tuesday, july 28:

he continued to be doing well, and was sounding like himself. he was quite active on the telephone throughout the day. i'm sure he kept the nurses busy trying to find him a portable phone whenever one was available.

i went in to visit him that evening after an early dinner. again, i turned the corner toward room number 4 and i could see him sitting up in a chair eating dinner. what a contrast to just two days earlier! he was surprised to see me, and said that he'd called joy to tell her that i didn't need to come in for a visit. he was feeling tired and wanted to get some sleep. i asked him why he hadn't called and told me that, since joy had not relayed the message, and he somewhat sheepishly said he misdialed. regardless, i was there so we had a visit.

he was doing so well. he was chatty, and funny. he was enjoying his nurse, named fredrick, and said that fred had helped him comb his hair. he teased fred that he'd be happy to give him a reference for a new career as a hairdresser.

he was also saying he wanted to watch a bit of CNN, but they were having difficulty getting any tv reception, but that was ok. he said "i have to remind myself, i'm not here on vacation, i'm sick and i need to rest!". while we chatted, he'd move around a little and his leg stumps would move and kick around. they seemed almost cheery. at one point, he stopped talking and held his breath, as though in pain. i asked him about it, and he said he was having some phantom pain in his right ankle. he surprised me by saying that they treat that with tylenol! how amazing. i was looking forward to learning new things about the world of amputations, and wheelchair living in general.

we had a nice visit. not too long. he was keen on getting some rest. he was doing so well that they were planning on moving him to a regular floor as soon as a room became available.

i left that night feeling so encouraged, thankful and amazed. there was still so much uncertainty, but if anyone could make this work, it was going to be the unsinkable george mcknight.

when i think of that night now, it's bittersweet. it was such a great visit, but everything changed after that night. things were never the same again. i got glimpses of his true self, but never for a full visit like that. 

wednesday, july 29:

we spoke on the phone that day, since it was not a visit day. he told me that he'd been up for most of the night, praying that God would make him a warrior. that he would have the strength for the journey ahead, and that he could be a warrior for others with similar conditions to his who couldn't fight for themselves. he fixed his mind on finding purpose and how his life could continue to have meaning.

he was full of ideas. some were kind of silly. he had plans on living in this new affordable housing complex across the street from his current home, but they only just started construction there, so it didn't seem like a realistic option, although, i told him we'd look into it. i remembered my mom telling me years and years ago that when my dad was a young man, his friends used to tease him that he must stay awake at night coming up with various plans and ideas. he was a dreamer, coming up with exciting new possibilities. i know for myself, that having the possibility of something good is encouraging for me. when things are bleak, even the faintest idea can be a glimmer of hope. so i decided, he's coping with this major loss by mentally coming up with ways that he'll manage; to have possibility of a hopeful future. i told joy "he may come up with some crazy stuff, but we just need to let him dream right now. that's how he's comforting himself".

that evening he was moved up to connell 9. joy spoke with the senior resident who would be his primary doctor until the end of august. after that he would be moved to providence care hospital for rehabilitation. joy was really relieved to have one consistent physician to deal with for the next 3+ weeks, especially after getting passed around from so many different places up until then.

he was getting settled in his new room. it wasn't a window side (but rather a hallway side) but that was ok. i anticipated visiting him on friday, and again on saturday, since it was end of the month and there would be two odd number days in a row (31 and 1). but nothing ever stayed the same for very long.

thursday, july 30:

we had plans to meet up with some friends at city park that morning. but just before we were supposed to leave, joy called me in tears. my dad was acting strange and joy had laughed at him when she thought he was kidding, but he was actually serious and she felt terrible.

he'd called her that morning in a bit of a panic saying "JOY! i have to get out of here", and she laughed and said "ok, sure, dad. you go ahead." knowing that he had no legs and no way of getting anywhere. he suddenly sounded very serious and asked her "are you my daughter?" as in "are you going to help me?" she was confused. surely he was kidding. he couldn't go anywhere. he was very sick and had just lost his legs. he told her he felt trapped and that the bandages on his legs were too tight. he felt like he had two big basketballs on the ends of his stumps. joy spoke with his doctor and she said that he'd kept trying to take off the bandages, so they had to strap him down. joy was really upset by that. the thought of him being or feeling trapped was the worst-case scenario for him.

