The Old Songs Are The Best

Written on 17th Jan 2010

My Dad is dying. My Dad wants to die.

"The old songs are the best." said my Dad last Wednesday from his hospital bed. At the time I thought these might be the last words that I would hear him say and they have stuck with me. He wasn't really lucid at the time and the sentence was out of context. Actually the last words he spoke to me were about an hour later, "Love you" whispered in response to my "I love you".
There have been more words since, but now they are written and not in his usual neat hand writing.

He has a breathing tube right now and can only nod or shake his head slowly. Through questioning we (my Aunt and I) have deciphered his words.

Altnagelvin - This is the hospital in his home town in Londonderry. He wants to be in that hospital rather than the City Hospital in Belfast. Nearer to home where he grew up

Solicitor - He wants to see a solicitor about his rights. His right to be allowed to die

Habeas Corpus - A latin term for a person to question their detention

Hotel - He wants to be anywhere else but the intensive care unit he is in now even a hotel room where he can pass away in peace

Horrible - The situation he is now is quite simply, horrible

Stay - My Aunt, whilst at his bedside, said she was going to go for a coffee at the hospital canteen.

NO! - When he looked like he was struggling, I asked if he wanted the nurse. (I got her anyway)

My Dad is a well educated man. His intelligence has always been a noticeable trait. He is well read. He has enjoyed good health all his life, apart from being hard of hearing. He is 72, but not an 'old' man. Until he was taken into hospital last November he went to the gym 3 times a week. He is very independent. He has a girlfriend. He has friends who he goes out with to play pool or to meet up to put the world to rights, who he jokingly refers to as his 'homies'.

My Dad took ill last November and was taken to Altnagelvin hospital where he was given his own room and a drip of antibiotics to treat an unrecognised infection. A week later he was rushed by ambulance along with a doctor and nurse to the Royal Hospital in Belfast. It was then that I went to visit him for the first time. The docs still hadn't got to the bottom of the infection and in fact told him he was a mystery patient.

I noticed that he has lost weight. I was glad he was in his own room. He was still talking, although very tired and out of breath. Every day I was there he would give me shopping list and I would dutifully fulfill his requests. I quite enjoyed running these errands and they filled the time between visiting hours. I was worried about him then, but knew he was being well looked after and ever the optimist thought he would be on the mend soon.

Whilst I was in Ireland I had the chance to stay in his house for one night. Because he has been rushed into hospital so quickly everything was just as it was before he left. I didn't want to touch a thing. I think then I wondered if he would be able to come back home again. I wanted him to be there with me. I wanted him back home. I couldn't help but take some photos. I wanted to be able to remember everything as it was. My optimism waned a little. I threw out the food in the fridge and did a few dishes, washing each item with more care than I would normally take. It was only a plate or a cup, but it was his plate or cup.

The next morning I caught the bus back from Derry to Belfast and stayed a couple of more nights in a hotel and visited my Dad. He asked me to take a video of the hospital for him. I filmed my walk into the hospital, into the entrance hall, up the escalators, into the lift, along the corridor, into his ward and into his room. I filmed the view from his window which he couldn't quite see from his bed. I played the film to him which I think helped to give him a sense of his bearings.

It was soon time for me to go back home. I didn't really want to go. Dad wasn't able to leave his bed, he had an oxygen mask and wasn't really able to eat much, though he did enjoy the smoothies and sports drinks I got him. I gave him a kiss goodbye and told him I loved him. "I love you", he replied and blew me a kiss as I walked out of his room. I blew a kiss back. As soon as my back was turned I burst into tears. I cried when I got on the plane and I cried when I got home.

Fast forward a few weeks. I'm in my hotel room. I've been here for 9 days. My Dad is another hospital now, the City Hospital in Belfast. Nine days ago he was in the High Dependency ward. I was very nervous when I went in, scared for myself at what I might see. I asked the nurse where he was, on the left or right as I didn't want to look at the other people on the ward. My Dad was in the first bed on the left hand side. I put on my biggest smile to greet him. He was delighted to see me. He was pretty breathless and on oxygen. He told me how well I looked but his words were an effort and made him breathless.

To be continued....