Absurdist Deathwatch

The nursing home called just after 11 to tell me that my father is in distress, his oxygen levels are extremely low, he could go at any time. Did I want to come up?

I want to but I can't. The circumstances are these. When I got the call, I was lying in my bed, next to my wife, under multiple blankets and mounds of coats. It's about thirty degrees in our bedroom and we're trying to shelter our two cats under the covers. We live in the Maryland suburbs of DC, in Montgomery County, the local area that got the brunt of the blizzard. Our power went out at 10:30 Friday night, and hasn't come back on since. Roads are iced over and we're being warned to stay off them.

The nurse who called me wanted to know if I'd gotten last night's message. Of course I hadn't. They called on landline and our landline is out. So I hadn't heard about his restlessness. This is the first I've been aware of anything. I last saw him a week ago Friday - the day he was suddenly so much more coherent. I came home and promptly developed that massive cold. So I couldn't visit at all last week.

I heard from the hospice nurse on Tuesday. She said he was incoherent again, but said "mother" and "sister" and "Evelyn.". Was Evelyn his sister? Yes, I said. Isn't it remarkable what people will remember, she asked. Yes, I said. She's one of those people who wants to find positive news and I guess there's nothing wrong with that. So there were no warnings.

Of course, I suppose the fact he was on hospice is enough of a warning. But you're never prepared for how things actually are. For example, I wasn't prepared for a late night call in the middle of my siege-of-Leningrad apartment. And I wasn't prepared to write this update on my iPhone in the dark. Nevertheless, here we are. Put another way, life is Zen. Put more simply, we are where we are, same as always. Apologies for odd formatting and typos. This is less than ideal. But I'll try to keep you posted.

Comments

[julie]

I'm with you in my thoughts. Sending positive warm energy.

* One day I'll share with you the story of our two weeks without furnace or hot water during the holidays. We mostly wore our snow suits in the house.

[Nancy Frank]

Keep yourself warm before you keep us posted: and remember, no matter what your current geography, you grew up in NYC in the bad, old days -- you're a survivor of more than a few power outages, among other random events.

The irony of the hospice wanting you to come right over to check on your dad is overwhelming. If they have heat, they must be cooking one hell of a petrie dish of germs. Reminds me of what they say about hospitals being the worst place to be sick -- all those bacteria running rampant as part of the floor show, so to speak. (Floor show sucked at Columbia Pres -- no potable water, much less dancing girls or Esther Williams syncronized swimming on TV.)

thinking of you.

[Liz Fitzgerald]

Hi Alan,
read your post. so sorry to hear you and M. are without heat and power. Our sympathetic thoughts go out to you on both fronts: the uncomfortable home environment and the difficult challenges for your dad.