joy spoke with e.ann who assured her that our dad had told her "joy is going to take care of it. it's going to be alright, joy's going to take care of it". which she found reassuring – he was not offended by her laughing at him.

friday, july 31:

the latest update from the hospital was not good. his condition was no longer stable, and they didn't understand why. his heart and kidneys were failing, and they wanted to move him back into the ICU.

i had an appointment later that morning to get some routine blood work done. joy and i agreed that if he died while i was at the blood clinic that she would wait to let me know when i got home. i remember waiting in line with my boys at the back of the life labs clinic. everyone in masks. trying to keep my boys occupied, while feeling pretty emotionally and mentally checked out. i was also anxious about my own health, since i'd been having some kidney pain and i felt that my dad was the poster child for why you didn't want to have kidney disease.

anyway, it all went pretty smoothly, and my kids and i walked back home. it was hot and i was feeling pretty stressed and impatient. i especially struggle with impatience when i'm very low on reserves and it feels like my kids are purposely making life more difficult for me. it's an ongoing challenge. but we made it home, and my dad was still in the same condition.

joy had spoken to him over the phone, and he seemed to respond (perk up) at her voice, although he couldn't speak. tim, since he works at the hospital, he went by the room to see my dad and pray with him. tim reported back to joy that he was so out-of-it and didn't seemed to know tim was there.

he was back in the ICU by evening, and i contacted the family in TO to let them know about this sudden turn. that evening, rachel and shannon came by for a campfire and i cried and talked about my feelings most of the evening. i found myself often wondering aloud through my tears "why is this happening? he just lost his legs. why are his major organs failing?" it was a cathartic visit, and i appreciate their willingness to sit and listen.

saturday, august 1:

we continued to wait for something to happen.

joy and i were reluctant to go visit, since we had such happy memories of our last visit that we didn't want them replaced with something that might disturb us. but by afternoon, i felt that perhaps i would go visit and just sit holding his hand. i thought that would at least be a comfort to him, and me too. so i called to find out if it was a visitation day, and found that the next day was. so i called joy and told her that i planned to go visit the next morning. 

sunday, july 26:

i wanted to go in and see my dad as soon as possible in the ICU, but i needed to wait to speak with joy. in the meantime, i called the hospital to see if they would allow both of us to visit. the head nurse in the ICU told me that only one authorized person was allowed in, and that just a few months previous, no visitors were allowed in the ICU at all. he told me "the best thing we can do for your dad is get him out of the ICU, then she can visit him on another floor". when i talked to joy, she was fine with that.

as i had been thinking about everything that had happened, i knew that his choice to proceed with amputating both his legs was an act of love. that he loved us and was willing to make this sacrifice to be with us. i cried a lot thinking of that. i thought i'd never be able to see him without his legs and not have that visual reminder.

my dad had been a chaplain at KGH on and off for about 20 years. during that time, he spent several years working with patients and family in the ICU. he told me once that only about 30% of patients in the ICU survive. i'd been in the ICU before, when i used to work at KGH in the environmental services department (the new title for house-keeping). i was aware of how intense it felt in there, and knew that seeing him would be difficult. i tried to imagine him without his legs to prepare myself.

when i arrived in the ward, i turned left down the hall, and he was in the room at the very end, facing the hall. room number 4. i could see him lying in his bed in the dark. he was hooked up to lots of machines, with tubes and wires everywhere. he had the intubation tube in, and there was this strap across his face keeping it in place. he also had a feeding tube up his nose. he couldn't speak. there was one screen on the wall that was tracking his heart rate, and it was flashing "irregular, irregular". seeing that made me nervous. they required me to wear gloves and a gown before i went in (in addition to my mask). i wasn't sure why at first, but knew it was pretty common practice.

