- Joined
- Feb 21, 2001
- Messages
- 4,238
Dad's not going to make it long. He's gone steadily downhill for the last month. The medical diagnosis? Failure to Thrive. Sounded funny to me. What they say when you're old and just wear out. He won't eat, won't drink. Needs a lot of oxygen. He's been back in the hospital since Thursday. Tomorrow he goes to a nursing home to wait it out. He probably weighs about 90 pounds. Think Aushwitz. He still knows us, but that's about all. Got him to drink about a third of a can of "Boost" nuitrition drink tonight, about 80 calories. Put the straw to his mouth and he said "No".
"Pop, you've got to eat to live."
"I won't do it"
So I told him it was his decision. It's about the only one he can still make.
Went by this morning before work and told him "You're about the best dad a boy could have."
"Thank you" So he understood me. I needed him to know that. I was pretty red-eyed getting on the elevator.
Tell your mom and dad how you feel before it's too late. Hell tell everybody you love before it's too late.
But this post isn't about him, or me. It's about the nurses and aides. The blessed, sweet, comforting, diaper changing, ass wiping, pain stopping, patient, kind, honorable women and men that are the only thing thing that keeps a hospital from being sucked into fiery depths of Hell. The doctors may be arrogant and condescending, the administrators unfeeling, the clerks rigid, unbending, and totally inhuman, but the nurses, God love 'em, they give comfort and relief. And it's not because they are required to do it, or they're paid to do it. It's because they're good people and they love helping folks.
The sixth floor is the bad floor. If you go there, you're f**ked. Not many folks get better on this floor. So it's the toughest one on the nurses. As little stout Becky rolled my dad on his side to get a new diaper on him I told her "Thanks" .
"For what hun?"
"For this" and I looked down at my dad.
"We couldn't do it if we didn't love it"
They're angels.
Steve
"Pop, you've got to eat to live."
"I won't do it"
So I told him it was his decision. It's about the only one he can still make.
Went by this morning before work and told him "You're about the best dad a boy could have."
"Thank you" So he understood me. I needed him to know that. I was pretty red-eyed getting on the elevator.
Tell your mom and dad how you feel before it's too late. Hell tell everybody you love before it's too late.
But this post isn't about him, or me. It's about the nurses and aides. The blessed, sweet, comforting, diaper changing, ass wiping, pain stopping, patient, kind, honorable women and men that are the only thing thing that keeps a hospital from being sucked into fiery depths of Hell. The doctors may be arrogant and condescending, the administrators unfeeling, the clerks rigid, unbending, and totally inhuman, but the nurses, God love 'em, they give comfort and relief. And it's not because they are required to do it, or they're paid to do it. It's because they're good people and they love helping folks.
The sixth floor is the bad floor. If you go there, you're f**ked. Not many folks get better on this floor. So it's the toughest one on the nurses. As little stout Becky rolled my dad on his side to get a new diaper on him I told her "Thanks" .
"For what hun?"
"For this" and I looked down at my dad.
"We couldn't do it if we didn't love it"
They're angels.
Steve
