Recently I posted about having to call 911 for my Dad after my sister and I found him in diabetic ketoacisosis on Valenentine's Day. It was scary but we'd been there before. We knew how it went. He would get admitted to the hospital, the medical team would work to get him stabilized. Then over a couple of days they would monitor him and educate him on how to avoid such a serious complication of Type 2 Diabetes.
He'd tell them he already knew everything and then he'd go home and be back to "normal".
Not this time.
This time he died.
He's gone.
It's my fault.
I know I didn't cause his death but a small part of me feels that if I had listened to my gut I could have done something. I can't fix my mistake and I will live with guilt for the rest of my life.
It started out the same as always only this time he was not bouncing back well. His blood sugar was erratic at best. Very high then hours later very low. I was really scared, I knew it wasn't the normal situation. My Dad told everyone he managed his diabetes well. Those closest to him knew he had his own "ideas" about what management meant and it wasn't what any Dr would agree was proper Diabetes management but you can't argue with a man like my Dad. By the end of his time in the hospital I had myself convinced he was getting older now and that's why his body was sluggish responding to medical intervention. If I am being honest it was a whitewash to make myself feel better. My Dad
is was 58. Hardly a man who should be in such ill health.
With the exception of a planned weekend away with my family, I had been with him round the clock with my mom, my sister and other family members coming to visit. While they visited I went home. I refused to go home for the most part though. Friends and family told me I needed a break and that I deserved not to cancel our getaway. I didn't. I wish I had. I'd give ANYTHING to get those 2 days back. But I can't change that. It's too late.
One morning my Dad was abruptly released from the hospital despite the fact that the admitting Dr said he could not be released until him was stable for 2 days. My Dad hadn't been stable for 12 hours let alone 2 days. I questioned the Dr and he told me that they felt my Dad needed to be released and wait for a call from the Diabetes Education Centre so he could learn how to care for himself. He felt there was nothing further they could do. I was really upset but it was already done. All that was left was to pack up his things and take him home.
The first day Dad wanted to go get his new prescriptions before going home. I refused him a trip out explaining he needed to get home and rest but promised to take him the next day. He was grumpy (not a shock) but he agreed. I got him home and settled. I made sure he had everything he needed, did a few things to make things easier/more comfortable for him. I brought his phone right to his side table so he wouldn't have to get up for it. Made him a bed on the sofa in case he got tired and didn't want to get up to go to bed. I stayed until he needed a nap.He laid down on the couch and I handed him the remote. I promised I'd be back later that evening. When I came back he was in better spirits. Perhaps being home was good for him.
The next day I went back after dropping Aussie and Roo at school. As promised I took him to the store to fill his prescriptions. I knew within 5 minutes that something wasn't right. He was exhausted, and chuffing like he was having a hard time breathing. I asked him to sit while I got what he needed. He had a walker (so not like my dad, but he couldn't walk without it) and was not even able to keep himself stable with it. I told him I thought he needed to go back to the hospital. He loudly expressed his displeasure with my opinion. I backed off and took him home. Where I stayed until it was time to pick up my kids. I told him I would check in with him later he told me to leave him alone and stop treating him like a child.
Later I spoke to my sister who lives out of town. She offered to go visit him. I thought he'd enjoy having a break from me. Normally he was over the moon excited when she was coming to visit. When I called him to tell him he was upset that I had sent her because he just wanted a break from company and he didn't want to be a burden. I understood but still felt he wasn't well. He yelled at me and I yelled back telling him that I was being a pain in the ass because I loved him and I was worried. It was the first time I told my Dad I loved him in decades. We don't say it normally. I don't know why but we don't. It caught him off guard but he backed down. I sent my sister a warning text so his anger didn't catch her off guard. She didn't deserve what she was walking into and I regret that it was her last visit with him. I wish he had been kinder to her. Though in hindsight I recognize that that wasn't really him. Either way I feel bad that it couldn't have been a more pleasant visit for the two of them.
The next day (Friday) I told him I'd come by later he said repeatedly he was sick of the door, the phone, company and everything else that was keeping him from sleeping. He said he just wanted uninterrupted time to sleep without being bothered. He begged me to just leave him alone. I decided to leave him alone.
I should have gone.
I wish I had gone.
But I was selfish.
The next morning I called to see if he needed me to pick him up anything on the way. He didn't answer. He didn't answer the second time I tried either, or the third. It was early in the morning but I knew he should be awake. I told my husband we needed to go. He didn't flinch when I said "we". He sensed my worry and woke Aussie to watch Roo so we could go. He too, sensed my worry and said "I hope he's ok". I called my best friend. I must have sounded like a lunatic. I remember telling her that I needed her to be on standby in case I needed her. She seemed to just understand what I was implying but didn't say the words out loud. She knew I was scared. I wasn't scared though. I was utterly filled with the kind of dread no person should ever have to feel. In my gut I already knew he was gone. I was on autopilot. I do not even remember driving to his house just that I did it in silence. My mind was reeling with possible outcomes. He's still sleeping, he's in the bath, his phone is turned down, he's dead. He's dead.... He's dead... I am going to have to find him. Oh my God, please let him be ok.
I unlocked his door, walked in and looked around. He was not in the common areas and the bathroom door was open showing me another empty room. Only one option now. He's in his bedroom. I walk down the corridor and I can hear the TV is on. Not uncommon for him. He often fell asleep to the TV. The closer I got the more scared I was. His door was open a crack and peering through the crack was enough for me to know. He's gone. I turned and shook my head at hubs, he knew what it meant. Without skipping a beat I went in, checked for a pulse I knew I wouldn't find. Opted not to attempt the life saving measures I've been trained to perform. It was far too late for that. His temperature was an indication that there was nothing to be done. I called 911 told them calmly and in plain words that I had found my father and explained the circumstances. While I waited for emergency services I covered him with his favorite blanket as if it might warm him back up. My best friend came to take hubs home to the kids and deal with stuff at home. The day was supposed to be my best friend and I taking our girls to see Strawberry Shortcake Live. Instead Aussie (16) went with her in my place to keep his sister from knowing what had happened. For the rest of my life that act will be one the kindest thing I've ever witnessed him do.
Instead of celebrating Roo's birthday with a special outing I was questioned by the police for nearly 2 hours (3 of them, all asking the same questions in different ways). I listened as they made hushed phone calls to corroborate my story of his recent stay in the hospital. No one was allowed to come to Dad's house until it was no longer a crime scene. So I was alone with them. Them and my Dad. All I wanted was my sister. She was at best an hour and a half away. It was agonizing to think that we didn't have a father anymore and I dreaded looking into her eyes and seeing the pain I was feeling. I managed to hold myself together until I saw her. She was broken. Her heart was in a million little pieces and it was plain as day she was processing it all faster than I was. Once the police were finished, our Doctor came to pronounce his death legally. Then I had to call to make arrangements for his body to be picked up and taken to the funeral home we had chosen. We made an appointment for today, (Monday) to go in to make the arrangements for the funeral because Roo's birthday party was yesterday and we had agreed to go ahead with it for her sake. None of it has hit me yet. I am still walking in a fog. Like it's not even real. How can he be gone. The one constant in my life is gone and I don't even know how to process that. Moving forward I know I still have my Mom and my sister. But we've been robbed and it's not fair.