"hi dad" i said and he reached his hand out for me. i told him that i'd brought a bible to read to him, if he was interested. he nodded. i asked him if he wanted me to read from the old testament or the new. and he held up two fingers, for the new testament. i asked him "would you like me to read from john?", he nodded yes. so i stood beside him, holding his hand with one hand, and holding the bible in my other hand. not long after, he started gesturing that he needed a nurse, so i went and got her. he needed to use the bed pan, so i went and waited in the lobby. this happened again shortly later, and i asked the nurse about it – i wondered if it might be stress related. she explained that he was on a liquid diet (i hadn't clued into the feeding tube at that point) and that it's common to cause diarrhea. but just as a precaution they'd taken some samples to ensure he didn't have a bug (which was why we were wearing the gowns and gloves).

after my second wait in the lobby, we didn't continue with reading and attempted to chat with the help of a piece of paper that had letters on it. he was quite tired and struggling to spell things out. i tried telling him of all the well wishes people had shared, but i found he didn't seem particularly interested. and he definitely didn't want to discuss his ordeal (he wanted to know about us and how we were doing). he did ask the date and what day of the week it was. i told him it was sunday, and that he had his first surgery on thursday. he raised his eyebrows in surprise. when i asked him if that seemed too short or too long, he spelled out that it felt like more time had passed.

he spelled out B-O-Y-S with his sheet, asking how my boys were doing. i tried to give him an update on joy's camping trip. but it was difficult to give him interesting news, since we'd mostly spent the weekend waiting on news about him. i told him i would make sure to get more information from joy and her kids for my next visit. we continued trying to communicate using the letters, but i could tell he was becoming frustrated. a doctor stopped by and she also tried to understand what he was saying I-N-E-E-D-W-O-O-D. i didn't understand, but she said "words? you need words?" he nodded. she said she would try to get him a sheet of words instead of letters.

he seemed to be struggling or in discomfort. i asked if he was in pain, and he shook his head and kind of gestured to the tube. i asked him if that was the worst part, and he nodded. at one point, i could see a stream of wet coming from his eye. i wondered if he was crying or if his eye was just leaking. i concluded it was just leaking. although, it would be reasonable for him to cry. i was intentional to hold his hand a lot, because physical touch was his love-language, as well as words of affirmation. 

a young doctor or resident came in with an update. he had a few questions about if my dad would want to be resuscitated, and explained that it could become necessary for him to get a tracheotomy. my dad tried to communicate, but struggled, so i spoke for him. "my dad would like a chance at life, and he's willing to do what is necessary. is that right dad? unless you've changed your mind..." and he nodded empathically. he wanted to live.

when it was just us again, and shortly before i left, i told him "i'm proud of you, dad" and he took my hand in both his hands, and he pulled them toward his heart.

when i got home, i called joy with an update. i told her that i estimated that his legs were about 6 to 8 inches long. afterward she said to me "you did good, les. you did good".

monday, july 27:

i called the hospital for an update. they were hoping to take his tube out that day, but were going to wait and see how he was doing. i continued in a mixed state of sorrow and relief.

when i got home from the grocery store, as i was carrying the bags up to the house, brendan came out and said three familiar words that i didn't know if i'd ever hear again "your dad called". that brought a huge smile to my face as i responded with "he did?".

i'd noted during my sunday visit that there was no phone in the ICU room, but it turns out they have a few portable phones that they're able to take to patients who are able to talk. but it all depends on availability. it was tricky to get a hold of him, but i left a message for him to call. shortly later, i saw KHSC appear on our ident-a-call, and it was the nurse who passed him the phone. his voice sounded gravelly, but stronger that i was expecting. he also sounded in good spirits. he asked me to retell him everything that had happened since wednesday, so i sat on my porch, chatting away to my dad over the phone the way we had a hundred times. it felt so normal. it was so encouraging. at the end of the story, he said to me "i'm sorry to have put you through all that", but i was just glad he was alive.

from here on in, the story of my dad's illness becomes less linear, and more like a calendar. each day was a new development.

this happened, then this happened, then this happened, then this happened.

we rarely had more than a day without changes.

friday, july 24:

i called joy first thing friday morning. she reported that the surgery went well, and he was heavily sedated. there was no urgency or need to talk with him on the phone, since he was sleeping. he still had his intubation tube in, and they planned to leave it in for a little while. he was in the kidd 2 ICU, because they had the capability to do dialysis if that was necessary.

