You Are Dying

My 80-year-old father sits upright in his hospital bed.  He has been in the hospital for a week.  He is suffering from congestive heart failure and stage 4 esophageal cancer.  The cancer treatments are adversely affecting his fragile heart.  The palliative care nurse called me yesterday.  "This is not an emergency, but we need to have a meeting right away to discuss your father's DNR."

My father's mind is still sharp, but the time in the hospital weakens his body and dulls his mind. The nurse and I are trying to get the seriousness of his situation across to him.  He is in denial.  He still wants to outlive his doctors, but the truth is, he could go into cardiac arrest at any moment. 

The nurse leans forward and rests her hand on his leg.  "Listen, you are dying," she says.  She is stating it not to be mean but to cut through some of his protests.  She goes on to explain that he doesn't want CPR.  There is little chance of success and even less chance to come back to his same fragile state.

Age and sudden weight loss have caused the skin of my father's face to hang in deep folds.  His forehead is shiny with wisps of white hair.  He swallows back his emotions before he replies.  He concedes her point... reluctantly.

I am running around the hospital for the next hour, getting documents filled out and wrangling witnesses to sign. 

*    *    *

Two weeks before this conversation, I sat across from a psychic.  She was the real deal.  She asked me two things: my name and my age.  From there, she began to tell me things I didn't want to hear.  She described Billy. She said Billy's new relationship was not ending any time soon.  She said my father's health was fragile and that I would be the one taking care of him.  She is right.