of blood. He was filling 1000 cc cups rapidly. At one point, blood started seeping out of his mouth. It got heavier and heavier. Blood was everywhere. All over him and the floor. I had to see this.
My dog died with more dignity. This is a man who was a fucking genius. He went to accelerated med school. He retired as a colonel from the Air Force. He made himself a name in the world of medical research, engineering and as an expert witness. No fucking dignity in this. I would have wanted it over too.