that day i moved around as though in a dream. i felt hung-over from the intensity of the experience. i had almost no appetite. we went to nancy and gerry's for dinner, but i wasn't very chatty. just really worn out. thankfully, that was the first night of the year's baseball season, so after dinner we sat and watched the game together.

joy had pre-arranged plans to go camping with their best couple friends and kids, at a campground north of kingston. she spoke with the doctors before she went and everything was stable. if anything changed, i was to call her. the doctors knew to call me first if anything happened.

saturday, july 25:

i got a call from the vascular surgeon around 10:30 am. i remember that the phone rang while i was trying to put in my contact lenses and i rushed to the phone with one lens in my eye, and the other on my finger. dr yacob told me that while the surgery was a success, my dad was clearly still fighting an infection, and the other leg would need to come off. he told me that the first leg could not have been more infected – he specifically said that even the bone was infected.

so i started from square one again. recalling all the friends and family we'd spoken to on thursday. brendan and i tried calling joy, but her cell phone went straight to voicemail. we couldn't remember which campground she'd gone to, but thankfully, we got a hold of some close friends of hers, who knew the name of the camp. they called the camp office and left a message that joy should call me. they even went so far to say that they would drive up there and relay the message about this second surgery in person if necessary. i really appreciated their help.

when joy called me, i gave her the update. she was very upset. she said that she'd been holding out hope that he'd be able to drive again. my dad's car was his only worldly possession and he was deeply attached to it. he loved helping others by giving them drives. it was his love language. he'd taught brendan to drive in that car. he'd taught joelle. he drove all the grandkids to awana, and when i had a broken foot, he drove me to and from work. he drove eamon to day camp. he frequently helped with after school pick-up (if i wasn't available), and would help us with our paper route on rainy days (bagging the papers for us, and passing them through the car window). for my dad to lose his ability to drive was to lose a really significant part of his identity. joy told me to tell the hospital staff that we love him.

the young anesthesiologist called me. the one we'd spoken with on thursday. he said that he'd been in to speak with my dad. although my dad couldn't speak because of his intubation tube, he was able to gesture and spell out questions and comments on a letter sheet. the doctor told me that my dad had remembered him and mentioned our 'mcdonald' inside joke. hearing that warmed my heart. that even though he'd been through hell, he was still himself. he explained the risks to me again, that he was highly likely to have a heart-attack on the operating table, but that he again wanted to proceed. i relayed the message from joy – to tell him that we love him. he said he'd give him the message right away.

when speaking with my dad's friend e.ann, she asked me if he was awake and knew what was happening. i told her yes, and that he'd even made a joke with the doctor. she laughed with disbelief – only george... :) she'd been worried that he would wake up to having no legs instead of one, and how he (or anyone) would react to that. but thankfully he did know and gave his consent. she and i talked about how unfair it felt for him to make it through the first surgery, only to die in the second – if that were to happen.

nancy had come to get the boys. brendan and i were just hanging out at home, waiting for news from the hospital. around 1 they called to say he was up next for surgery. thankfully, since baseball season had started the day before, i sat half spaced out watching the game. the nice thing about watching baseball is that you don't fully have to pay attention, but it gives you something somewhat low-energy to watch. so i had something to distract me, without having to fully engage my mind.

again, around 2 hours later, they called and the doctor started by simply saying "the surgery went well". again, he was heavily sedated, but i could visit the next day.

frig, what a rollercoaster (little did i know, that was just the beginning). i was sunk with emotional exhaustion. it was like i could exhale again. brendan opened some wine and we toasted my dad. i was thankful, and i was proud of him. he was courageous and he'd made it through TWICE!

before we left, we contacted all his closest friends and our relatives in toronto to tell them about the situation. it took some sleuthing on my part to find his best friend, bob's number. my dad had tried to tell us, but was getting his numbers mixed up. he mostly called bob using motor memory, and couldn't tell us the number. but after looking up an acquaintance of mine on facebook, who was married to bob's grandson, i was able to figure out the spelling of his last name, and we found his phone number online. he was so glad we'd called him.

