I had that panicky email from my Brother in law last Thursday - Dad's gone into hospital - looks like this might be it - if you're going to visit you had better do it quickly.
He's 89, virtually blind, hard of hearing. Barely able to walk even with help, and at serious risk of falls.
On Thursday he was weak, dehydrated and panting for breath (while proclaiming to be fine). So they rushed him into hospital.
We saw him on Friday morning. Looking like a pal;id, jaundiced skeleton. On a drip, catheter and oxygen mask. Dr said he was stable, suffering from a chest infection which caused the loss of appetite (hence weakness and dehydration) and the panting. Antibiotics would fix the infection, and everything else would follow.
He kept saying he was cold. The nurses dismissed this as just a perception owing to his fever, and would not get him a blanket. So we had to put a vest on him, which meant disconnecting the drip and then waiting for ages for them to reconnect it. Ditto, later, cardigan.
We visited again on Friday. He was in a bigger room, off the drip and oxygen, looking a better colour, eating and drinking more, chatting more, sleeping less. Dr was right! Talk was now of what to do with him next. He is too weak to go home and Mum is too weak (and getting batty) to look after him. So it will probably be a nursing home.
My Brother and Sister were both there too, and Mum: the first family gathering for years. So I took the chance to shyly and tentatively do a speech, which came out all wrong. "He's one of the best Dad's in the world". Brother jumped on that - "ONE of the best??? THE best!". I couldn't agree more. Everything that I am comes from him (with elements of Mum as well of course).
I love him to bits. It will hurt more than I realised it would, when he goes. But the time has come when it will be kindest to let him go to Glory.
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