So the anti-biotics in January became two courses. My breathing became quiet when I am still. My walking distance gets shorter and shorter, but that’s mainly ok, as I rarely go anywhere with Michael.
I attempted to purchase a mobility scooter online. It promised smoother ride and folds up cleverly to put in the boot. The abbreviate a long, horrendous story, I used it once and it shook me around like a bucking bronco and made such a noise that I felt incredibly conspicuous. I was left in tears from pain and frustration and anger that so much is complicated about having disabilities. In The end, Michael took it back to Preston in the car, which took over seven hours as there were road works. I am so grateful.
On the 12th of March I requested that my Dad stay in bed: he was so tired and could barely muster a smile at me. The next day he ate little but drank. The next day I went in and offered him yogurt, even leaving a tiny bit on his lip so he could smell it and maybe taste it. I had to wipe it away. He took some water for almost the last time. On 17th March, he was hospiced within the care home. The GP brought in Controlled Drugs and and the few medications he took orally were stopped. He was given a mild opiate in a patch to keep him pain free, and before he died he only had three child doses of morphine. He did have a fever initially, but I wiped his skin with cool damp cloths and kept his covers light. I gave him mouth care in the hours I spent there everyday, as this was something I could do for him, an act of love.
Dad’s last birthday came and I sat with him, telling him it was okay to go, to please let go and be free. I sent my daughter home, and climbed onto his bed, putting my arms around him. I dozed a little, on and off, but awakened suddenly at 1.15 am. Dad was no longer there. I climbed off his bed, closed his eyes and bade him safe journey.
The staff were amazed when I told them Dad was gone. The nurse had only been in a few minutes before and did not suspect end of life was near.
I will miss my Dad more than I can say. He gave me so much. The response to his death has been unanimous – ‘lovely, lovely man’, ‘I loved your Dad’, ‘such a gentle man’, ‘if we were all as content as your Dad, how rich we would be’.