the emergency room doctor the night before had told me that my dad was the sickest person in emerge that night. having heard the news that he was in such bad shape that he was not expected to make it through the surgery, it was difficult to know what to expect when we arrived. i had not actually seen him since father's day. it had been a month, which was an unusually long time, considering we lived in the same town and normally i'd see him at least every week. during the pandemic he'd drop by to sit on my porch to read or to chat. he loved our porch.

when we arrived at the hospital, we found our dad in surprisingly good spirits. we had questions about his condition. while the nurse did a scan of his heart, a social worker came by to talk with us. she wanted to know if there was anything he needed, and asked questions about his living arrangements. we were quite discouraged about how he would manage living independently with only one leg, but the social worker told us that in times like this, when the mind wants to live, the body and mind start to work together and adapt. she arranged for a chaplain to come by and visit us, and took joy down to the giftshop to buy my dad some reading glasses. he was having difficulty seeing the numbers on the phone. he was making a lot of phone calls. there were a lot of people he wanted to say goodbye to. sometimes when he dialed, he'd fumble and hit the wrong number. i said to him "dad, use your index finger, instead of your thumb. you keep hitting the wrong numbers". and he said "i always use my thumb". that struck me as something about him that i didn't know.

his legs were bandaged up and elevated. they were covered in so many bandages that it looked as though he had bulky casts on. his legs were puffy, and cold to the touch. one doctor pressed on his right leg, and when he moved his finger away it left an imprint – joy and i just looked at each other as if to say "did you see that?". he asked us "have they said anything about his right leg? it's not that much better than his left". we told him that they had not mentioned it, and he responded saying "they probably don't want to do both legs, because the longer he's in surgery the higher his risk of heart attack". it was clear that his legs were dying.

that doctor was a young anesthesiologist. we spent quite a bit of time with him that day, since he would come and assess my dad's condition to decide on the best method of anesthetic for the surgery – the one that would reduce his risk of dying. my dad was always a social person, and had a habit of asking all about where the doctors/nurses were from, and where they went to school, rather than asking questions related to his health. at one point, he said to the young doctor (believing the man's name was mcdonald) "do you know how many people with the last name mcdonald are anesthesiologists?". the young doctor politely shared his rather eastern european last name, and added "and actually, i don't think i've known any mcdonalds in anesthesiology". we all had a good, comfortable laugh about that. that's pretty much how the day went. we hung out, we joked, we laughed, and chatted. i'd taken the little memoir book with me to fill in. i figured i'd get some more information, but it might provide a few conversation prompters if we ever found ourselves at a loss for what to say. he really enjoyed chatting about his personal history. sometimes he'd ask us questions about what our favourite family vacations had been. we'd already said our goodbyes over the phone that morning, so after that, we were just enjoying being together.

he talked to all joy's kids on the phone, saying goodbye. he talked to my mom (and told her he was sorry – that meant a lot to her), and he talked to both brendan and tim. he chose not to talk with my boys, since he thought they were too young. it was difficult enough for him to know what to say to liam and erin. he was also adamant he wanted caleb to have his watch. he told us "i don't have will. just divide everything between the two of you. i just don't want you fighting over anything", which we both kind of found funny. he didn't have anything anyone would fight over to begin with, but agreed that we wouldn't. he wanted me to call his bank lady, anne, and assured me that she'd help with anything she could. then he said with satisfaction "ok, so miss magoog will be the treasurer".

the medical team had three options for anesthetic. one, a general anesthetic, which was the highest risk of a heart attack. the second, was a local anesthetic in his leg. the third was a spinal (spinal tap i think, but i'm not sure). the second and third options came with the risk of bleeding out, since he was on blood thinners. i was confused, since i thought if they're taking off his leg, wasn't there a high risk of him bleeded out from the operation alone. but the doctor explained that they would cauterize his leg, so he wouldn't bleed out. that made sense. with the local anesthetic and spinal, he would be awake the whole time. i asked him "how would you feel being awake for the whole surgery?" and he simply said "well... i'd learn a lot".

