‘Am I Dead?’
Oct 15th, 2006 at 10:04 am by Susie
My dad is finally on a morphine drip. Praise God, thank you Jesus.
After my talk with his doctor Friday night, he’d left an order for a morphine injection upon request. But I’d already told the doctor my father was in constant pain, he just wouldn’t complain about it. And he’s only sporadically lucid, so how can he ask for drugs?
My sister and I tried to talk to his doctor yesterday, but he wasn’t available. When we finally got to explain the situation to the doctor on call, he prescribed a morphine drip.
So there we were in Dad’s hospital room - me, my sister, my brother and his wife. My father (who is making the same kind of odd statements you make when you talk in your sleep) opened his eyes and said, “Am I dead?”
“No, you’re not dead,” my brother said. “Although I can understand that when you gaze upon me, you might think you’re in heaven.” We all laughed; my dad looked puzzled.
It’s all coming back to me now, this death vigil. When someone is dying, they don’t want to talk; even breathing requires an enormous effort. And having people moving around whispering distracts them. I remember for the last few days of my Dead Ex’s life, I mostly sat in the room, reading. I didn’t speak unless spoken to. They’re winding down their life, you have to give them enough room to do it.
When my father says something, you have to lean in close and put your ear to his mouth or you can’t hear.
“Are you all waiting for me to die?” he said. I could barely hear him.
“No, Dad, you invited us over to watch the Eagles game. Don’t you remember?” More laughter.
Again, the puzzled look.
My dad, the straight man.
I recently sat bedside with my SO’s mother, watching her drift in and out of lucidity from the morphine drip while ovarian cancer finally consumed her. You have my deepest sympathies. Good for you, standing up to the doctor and demanding what’s right! And bless the nurses for giving you the straight dope.
My thoughts and prayers are with you.
Give them room to wind down their lives…….I like to understand well, why that caused me to burst into tears.
It isn’t clear to me. I haven’t made done that trip with anyone. I’m not at all certain that I would want anyone there with me and therefore am unclear if I would stay just in case I was wanted. Death isn’t fun.
G
Good for you for getting your dad that morphine drip! I’ve been where you are a year and a half ago - so hard. You have my deepest sympathy.
Your father’s questions are so simple and direct,
and so intensely poignant.
this is another really powerful piece. thank you for this and my thoughts are with you.
thank god he finally got the drip…the pro-pain policies are incomprehensible to me.
my love and prayers are with you susie, and thanks for your poignant descriptions of the process.
Back in ‘94 I flew 2000 miles not knowing whether my father would still be alive when got to my sister’s. When I walked in the room he smiled and said “Jeff. You came.” Then for the next two or so days when he was still lucid every time I walked in the room he said “Jeff. You came.”
He was on the morphine patches and I remember us asking the Doctor if we could give him more. His response. “He’s not going to get addicted.”
It’s a strange thing - the vigil. But you will remember it. My thoughts are with you.