Anonymous wrote:
Anonymous wrote:
Anonymous wrote:
Anonymous wrote:
Anonymous wrote:OP, I just wanted to say I am sorry. This sounds really hard on many different levels. My Mom died when she was 66 of mucosal melanoma. I had a couple of months to get used to her being gone - and then she was. I know she was scared but she put on a brave front. At age 91, your Dad can’t bounce back like someone younger and I would encourage you to take some time off work and be with him. It sounds like his body is preparing him for transition (I don’t remember the words hospice used but fevers and falling and vomiting - his body is for lack of a better word - failing).
I was pregnant when my Mom was sick and I did not take time to be with her as much as I should have. I had some pregnancy complications and I was saving leave for postpartum. It’s a huge regret of mine but it was so hard to see my Mom frail and incoherent. So I also avoided it.
I just wanted to encourage you to spend time with your Dad now if you can. Hope your work trip is short and you’re home soon. Sending strength.
I think the phrase you were looking for is failure to thrive. Amd yes, very common at end of life. Op, please take this advice to heart, even with excellent medical care and a diagnosis, your father may not have much time left at 91, and the decline may be more rapid than you expect.
DH is a surgeon and was with a close relative whose husband was in the ICU after getting a bad infection during chemo. My husband told her that she needed to say her goodbyes as it was obvious to him that her husband would be dead in the next few hours. No one on the hospital care team had thought to tell her this (and this was at one of this area’s leading hospitals). Don’t assume that you will necessarily be told bythe doctors/nurses when the end is very near.
Thank you so much for your advice. That is shocking to me that the hospital staff didn't alert her.
This happened with our dad. He was 76 and got sepsis while he had cancer, miracousky beat it—but was never the same. We kept chalking up weakness to sepsis recovery—not cancer advancing. Oncologist’s Office kept saying my dasd’s bloodwork was good as he grew weaker and weaker and was disappearing before our eyes. They kept telling us he had great chances. When he was finally admitted to a different hospital near the end—it was the ER doctor that broke the news to us. It was shocking and we kept wondering why nobody had been straight. The end was fairly quick after that.
But, it started with barely eating/drinking and lower energy. The non-eating, drinking is very common at end of life and my dad LOVED food.
I’m sorry, OP.
I think this can be tricky for doctors to navigate. Some patients don't want to know what time the doctor thinks is left. My mom did NOT want to hear anything like that from the doctor. She finally asked, but it was, I think, when she had started to come to terms on her own about it.
Yes. I think what my dad did love about his oncologist was that he was always so upbeat. My dad always felt better after he left his Office. Also, with other friends that used this oncologist if there were truly no options we know he did tell those families that---time range--nothing could be done, etc. My mother later talked to him after my dad's death and he admits my dad's case was very unexpected by all of them. He was a very good responder and what happened at the end did actually take them by surprise as well. They really all loved my dad in that Office and it hit many of the nurses and doctors hard. You don't always see that emotion.
My dad always had hope and was always so optimistic. He was so brave and had such a good attitude---but at the end he didn't know what was happened---when he was in and out of consciousness he did ask me 'what happened'...that has haunted me. He really didn't expect it either. We were able to get him home for his final days and that did give me comfort because he never wanted to die in a hospital. He was in his favorite place in the world (his home of 43 years) surrounded by family. I sometimes think how scared he must have been, but I hope he had comfort. He could no longer communicate--only with his eyes.
My mom often said she doesn't know how they would have handle it if they ever got the 'nothing more we can do', or an expiration date, at the Oncologist's office--so maybe it was all for the best.
Every patient is different. Some patients want to know and others never want to go there---or even consider hospice.