Filled out the hospice's survey / questionnaire re: my grandfather's care (with a black pen, and yes, I was certain to fill in the entire bubble): 10+ when they showed up the day he died, 4-5 for the week and a half I didn't see them between admission and death-eve but hey at least they're paying the postage now and they did get him that bed he liked.
I've cut my working hours down to one early morning stare / type session, (more/less) from the time I awaken at 0445 until 0715, replacing (temporarily, probably – though I do like how knowing that this is all I get each day lights a fire under my ass) the second chunk of work with reading and, as has been the wont of late, nodding off. Helps prepare me for the afternoon of visiting and death prep. My greatest fear in all of this being that I'll run out of prep before he runs out of breath. Not big on familial / communal sharing of grief: prefer to process it by myself (in the car ride or in the journal) or, as has been the case in this latest round of familial dying off, project-managing each and every decision and wearing the weight of it on my shoulders.
(I HAVE THE POWER (of attorney).)
His brain fog is foggier by the day; hoping that he doesn't have to deal with it much longer – I know it pisses him off – but he remains, for the most part, lucid (though less himself), the last month+ being not a sudden decline but the final act of a decline that's been in process for the last few years, at least since his sister and brother died in 2020, and certainly since my mother last year.
Chorus from Dylan's Mississippi ringing in my ears: "Got nothing for you / had nothing before / don't even have anything for myself anymore..."
Sent a quick (ok, not so quick as my editing skills are nonexistent at present) follow-up newsletter to subscribers with an update (and thank you) on the current situation. Recording a bit of it here, for my own reference (and remembrance).
“As for my grandfather, he's still kicking - in spite of having a second massive heart attack which should have killed him on Saturday evening – and I'm working with an amazing hospice team to make his final days as comfortable and pain-free as possible. This was my first time working with them: I had set it up for my mother, but we determined it was too risky to move her – fortunately, one of the hospital nurses had worked as a hospice nurse and knew how to handle it. Their work is truly amazing: two hours after I signed the papers, his room at assisted living was converted to a full suite with hospital bed and everything and we had him back there from the hospital. He was pleased to get back – and with the throngs of visitors who came to see him.
Today, I'll make the calls to cancel all future follow-ups and dialysis appointments. Once those treatments stop, he'll have anywhere from a few hours to a few weeks, visiting friends, loved ones, and able to simply drift away, painlessly; he's earned his rest after 96 great years and one hellish month of 97 and, at this point, it's the best gift I can give him. Profound relief on all fronts.
As for me, the combo of no sleep and T1D wave-riding has kicked my ass. Hopeful that I can start to build myself back up in the coming days. But it has given me deeper empathy for his mindset and situation: if the last four days did this to me, I can only imagine what it did to his system – and he's got 55 years, borked kidneys, heart, bladder, and three tubes (one of which got torn out on Thursday evening, which overwhelmed his system and led to this endgame) on me….”