Faith of My Father

There’s an old hymn called “Faith of our Fathers.”  I’ve never been particularly fond of it and it’s never been a favorite. Today all I could think of was the title of that song.

We spent the day with our dad today. We were worried about both he and Mrs. Betty, his wife.   We worry about her being exhausted from taking care of him, which is one of the reasons we suggested he become a hospice patient – to give her some rest, some relief and some support.  We’re worried about him all the time.

Every time we see Daddy, he seems to get more and more weak. He’s lost a lot of weight, and his arms and legs and shoulders are all skinny – more skinny than  I’ve ever seen them in my entire life. The only thing on him that’s big is his belly, and it’s bigger or smaller, depending on when he last paracentisis was.  (That’s when they drain his belly, as the bile builds up, his belly gets larger and larger.) On Wednesday, they drained 11.5 liters of fluid off his belly. That’s about 23 pounds.  Every time they drain him, he’s weak and tired afterwards and he’s wobbly when he walks. I think it has to do with the weakness and his center of gravity. I imagine a pregnant woman would tell you the same thing – that your balance shifts.

Today, he was in bed when we got there, because he and Mrs. Betty were up almost every hour during the night.  The site where they did his last paracentisis is draining.  Apparently the tiny needle hole where they poked him has not sealed up and the fluid that usually builds up is just oozing out.  Almost all night, almost every hour, Mrs. Betty was having to get him up, change his dressing and change his clothes, because he’d soaked all the way through sometimes.  

When he got up to eat, he prayed over his bowl of “green salad.”(That’s a family joke, sometimes it’s not green. It’s a jello, fruit salad and it’s been pink or orange, but Daddy always calls it green salad, no matter what color it is. He’s color blind, so for  him it’s always green.)

This was his prayer:  “Thank you God for being good.  Please  help those people who are sick and in bad shape, Thank you for loving me.”

I sat there and was ashamed – and I’ll tell you why.  I’m not handling him being sick very well.  I’m not happy about it at all, and my first emotional response to a new situation is usually to get mad.  I have been making a mental list of people who have lived many more years that my daddy who are not nearly as nice and as GOOD as he is.   I’ve also spent lots of time asking “Why him?” His whole life, he’s been a good guy. He’s spent 44 years trying to do exactly what God wanted him to do.  It’s not fair and I hate it. 

But here’s the thing --  I know the answer – the answer is “why  not him” and I get that, I do. I just don’t like it.  But here he sat today, in his 4th or 5th set of pajama pants for the day, with fluid leaking out of his belly, worrying every time he moved just right that it would  soak through the pads and wet his clothes.  The most modest  man in the world had to endure his nurse daughter helping him change his clothes.   He’s been poked and prodded and spent time in the hospital, had to wear water shoes because his regular shoes won’t fit, had to wear suspenders because his belly is so big his pants won’t stay up.  All that and he says “Thank you God for being good. Help those people who are sick and in bad shape.” 

I’m thankful every day for the faith of my father.

Things I Wish I Didn’t Know

Have you ever known things you wish you didn’t?  I have a new situation in my life that is teaching me things that I could have happily lived my whole life without knowing.  Let me explain.

Earlier this year, my daddy was diagnosed with cirrhosis of the liver. The first thing I learned was how to spell cirrhosis.  It’s particularly nasty for him, because he has NEVER been a drinker.  He grew up with a drunk father and that experience has kept him from drinking any sort of alcohol.  It’s like an extra insult for him to have this disease. 

Next, we learned that is was probably caused from a fatty liver – which the doctors think can be hereditary. So my sisters and I need to watch how much red meat we eat, because we could have a fatty liver as well.  Yay.

We visited a heptologist – yep, your spell check won’t like that word.  A heptologist is a liver expert – different from a gastroenterologist or a hematologist.  We’ve been to both the gastroenterologist and the heptologist.

Lactulose is a nasty looking and apparently nasty tasting medicine that my daddy has to drink several times a day. It’s this yellow stuff that is supposed to help him get rid of ammonia in his body.  I didn’t even realize ammonia could build up in a body. . . but it does and it can make you confused.  So confused you forget what you want to eat at the Cracker Barrel, even if it’s your favorite place in the whole world.

Paracentisis is yet another new word.  Because of the cirrhosis, fluid builds up in my daddy’s abdomen. (Sometimes we are fancy and use the word abdomen instead of “belly’ or “gut” just for fun!) He gains lots of weight very quickly – all in his belly.  His arms and legs have gotten really skinny, but he often has to wear suspenders to hold up his pants. When this happens, he has to have paracentisis.  I could make you use context clues to figure out what it means, but I’ll just tell you. It’s when they drain his belly. This week, they took 11.5 liters of fluid.  Two weeks ago, they took 11.  Needless to say, his weight changes drastically.

At the beginning of August, Daddy became a patient of the Hospice of the Comforter.  The main purpose is to help them  out, they were spending a ridiculous amount of time driving from doctor to doctor – now the nurse comes to them.  It’s been a good thing I think for them, but I gotta say, I’m not thrilled with the situation. I want my daddy to be healthy and happy. I don’t want to NEED to know these words and these procedures. I read a quote once that says something like “When we stop learning, we stop living.”  This is stuff I never wanted to know.