Mom and dad spoke to dad's oncologist this morning and the oncologist told dad that they could either stay in the hospital, go home or be transferred to hospice. Dad told the doctor that after four weeks in the hospital he already felt like he was at home (we've become very fond of the nurses and immensely grateful for all they've done for us) and that going home or to hospice would be too hard on my mom. The decision was made to stay in the hospital.
I know that the thought of staying in the hospital rather than going home might sound like an odd choice. However, my mom and dad, being the funny, sweet, considerate, patient, thoughtful people they are has created a real bond with the nursing staff and we couldn't be more confident and comfortable anywhere else.
Dad had another pretty good day. He was alert in the morning and still either had a joke for each nurse that came in or told her what good work she was doing or how pretty she was.
Dad's infectious disease doctor came in and before he could say anything to dad, dad started telling him that he knew the doctor had done everything he could and that it was his body that had given up. It was evident that the doctor was taken aback, since he had obviously come into the room to comfort dad and all my dad could think of was that he didn't want the doctor to feel like he had failed him...or us.
We had lots of visitors today: dad's brother and sister-in-law, his niece and her family, two of dad's childhood friends and some of the girls from our old neighborhood.
Also today, my grand-fabulous-daughter Ava was much more playful with her paw-paw. We were all very grateful for that. She's been very tentative with him, which has been understandable, but very sad to see. Today was a good day for Ava and her beloved Paw-Paw.
By the time we left tonight, dad was very tired. They have started him on a low dose of medication to relax him and make him comfortable which also makes him sleep more.
As I mentioned earlier, dad always has a joke for the nurses. When he went back into ICU last week, mom and Bonnie and Terry and I waited patiently outside his room peeking tensely through the blinds watching the oh-so-serious nurses work on getting dad hooked up to all the big, scary equipment. Suddenly, both nurses busted out laughing. We knew that even at that intense moment, dad was still only interested in making everybody else feel better.
Today, he told us that after the couple of days in ICU when the three blond nurses who had been taking care of him were wheeling him back to the room, he told them, "Now that you're taking me back to the room, I have a blond joke for y'all."
One of the nurses said, "What do you mean 'now' you can tell us? Why didn't you tell us earlier?"
Dad told them, "You think I'm crazy? I'm going to tell three blonds with rusty needles a blond joke while I can't defend myself?"
Dad's Brain on Pain Medication
Out of the blue at one point this afternoon, when it was just the original "Ransonette Family" (mom, dad, Laurie, Terry, Stuart, Bonnie), dad suddenly said, "Why do they have locks on the lockers in the police station?"
Good question dad.