Death and Dignity · 9:17am Dec 5th, 2016
If you're having a great happy day, you probably don't want to read this.
Well, about 3 weeks ago my grandfather passed away. He'd been in poor health for a long time, but generally still able to move around the house and take care of himself, and always in good humor. One day he fell down and had to go to a nursing home for rehab, which has happened before. My mom and I visited him there, he seemed in good spirits and like he was getting better. A couple days later we hear that he has pneumonia. Typical shithole nursing home bullshit, even if the place seemed pretty clean. A day or so after that he's been taken to the hospital ICU, his kidneys are failing and he's in poor shape. My mom (his daughter) visits him, and she tells me that he was conscious and coherent enough to tell the nurse to take him off of his 50 or so fucking medications and just give him morphine.
Though he does have a recent living will that says the same thing, I'm grateful that he was able to make that choice on his own. On that day, I visited later, as well as two of his long-time friends who worked with him at Simpson electronic company back in the day, his neighbor, and his home aid lady (you know, they visit the house twice a week and clean up and wash dishes and stuff). I tell you, she has a heart of gold. It's only her job to visit his house, and yet she was visiting him in the hospital, making sure he had his clothes, and even took his hearing aid to get fixed that same day. (Turns out, grandpa was stone deaf without it.) She even came to the funeral and made a nice speech about him.
Where was I? So grandpa was all doped up and just slept most of the time for another week while in hospice. He did get to say his goodbyes to his two daughters, me, and some other folks. Not a terrible way to go, but it surprised me - it surprised all of us - his health wasn't that bad, I mean we were planning on picking him up for Thanksgiving. Fuckin' A.
The funeral was a very small to-do, more like a memorial. Same senior center place as we had grandma's memorial some 5 or 6 years ago. Not many people showed up, just the immediate family, the home aid lady, his two friends, the neighbor, this middle-aged hippie couple who apparently became friends with my grandparents a long time ago when they first went vegetarian (grandma was sort of a pioneer in that, so she helped teach them to cook for it), and this really old lady who apparently owned the school bus company my grandpa worked for, for many years.
It was a nice service (if you could call it that, informal as it was). It did what it was supposed to do: remind us who he was. A man who loved his wife, electronic gadgets, popcorn, and laughing (even when his jokes were awful [perhaps especially]).
Oh and apparently nobody likes tuna, after the service was over, we were left with about 20 subway tuna sandwiches. I didn't like tuna as it was, but after eating sandwich after sandwich, I'm thoroughly sick of it now.
Moral of the story? Don't take a shitload of medication in the longterm. I never liked the idea of longterm medicating or taking multiple medications, or even just any medication in general! It's just asking for kidney and liver problems, not to mention side effects.
Ok, first, names: Jeremy is my high school and current friend, Randy is his father (who's not a very good father, as Jeremy hates his guts) and also my friend, and Dr. Vera is Randy's friend and physician and also an acquantance of mine. Now, yesterday, I get a call from Dr. Vera, who proceeds to ask me advice on buying a used car (I'm a mechanic, lest we forget), as he finishes the conversation, he says 'oh btw, Randy's in the hospital, might be something to do with his liver, I don't know.' I'm just like... 'gee, thanks for telling me.'
Since him and his son had a big ol' falling out, that left it to me to inform Jeremy. Which I did. Jeremy, not really giving a shit, left it to me to go see Randy. I visit him that night - in the ICU - and of course I'm not family, so they don't tell me shit. Now I understand that policy, but it's really fucking aggravating. (Hospitals have done that to me before even with my grandpa and I WAS family!) Anyway, Randy's unconscious and on a breathing machine. He's on an IV with antibiotics, blood pressure medicine, and anti-arrhythmic medicine. To me, knowing Randy who's on opioid painkillers for knee and back problems, diabetic, smoker, and likes to drink, I figured maybe he kicked back a few too many and poisoned himself. Maybe it'd get out of his system and he'd be back to being his unhealthy self again. Not to mention that the nurses all insist that he's not dying. I'm not a doctor, what the fuck do I know?
