First Love and First Hospice Experience

The first love in my life had to be my daddy. Always there to love and protect me no matter what. He was a simple man born in the country with five brothers and a mom who died when he was young. He suffered from more than one bout of rheumatic fever, confining him to the hospital for weeks at a time. It left his heart very weak and joints filled with chronic pain. The man loved his family and loved God.

By his late 70s, my mom had long passed, and he was suffering from renal disease. He was starting to forget when he was supposed to take the medications that he needed for his heart, which never seemed to want to be in rhythm, and his diabetes. The doctors had recommended he might need more help at home to ensure he was taking his medication correctly, but he refused. 

Sadly, one night, all alone, he had a massive stroke and lay in bed until my brother found him a couple of days later. By this time, he had aspirated for two days into his lungs and had a bad case of pneumonia. He was still alive but in very bad shape when they rushed him to the hospital, and he was cared for by the hospitalist at a small nearby hospital. I rushed to his bedside and realized this was not going to be something he could recover from. He had a couple of good days, but mostly, they were days of agitation and confusion.

Of course, in typical fashion, his family from out of town showed up on the day his body decided to rally. The day after the rally, the hospitalist discussed that we needed to move him to a nursing home and insert a feeding tube. I was a G.I. nurse for years, so I was fully aware of feeding tubes, but I really did not understand the options. I was fortunate enough to have some of the best internists in Nashville as dear friends. I could communicate with them on what was happening day to day. One dear friend and physician called me, asking for an update, and I told him about the feeding tube, the pneumonia, and working to get my dad on Medicaid to move him to a facility. 

I knew this doctor went to many nursing homes, and I wanted his opinion on the best for my dad. When I told him about the situation, he frankly told me that if this was his family, he would not put the feeding tube in because he would be required to keep it in and be fed through it indefinitely. Knowing my dad as he did, he felt that this would not be the life that my father would want. He asked permission to discuss my dad‘s care with the hospitalist, and I fully welcomed it. 

Afterward, it was decided that we would not put the feeding tube in, we would not treat pneumonia, and instead, he would be moved over to the hospice wing of the hospital. They would remove all the tubes, restraints, and monitors, and we would love my daddy until his journey was over. My dad‘s family was not happy with our decision because they had only seen him during his rally and felt that we were cruel and we were just simply starving him to death. 

I was new to this Hospice thing and did not know what to expect. Additionally, there was not a lot of communication with us on his timeline other than a book handed to me for a crash course on dying. My daddy lasted about four days, and due to a lack of communication on how close he was to death by the hospital staff, I was not there when he passed. A day I will forever replay in my head, over and over. However, I feel blessed to have had that physician and friend be honest with us about our options and recommendations, no matter how painful. 

In that situation, our friend and physician was our advocate for my father‘s end of life. I can only imagine what that situation would’ve looked like if we had not had someone to be so honest with us. I later asked the hospitalist why she would not have recommended this, and this very soft-spoken, kind woman said people do not want to talk about death and options. They only want to talk about how long they can keep their loved one alive.