TEXTS: 3 Dec 2014: 15.02
Mum: Dad moving to room next to me great xxxx
Me: I can’t believe that!!! I’m so pleased.. I assume you are? And won’t be fretting about him? xxxx
Mum: I am over the moon xxxx
Me: Good… I’ve been begging whoever will listen to get you both together. I wish I were there, but am coming back this evening. Hug him, if you get to visit xxxx
Mum: Ok xxx. Trish Macmillan nurse is going to phone you this afternoon xxxx
Me: Great! Xxxx
Having gone home overnight to avoid Dad’s consultant, because they were talking of discharging him, to hear this new development was completely unexpected. When I’d left the hospital the previous day, I’d bumped into the loveliest young occupational therapist, who was on her way to see Mum, to help her with her breathing. All my worries came spilling out – the fear that they would discharge Dad at this point, that they were being forced apart after 59 and a half years of marriage… That I would have to choose who to spend my time with. She was so kind, so reassuring, and sounded surprised when, asked if I’d spoken to a MacMillan nurse, I said I hadn’t. She said to leave it with her, but I hadn’t really expected it to be followed up…..
True to her word, the MacMillan doctor telephoned me and she was incredible… Kind, professional, human – qualities that I’d found lacking in many of the doctors I’d spoken to. It was difficult for her to explain the situation to me, and her voice was hesitant at first; however, I was just pleased that finally someone was treating them as a married couple, and not two individual patients. She started by saying she would prefer to have the conversation with me face to face, but I explained that I was a 2 hour drive away, and wouldn’t get back there until late that evening… So, she agreed it was better to talk with me then, rather than delay the conversation until the following morning. She had seen both my parents and arranged for them both to be admitted to the local Macmillan Hospice as soon as there was a room free, which was likely to be Friday (some other poor family…. Their own loss to deal with). I knew immediately why she was afraid of telling me something like that over the telephone; a hospice will only take someone who has less than 2 weeks to live. I remember so clearly forcing myself to say in control when she said this, because, after all, I knew it really was the best news I could have hoped for. She then explained that Mum would have to have her feeding tube removed, because a hospice won’t take a patient with a nano-gastric tube, of course. So, once they move out, she will of course decline quickly…
Still…. Strange as it sounds, I was over the moon with this plan, because they’ve always said they will die together and this will be close to that…
I started to pack my bag ready for the post rush-hour journey back, feeling excited… It sounds callous, I suppose, but I’d done all I could to get them together and now they were going to be put in the same room, and within perhaps as little as two days, they’d be in a hospice together instead of a hospital, which I know my father hated… Just then, I received a text message from my cousin’s daughter… Miracle of miracles, they HAD moved them both into a larger, corner room, and she had sent me a beautiful, beautiful photograph of them lying side by side in their separate beds, but holding hands and looking at each other grinning. It really is the perfect picture…. Except…. The cachexia had completed changed my Dad, and yet… I loved two Dads at that time. The Dad I’d always known… Chunky, soft when he hugged me, jowly… Also, though, this “new” father… Frail, incredibly thin, hollow-cheeked…. Mum didn’t look so different… She had been losing weight more gradually because of the throat cancer, and on this photo looks rosy-cheeked and lovely…
I drove north, planning on going straight to their flat, not wanting to disturb them late at night. I was content that they were together, so it wasn’t as important that I was there, because they had each other… Just as I pulled off the motorway, though, my Dad’s brother telephoned me. He had just got home from visiting them, and said how happy they were to be together, but how dreadful my father looked and sounded, so frail, so weak… So, instead of going straight to their flat, I drove to the hospital… It was 9pm and visiting time was over, but I’d already been given permission to visit either of them whenever I wanted. So, I walked along the deserted corridors, stepped into the lift, and went up to the top floor… Their room was dark and silent… They were still holding hands, just lying there together. I was bright and cheerful… I said I wouldn’t stay for long because I knew they were tired… That I’d come back first thing in the morning. I kissed my Mum goodnight… Then I walked around to my Dad’s bed and kissed him goodnight… And then I left, and my Dad waved me away as I went… Not looking back, I walked out through the door, happy that they were together; whatever happened now, it would be ok…..
“Carve your name on hearts, not tombstones. A legacy is etched into the minds of others and the stories they share about you.”