A Good Life

Dad is no longer in pain.  He passed away at 4:15 this morning (11/15/2006).  I was staying up to watch him and a bit after 4, looked up, and he had simply stopped breathing.  No pain, no stress, just drifted away.  We like to think that now he’s playing with his favorite dog, Sadie, who passed away from a coincidentally similar cancer last year.

Most of the time, I’m ok with all of it.  It’s so much better than seeing him in the pain he’s been in off and on for the past 3 months.  But every once in a while it registers that he will really never be here anymore (like now) and I kinda have a little breakdown.  I’m guessing that won’t go away for a long while.

Thank you all for the well-wishes you’ve given.  I’m sorry I haven’t gotten back to everyone, but it definitely helps.

More unpleasantness

(again, please skip this one if you’re squeamish or particularly empathetic)

So, not shockingly, the past couple of weeks have been a major roller coaster.  On the one hand, tons of folks have come by and called and stuff.  And I think I’ve become much closer to my siblings (technically one half-brother, one step-sister, 2 step brothers, but they’ll always be brothers and sister to me)… not to mention introducing them to the big box o’ games I brought with me (favorites seem to be Bohnanza, Coloretto and Spank the Monkey).

On the other, watching dad progress, knowing you can’t do a damned thing to help, while even the pain pills don’t always do much, is killing me.  And he is progressing.  Lately, he can’t really eat anymore.  He’s tried, but his digestive system is messed up… nothing goes through.  And he sleeps more and more each day.

As I’m not working or anything, I volunteer every chance I get to help out my step-mom with taking care of dad.  She’s actually bearing the brunt of this whole thing, as he generally won’t talk to anyone else.  For a bit, he was taking the pills every 2 hours and we had to wake him up for that.  I generally got the late night shift, and she took early morning.  Now, they’ve switched up the meds so he only takes stuff as necessary.  Oh, and we set up a baby monitor so I can hear him if he needs something while I’m sleeping (I sleep lightly).  Even now, I can hear him snore softly and occasionally grunt in pain.  I wince every time I hear that.

Ah well, there’s so much more going on, but that’s the big stuff. I wish I had started a new blog just to describe this experience. Sometimes the whole ordeal seems easier than it should, but more often, it’s so much harder (especially late at night). Dad did call me over to tell me a very heartfelt ‘I love you’ a few minutes ago though. I think it was because I so calmly cleaned up the blood-clot laden puke from his basin. Dunno.

Oh, and also… Hospice is quite possibly the most amazing service I’ve ever experienced. I had heard their name before, but never realized what they did. When next I volunteer, it will likely be for them.

A Long Drive

(This is (mostly) not a happy story… you’ve been warned)

As some of you know, my Dad was recently diagnosed with Stage 4 Melanoma. They operated, but it came back within a week. He’s been looking in to clinical trials and what-not since. Since I don’t currently have a job, I decided to drive down to Florida and stay for a bit. Additionally, I promised my brother I’d make it to one of his football games this season. And the big rival game was October 13th. So last week I packed up and headed down.

The trip down was uneventful. I made it in 2 days, and the GPS stuff Mike lent me was a huge help. Thanks Mike!

When I was about an hour and half out on Thursday night, my sister called and said to go straight to the hospital. She didn’t want to tell me why, but I forced it out of her. I knew Dad had checked in that morning, but it didn’t seem all that serious at the time. All I knew was that he hadn’t eaten anything in about 5 days and was having some pretty bad stomach pains. As it turns out, they had discovered a mass in his stomach and many more in his intestines, and they were all malignant. There’s nothing they can do. It’s just too spread out. They had said at least six months…. it’s only been three :(

Anyway, Dad was in pretty bad shape, but mostly because the mass in his stomach was ulcerous and he was bleeding internally. They gave him some more blood over the night (I stayed with him Thursday night in the ICU) and that helped a lot. In a move that surprised everyone, they actually let him check out in Hospice care on Friday evening to go to Tony’s (my brother’s) game.

Not only was the game against the team’s big rival, but a win would secure a playoff spot as well. And while the coaches and family knew Dad was on his way, Tony didn’t. It must’ve inspired him mightily though, to see his Dad on a stretcher on the sidelines. He had a great game, and ‘Persampieri on the tackle’ was announced quite a few times. As the game went on, Dad seemed to gain strength… Hell, he even managed to put down a sausage :) Additionally, Tony’s team came back and scored all their nine points (including a field goal with 1 second left) with under 2 and a half minutes left to win 9-8. The students stormed the field, and everyone was a-whoopin’ and a-hollerin’, including Dad (well, without the storming the field part). Tony came over pretty much immediately, and after the celebrations a bunch of his teammates, and a couple of the coaches came over to hug Dad and shake his hand and stuff. It was the single most emotional and amazing experience I have ever seen. Many tears were shed.

To top it off, when Tony came home later that evening (he had to go back to the locker room with the team for debriefing and stuff), he called everyone in to the living room, and presented Dad with the game-ball.

Man.

Dad’s officially in Hospice care now, but sometimes it’s easy to forget. He’s pretty energetic, and has a (somewhat) decent appetite back. The social worker mentioned that we were ruthless for all the fun we poke at each other (including Dad, of course). He’s in a lot of pain, but has some pretty strong meds to counter it. Hospice says that there’s no reason whatsoever he should be uncomfortable. And the house has been constantly crammed with folks coming to see him. Co-workers, long time friends, teammates from the WTFL (White-Trash Football League, his Saturday football game), ‘adopted’ friends of his kids and all their families. The man is extremely loved. We don’t know how much longer he has… the doc said it’s anywhere from hours to weeks, there’s just no way to tell. Rest assured we’ll make the best of it as we can.

So, that’s it… tomorrow, the kids go back to school and work. And Hospice delivers an adjustable bed and is gonna set it up smack dab in the middle of the living room (we joke it’s so that he can always have the TV).

I still don’t know what I’m going to do workwise. One of the guys that Dad used to work with has a brother who is a big name in the game industry and is apparently starting something new, so he’s gonna pass on my resume. Maybe his bro would be cool with someone telecommuting? And I’m hoping an opportunity at Boston College might still happen. We shall see. If anyone knows of any temporary contract programming that needs to be done, I sure would appreciate the info. :) The hope is that I get a job and can help out with bills around here. The damned medical fees are absolutely insane. There’s actually talk of having to sell the house. Bah :(

Ah well. I don’t have any moral conclusions or anything to make. I just needed to tell the story.

Be well, all. And tell your loved ones how much they mean to ya while you can (ok, maybe a *little* conclusion).