Bedside Vigil with Ghost Story

Posted by Edwin on Oct 11, 2007 in Health | 0 comments

We are experiencing the most horrible nightmare.

Once the (private) hospitals and insurance companies have fleeced you and your dying loved one is finally at home, the oncologist will call – not to see how you are doing, but to try and on-sell you palliative care services in the form of hospice accommodation.

Mum was also asked if Dad might like to come in for more chemotherapy. Dad can’t talk much or even move his legs. One arm is swollen like a balloon and his other arms and legs are muscle-less strings. He is barely breathing. But, whilst he is still alive, he can pay bills. And so society graciously acknowledges his presence.

“We think your husband might benefit from some chemotherapy.”
“But why? He’s definitely going to die, isn’t he?”
“Yes – but he may benefit.”
“Will it make him more comfortable?”
“No.”

What the? . . . Greeeeeeeeat system, Mr Howard. Move on, crusty. Go count your beans.

Last night I kept vigil. Mum usually does it. My sister too, sometimes. There’s a roll up mattress on the floor beside Dad’s bed. It’s exhausting because you can’t sleep. Every few minutes Dad either wants to drink something, talk nonsense, or go to the toilet. The dull throb from the oxygen machine and the whir of the feeding-tube dispenser are like comforting heartbeats.

Sometimes, Dad just wants to know who is in the room there with him. Even if it’s a ghost. He hallucinates due to the drugs (oxynorm, phentanyl) and lack of oxygen absorption. But every time he calls out – you have to get up and attend to his needs. Because he can’t. When he says, “Help me, Son. Please. Help me,” I give him oxynorm.

The other night a spooky thing happened. I woke up and he was pointing toward the ceiling. He turned to me.

“Who’s that?”

“Nobody, Dad. You’re seeing things. Go to sleep.”

He than had a toilet emergency and I had to go wake Mum to help out. As we dealt with Dad, Mum told me she’d had a dream.

A pony-tailed biker type bloke was wandering around in the garden just outside Dad’s room, and she sent me out to see to him. The burly guy told dream me he was trying to get into the house. He was here to see Eddie (Dad). Mum and I sent him on his way. But then he said, “No worries, I can get in through the roof.” Spooooookyyyyyy.

I don’t know what they are and I don’t really believe in ghosts per se – but there seems to be a lot of old folk, skinny little kids and car crash victims hanging around Dad. He tells me when he sees them. One lady said she knew me – she was standing right there, pointing to me. She said I was an nice person. Dad asked if I knew her. But I couldn’t see anyone and she didn’t give her name.

I know these specters are here to ease Dad’s journey toward the light or – whatever. But what’s there? A bunch of souls having a party? Angels on clouds? If they are in human form – do they wee, have sex, get sick? I put most of it down to our own massive egos – ones inextricably attached to our naive notions of personality.

I’m more likely to believe that Mum and Dad were simply dreaming together. After all – they’ve shared the same bed for over 40 years.

Sue and I are more worried about Mum than Dad. Our little vigils give her a good night’s sleep.

Even though Dad’s not really sure who we are anymore.