The inevitable happens - 2015 - A year in review

JUNE - Part 7 of 12

One of Dawn’s contacts in Italy had seen her plight on social media and had really kindly invited us out to her Yoga Retreat centre for some R&R over a long weekend in the Sabine hills outside Rome. Four days of nothing, no internet or mobile signal… this was absolute heaven and in the most tranquil and beautiful surroundings imaginable, just what the Doctor ordered. I was certainly fairly relaxed when I went for the ECG and blood test results pretty much as soon as I had returned.

Of course, I had already done what any other person would have done and googled details of symptoms I could/may have and what they could/may mean… within five minutes I was convinced I would be a Type 2 Diabetic being rushed into hospital for an emergency operation to have stents put in!

As I lay on the couch being wired up for the ECG, the nurse made pleasant, idle conversation. My heath wasn't discussed at all really. At the end she just said “Well, that’s all normal. No problems there.”

Really?  Wow.

My blood pressure was now a much more regular 115/75 and I waited for the final verdict; the blood test results. These weren't immediately forthcoming and so I had to actually ask for them.

“Oh, hasn't anyone told you? It’s all good. Your cholesterol is a touch high but cut down on your carb intake and you should be fine. Maybe take some exercise as well. Give my best to your parents.”

So after everything I’d been through, my cholesterol is a tad high and my blood pressure is very high but under control. Result.

So now to Dad, still in discomfort and with us trying to get him into Havens Hospice for pain control, but sadly without success. They did however come round to see him to try and prescribed “Oxynorm”, much stronger pain relief which had to be administered in very low doses and gradually built up due to the fact that his body had only been used to Panadol. Fortunately there was no side effects but there was also no pain relief either; therefore, after a few days of this, they said his body could probably take the increase. Father’s Day, June 14^th, was his last good day and he was surrounded by his family again and he loved this picture with his grandchildren.

The day after, Dad deteriorated and it was clear Mum needed more support. Dawn was incredibly supportive, moving clients around to accommodate the situation and without her it would have been impossible. She had a "dance" with my Dad in the lounge, supporting him as he moved slowly and slightly from side to side, a touching gesture to make someone in the latter stages of their life very happy. I also changed my working pattern and BTMK were great, allowing me as much time as I needed. I still saw clients, but only worked early mornings and in the evening, spending lunchtime and the afternoons with Mum and Dad, doing whatever was necessary.

On Monday 21^st, he took his usual afternoon nap but  really struggled to get his legs working and wasn’t able to properly wake up. It took Mum 40 minutes to get him about 10 feet to the loo and Dawn and I 30 minutes to get him out again. The Ambulance was called.

After over an hour(!), a Paramedic arrived and immediately diagnosed the problem; Oxynorm is effectively medical Heroine and his body was unable to take the increased dosage so he had to be treated for an accidental overdose. Here was my 88 year old Dad, who had never smoked, taken any sort of drugs or excess alcohol, being given the same treatment as a junkie.

The antidote was impressive; a small vial of liquid, about 5 ml I guess, injected into the bloodstream.

“What does that do then?” I asked the medic.

“Well, without getting too technical,” he replied, “the drugs attach to the blood cells via a receptor and this makes them become unattached.”

“Oh, ok, how long will that take to work?”

“About 20 seconds.”

“Wow, what will happen?”

“He’ll wake up.”

And, true to his word, about 20 seconds after being injected with the antidote, Dad woke up, completely confused as to what was going on, but back in the room, so to speak.

He needed to go to the hospital – the antidote only lasts 7 minutes, so he gave Dad everything he had, which was almost an hours worth - before regaling us with comical stories of junkies falling over shortly after being treated and refusing hospital admission. Dad made so such refusal of course, to be honest he didn't have much choice.  After several hours of waiting in A&E (Monday is the busiest day in the NHS and they were swamped - our ambulance team had come from Colchester, 40 odd miles away), Dad was admitted to Southend hospital, which is where he stayed.

He was moved to a general ward on Tuesday and then to a private room for a while before Havens Hospice had a vacancy became available. They got him comfortable and his sister and other family members came to see him on Thursday 25th, as did the staff from the office, and then he went to sleep, never to wake up and subsequently passed away in the early hours of Sunday morning, 28^th June.

His eldest grandchild had been the last to see him, calling in on his way home from work as a barman at midnight and staying for an hour, singing my Dad his favourite songs before saying goodbye. An absolutely touching and emotional scene and one that brings tears to my eyes just writing this.

At around 4:30 am, Mum got “the call” and we immediately went round. Despite my job working as a Probate lawyer, I had never actually seen a corpse and it was surreal. It wasn’t my Dad laying there, it simply couldn’t be. But of course, it was.

The staff were as respectful and as helpful as they could be and I wasn’t really sure whether to stay or go. They made the decision for us, ushering us out after around 20 minutes.

We got outside, completely numb. The sun was just starting to rise. Mum made the decision there and then that the first Hymn at the funeral would be “Morning has Broken”.