Right now I'm just beside myself with rage over how my Dad's end is happening.
Doctors yesterday told me and my cousin (executor and POA) that Dad's 85 year old fighter pilot's lungs were too compromised for him ever to get off institutional high flow oxygen. So we both said, make him comfy.
I called to say goodbye, he was gasping and groaning, it was rotten.
So this morning, the hospital calls saying he's still gasping and groaning, but if we give him morphine his oxygen levels will go down. I say, he's a FENTANYL JUNKIE ALREADY, he's probably in full-blown WITHDRAWAL!
Oh, but we're not sure what he wants, they say.
THEN LET ME IN THERE, I WILL ASK HIM EVEN THOUGH I ALREADY KNOW AND HAVE TOLD YOU TWICE.
Oh, no, can't do that. Eff me, I'm already positive, asymptomatic for the last 11 days, WTH difference would it make either way? Give me a blue suit and a pair of gloves and I'll deal with it!
Oh no, can't do that.
So, I call my cousin to ask him to get out Dad's files and look for a directive. Thank God he found it, and Dad basically declared that when he's done, he's done except for comfort. Set them straight, finally.
Man, I still wish I could get in there, see if he's actually comfortable. Let the call come soon.
But the no visitor policy is facking insane. If Dad had known this was coming, he would have grabbed a 1911 the minute they told him he had COVID.
