I'm close to being within a month of the anniversary of my dad's passing. One would think that after almost six years I'd be handling this entire episode better than I do, but so be it.
There's one incident that I still feel is one of the worst I had to deal with, something that makes me angry every time I think of it, but I'm not sure if I'm right in being upset (it also upset my mother) or whether this is just how things are.
My dad was relegated to a bed set up in the living room the last five weeks of his life. He was incoherent most of the time, but when he did have those moments of clarity it always seemed like maybe he would have a chance to beat the cancer and kidney failure that was draining him.
It was during this time period when we had a conversation with the man who had been his doctor, and Mom's doctor, for a few years. I had met him about 2 months earlier for the first time, and I wasn't impressed; that's always a bad way to begin any kind of relationship.
Anyway, Dad's at home, and we hadn't heard from the doctor since that day in his office. I thought that was unprofessional, so I decided to call the doctor's office and, in my way, demanded to talk to him. When he came on the phone, I said that I thought his relative inattentiveness to my dad since he'd been home from the hospital reflected badly on his practice, and that he really needed to find the time to stop by and visit the family. I've worked with doctors for most of my adult life, and for once I was actually older than the doctor, and my dad was, well, who he was, so I felt it was warranted to make this request. He agreed to come later that week, as I'd called him on a Monday.
I happened to be visiting my dad the day he showed up, a Friday, as my parents lived out of town. I wanted to be there to see how this doctor would carry himself, though I'm not really sure why. He comes into the house and apologizes to my mother for not reaching out earlier; that was good. He then comes into the living room to talk to Dad, who was very coherent on that day, as we'd been enjoying what would be our last real conversation with each other.
The doctor starts talking to Dad, and in about two minutes he asks my dad this: "Have you thought about how you want to live out the rest of your life?" I was aghast and stunned; where the heck did that come from? My dad's demeanor immediately changed, and he didn't respond. From that point on, I never heard my dad utter another coherent word, just occasional sounds of pain. That hurt my feelings, and it hurt my mother's feelings, and when he left a few minutes later, I knew it was going to be the last time I talked to him because I wanted to beat him senseless.
Dad passed away two weeks later, and I keep thinking that the last time he was coherent and in a pretty good mood was destroyed by this man asking him that question. I've never lost the anger, but I keep wondering if I should have been expecting something else from this man. I mean, I could see him pulling my mother and myself away and asking us if we wanted him to go to a hospice, but to ask Dad,...
Just so you know, my mother and grandmother found new doctors within a couple of weeks, and I was the one who had to go to his office to pick up their medical records, because Mom refused to step inside the office again. But it does beg the question as to whether or not I should still be angry almost six years later, or if I really should have been angry back then. I can't figure out a way to let it go, and it's really good I don't live in the same town because I really don't know what I might have done later on.
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