At any cost

My sister, the eldest and I drove to Newcastle yesterday to visit my dad at the nursing home.

Old age is a cruel mistress.

My dad is in a pretty bad way. He has Parkinson’s Disease and infections are running rampant through his body. An x-ray has revealed the one in his foot has entered the bone.

It’s a condition called osteomyelitis. Most people with osteomyelitis need surgery to remove areas of the affected bone. After surgery, most often people need strong antibiotics given through a vein for many weeks.

Dad is not most people – he isn’t strong enough for surgery. He doesn’t have the strength to sit up in a chair or even feed himself.

Mum bought him a comfy recliner last year that he can no longer use – he is now so weak that he slides off it.

He can either lie in bed or be wheeled around in something that resembles a padded wheelbarrow crossed with a hospital trolley.

We asked a nurse if we should remove the recliner from his room to make space and she pragmatically replied “well he’ll never sit in it again”.

She said it in front of my father. He looked over and jokingly said “bye, bye, bye, bye” to each of us in turn, accompanied by a weak wave.

Black humour.

I burst out laughing, then panicked that it was a completely inappropriate reaction to my dad pretending to give his final farewell.

My sister feared his final goodbye was pretty close over the weekend, he was so ravaged by fever. But the medical staff have switched him to new antibiotics, which seem to be battling the infections better.

This is good and bad. He is slightly more comfortable, but he is also a skeletal, miserable wreck, trapped in a medical system that keeps people alive at any cost, even when they would rather go.

When the eldest and I got home yesterday we were pretty exhausted, both emotionally and physically. But my sister and my mum carry a far heavier burden, as they live close to the nursing home and visit regularly.

I can’t imagine what feels like to stare death in the eye. Much as you might think you are ready, it must still be scary to face the end.

Would it be better if it was sudden, rather than painful and drawn out, lying trapped in a bed with no hope of recovery?

I Googled “voluntary assisted dying last night”. Cheery reading.

The NSW Health site stated that “healthcare workers must make sure the patient is aware that there are other treatment and palliative care options available to them”.

But palliative care is for the terminally ill, so I don’t understand why that might be a better option for someone who wants their suffering to end.

My heart is heavy this morning. But there are dogs to walk and there is work to do.

It’s time for me to get out of bed and get on with it.