as noon came and went, we were told that his surgery would be around 3. so we continued to wait, chat and he would dose off every once in a while. he claimed he had not slept at all in emerge the night before, but he clearly had since he had no memory of them bandaging up his feet. and we could see for ourselves that he was in and out of sleep, even though he didn't think he was. that, along with his not-great hearing, made it easy to talk plainly with the doctors right in front of him. a catholic priest came in to see us, i assume there had been no protestant chaplains available, which was fine. we made some small talk (one of my dad's brothers is a priest), and the priest suggested we say the lord's prayer together. as we did that, i got choked up with tears.

by mid-afternoon i was getting hungry. and i found myself in the awkward position of wishing my dad would be taken off to his life-threatening surgery so i could go get a sandwich. while it was a natural impulse caused by a grumbly stomach, i felt badly for wanting to wrap things up, rather than get more time. i drank so water, and felt a little better.

in his vulnerable state (which is not uncommon after my dad has major surgery), he opened up about pretty deeply personal things, particularly relating to his faith and his marriage to my mom. and i was grateful for the insights, since it filled in more of my personal story. i understand my family's story better now, although it doesn't comfort me much, seeing how the problems had been preventable, or at the very least worked out under different circumstances.

his surgery was bumped again. so in the late afternoon, joy and i went to get some dinner, and told him we'd be back around 6. when we returned, he was sleeping soundly. we sat quietly with him, and would chat between us a little. eventually he woke up, and immediately made one last, significant phone call.

around 7:30 or 8, we said goodbye and headed home. he was at peace. we each gave him a big hug, and i told him "i love you and i'll miss you". he started to say "i'll miss you too", but then caught himself. in the elevator, i told joy how strange it felt leaving, not knowing if we'd ever see him again. we'd concluded earlier in the day that we would pray "your will be done" and leave it at that. the prospect of life with one leg was also scary, but we'd figure it out later.

by the time i got home, tim had called to tell brendan that the hospital had called and he'd been taken in for surgery. i was wiped, and went straight to bed. i lied awake for a while. my stomach was in deep knots. eventually, i called to brendan in the living room to come lie down with me. having him with me, gave me a chance to cry deeply, and that eased the knots in my stomach some. i tried to prepare myself for his death, but it seemed so sudden and it was so gut wrenching. i didn't want to lose him. 

i'm not sure if i eventually fell asleep, but around 10:30 the phone rang, and brendan came to tell me that he'd made it.

that drive to the hospital on wednesday, july 22 was the last time my boys and brendan ever saw him. brendan said he was in severe pain and in very rough shape. he couldn't walk, and was mostly quiet in an attempt to stay conscious. despite this, he did not fail to give brendan directions or comment when brendan chose not to take what he thought was the most efficient route (this was a persistent and humourous trait of his. brendan often tells a story of driving with both of us when he was learning to drive stick, and my dad and i complimenting each other on giving great directions). when they arrived at emerge, a nurse came out to get him with a wheelchair (we're still not sure if he called ahead and they were expecting him, or if that nurse just happened to be there), to help him inside. he used to work with her years ago. eamon told me that his granddad said to her with great enthusiasm "mary! you changed your hair!". this was around 4 pm. i was concerned by brendan's report, but waited a few hours before calling for information.

around 7:30, i called to get an update. the hospital staff said that just got moved into another area of emerge, and they suggested i call back in an hour. so i called back at 8:30, and the doctor was with him. i believe the doctor called me back shortly after. she told me quite directly that his leg was severely infected and it would need to come off. i was really shocked. we knew that losing some toes had been a possibility, so losing his foot wouldn't have been a big surprise. but his whole leg, above the knee was quite extreme. she said he had a life-threatening infection, and removing his leg was necessary to save his life. she explained that he had peripheral vascular disease, which meant that he wasn't getting enough blood circulating to his feet to heal his wounds. i asked her if this could have been prevented, and she said there was no way of knowing. that this kind of thing was highly likely and almost inevitable, and with his kidney disease and transplant, that his health was a real balancing act and anything could throw off the balance. she said if it wasn't this it would likely be something else. he would be scheduled for surgery first thing in the morning.

