Update - Michael's father.
May. 2nd, 2011 12:05 am![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
rivkaMichael's father is still in his right mind and able to talk with Michael, although he can only get two or three words out at a time before he has to take a wheezing breath.
That is a great gift, and one that we have always known Michael might not have, at the end.
He is not in continual pain. The pain comes and goes. The shortness of breath is constant.
Tomorrow Michael is going with him to a doctor's appointment. Michael's father is planning to tell the doctor that he doesn't want any more blood transfusions (he's been getting them more than weekly) or treatments, and that he would like hospice care at home to make him comfortable. I expect that they will give him morphine in large amounts. The thing about morphine is that it makes you feel okay about not having enough oxygen. Which is a mercy, but it also means that probably from this point out he will be pretty sedated until the end.
Without blood transfusions and treatment for the infection he seems to have, death is likely to come sooner rather than later. We may have a week or two.
It's very painful for me to not be with Michael right now, when he needs me.
Michael's father seems to have come to a place of acceptance. He told Michael that he is ready to go home to Jesus. And he made a point of telling Michael where to find the will, and the certificates of deposit, and the insurance policies. We had already discovered, a few weeks ago when Alex's birthday check arrived, that he had added Michael's name to their bank account.
I am trying to puzzle out what we will want to do with a two-year-old and a six-year-old at a full Southern funeral, complete with lengthy open-casket visitation. I am wasting my time worrying about things like what the children have that they can wear, because the other things that I might think about right now are hard and ultimately unprofitable.
I love Michael's father. I love Michael. This is hard.
That is a great gift, and one that we have always known Michael might not have, at the end.
He is not in continual pain. The pain comes and goes. The shortness of breath is constant.
Tomorrow Michael is going with him to a doctor's appointment. Michael's father is planning to tell the doctor that he doesn't want any more blood transfusions (he's been getting them more than weekly) or treatments, and that he would like hospice care at home to make him comfortable. I expect that they will give him morphine in large amounts. The thing about morphine is that it makes you feel okay about not having enough oxygen. Which is a mercy, but it also means that probably from this point out he will be pretty sedated until the end.
Without blood transfusions and treatment for the infection he seems to have, death is likely to come sooner rather than later. We may have a week or two.
It's very painful for me to not be with Michael right now, when he needs me.
Michael's father seems to have come to a place of acceptance. He told Michael that he is ready to go home to Jesus. And he made a point of telling Michael where to find the will, and the certificates of deposit, and the insurance policies. We had already discovered, a few weeks ago when Alex's birthday check arrived, that he had added Michael's name to their bank account.
I am trying to puzzle out what we will want to do with a two-year-old and a six-year-old at a full Southern funeral, complete with lengthy open-casket visitation. I am wasting my time worrying about things like what the children have that they can wear, because the other things that I might think about right now are hard and ultimately unprofitable.
I love Michael's father. I love Michael. This is hard.
no subject
Date: 2011-05-02 12:37 pm (UTC)