Today, after I spent my sunday with my mom and dad at grandpa's house beginning the cleaning-up process of all of his junk (I guess I know where I got the hoarding from), at night when I get home, I get a call from Randy's landlord, apparently the one who found Randy unconscious on the floor of his apartment, and he tells me the doctors want to amputate Randy's legs. I'm like hold up... why? And why will the fucking doctors tell his goddamn landlord more details about Randy's condition than a close friend and the only link to his next of kin? So I get Jeremy to sign a simple paper authorizing me blah blah blah, drive to the hospital (10pm at night, mind you) with Jeremy along with me, and go in and say 'here, now tell me wtf is wrong.' Jeremy meanwhile waiting in the car, because he really, really hates his dad. Finally the nurses give me the whole picture. He had had a stroke, fell unconscious probably a day or two before the landlord found him, the tox scan indicated opioids and alcohol in his blood (like I thought), a CAT scan indicated clots in his brain (making him effectively brain dead), and given his stroke and the fact that he's diabetic, both his legs and one arm are dead and black, about to get gangrenous. Although they didn't have anything on file about him being diabetic, despite the nurse's prior insistance that they had his medical records. I think they assumed his blackened limbs were from some kind of infection, the nurse was surprised when I said he was diabetic, as that can happen with diabetes.
I got Jeremy to come inside and talk to the nurses about essentially pulling the plug on his father. Mercifully, Jeremy insisted that it be his decision and not mine (he earlier gave me the go-ahead to be the decision-maker for all things), though my mind was already made up. Despite the canyonous rift between them, Jeremy still cried on the way out of the hospital. Now, he's no manly man, but I've never seen him cry in the 12 years I've known him.
Apparently the attending doctor wants to talk it over with Jeremy in the morning before doing anything. Not sure why, honestly. With the picture I'm getting, a best-case scenario is Randy living to become a limbless vegetable in a nursing home bed for the rest of however long the breathing machine keeps him alive. I hope the doctor doesn't talk Jeremy out of pulling the plug. I know Randy, he wouldn't want this, who the hell would, honestly? A prolonged death with no dignity at all.
Now, I'm not terribly broken up about these events, either of them. But it's just that two similar deaths of people close to me in the span of a couple weeks... is... kinda fucked up. I don't think 'sad' is the right word to describe how I feel. Perhaps 'down,' yes, I think that's it. I am sad, but I'm just down. Not to get all philosophical, but what's the purpose of life? Grandpa lived a (fairly) long and happy life, only to suffer and die in the end. Randy - maybe not so happy (or long) - and still the same ending. Not really an option for a happy ending in the story of life, is there? It's always a bitter end, no matter how honeyed we might make it out to be.
Fucksake. 
*hugs*
4329363 *sniff*
*hugs back*
Oh Red. Oh... Red, my lovely friend.
*wraps you up in a warm, loving hug*
You know what happened to me a while ago, regarding ... well, anyway.
Let me know if you'd like to talk, dear.
Yeah, life does that to you. It's shitty.
I hope things do become brighter for you. My condolences.
Ech. Sounds like a shitty situation all around. If you need to talk, you know how to get a hold of me.
Best wishes, man.
I'm sorry these things happened, but I'm glad you weren't too devastated. derpicdn.net/img/2012/12/10/178650/medium.png
The purpose of life is to live it. What happens at your death is inconsequential.
I've been around death a lot (big family and all that). I've never really felt overwhelmingly saddened either. They lived their lives the way they wanted to, and left this world accordingly. There is no destiny, no fate, no higher plan. There is life, and those who live it. Remember the lives they had and carry that with you.
May all the dead rest in peace and may they all be forever remembered. Warm feelings towards you and yours.
Wow, that's rough and I'm sorry to hear that. I'm sorry for your loss, and like many others here it seems I'm always here to talk if you need someone.
4329367
4329378 Yeah Jeremy was telling me today that he doesn't want to pull the plug till friday... tomorrow I'll ask him what his reasons are. We'll see.
4329385 Yes it is.
4329400 Thanks bro.
4329417 Yeah I'm hangin' in there. (Also, adorable pic!)
4329527 True dat, I certainly will carry them on in memory.
4329629 Thanks dude.
Update: Deaths do come in threes. Today, my cousin Matthew kicked the bucket. Heart attack, just like that. Sometimes death is slow, and sometimes it's like turning off a switch. He was in his late 30s, no one saw that coming.
Fuckin' dammit.