she had not yet spoken to him, and i told her "he's going to be VERY upset". having his freedom was a core value. he was someone who liked to come and go as he pleased, and feeling trapped in any way was detrimental to his mental state. i would often say that he was like a feral child raised with little-to-no adult influence, and continued to be a free-floater as an adult. i got off the phone and called my sister. i barely slept that night. i was worried about him. there were a lot of unknowns; things that my brain struggled to grasp. i was upset. losing a leg was a very big deal, especially at 75. he would be wheelchair bound. where would he live? his apartment wasn't accessible.

the next morning, i wanted to talk to him asap, but i thought it was important to check in with joy and get any updates available first. when i called, she was on the phone with the doctor and said she would call me right back. the news was not good. they said that my dad's heart was very weak, and based on heart scans they determined that he had (or may have had) a mild heart attack while in emerge the night before. they said there was a very high chance that he would die on the operating table. they felt he was not fully in a clear mind, so the decision was up to us if we wanted to proceed with the surgery or allow him to die peacefully from the infection. we bought felt that it would be better to die peacefully from the infection. we decided that joy would come to my house and we would call him together. because of COVID we could not go and be with him. i called my mom, because we knew she would want to be included, and asked her to come over and be with my kids while we spoke with dad. usually she's a very routine person, and doesn't like to deviate from that routine. but when i called and said "mom, i need you to come over to be with my boys" she didn't question me or hum or haw, she immediately said "ok". i asked her if she'd spoken with joy and knew about dad, she didn't, so i briefly filled her in over the phone. in the meantime, brendan's boss suggested he use his bank of emergency days to come home and be with the family. so he was here when my mom and joy arrived.

together, we called our dad. he sounded better than we expected. when we asked "how are you doing?" he said "oh, i'm dying". i was surprised by how matter-of-fact he was about it. he was neither emotional nor afraid, and he seemed to clearly understand the situation. we relayed to him what the doctor said about the high risks of the surgery, and to that he said "i've known lots of people to go on to live happy lives with amputations". we thought we understood what he was saying, but needed it more plainly than that, so we repeated our question about the surgery. that time he said again that he'd known lots of people to live happy lives with amputations, and that he wanted a chance at living. he was very clear, he wanted to live. when i asked him how he felt about losing his leg, he joked "oh hunky-dorey. i've been waiting for this my whole life", and we laughed. we cried too. he told us how much he loved us, and that he was sorry for anything he'd done to hurt us. that meant a lot to me. i'd briefly thought about what i'd want and need to hear from him in a goodbye, and i did want some kind of appology for the negative impact his choices had on me as a teen.

on the whole, it was clear from the conversation he was a lot less upset about losing his leg than i expected. he talked as though he was a dying, but still chose hope. it was clear that surviving was his top priority. without surviving, freedom was irrelevant. joy, mom and i sat chatting after the phone call. my mom and joy were sure they would not have chosen the surgery. i wasn't sure either way. but it was clear that he fully understood and he was very decisive about his choice, so joy called the hospital to give her consent to proceed with the surgery.

meanwhile, a nurse called on another number to say that she had pulled some strings and obtained permission for both joy and me to go see him on Davies 4. i asked how long we could visit for, and she said a couple hours. he was expected to go into surgery around 12 noon.

my suggestion for him to live in our basement was mostly to help support him, but i also really liked the idea of my kids getting more frequent time with him, and getting to raise them in a multi-generational home. i also liked the idea of me, myself, getting more time with him. but i was happy with the compromise. he told me quite sincerely that one of the reasons why he did want to postpone living with us was because he didn't want to be a strain on my marriage. i found it very sweet and thoughtful of him.

during his hospital stay, he'd become anxious in the night since they'd taken all his meds from him and he was worried they were going to leave him to die. he started crying and told himself "i don't want to die. i have too much to live for. i want to see the juniors grow up, i want to see joelle graduate from queen's". when he told me this, i was caught off guard, because i didn't think he was at risk of dying. but i appreciated the window into his heart and mind, i found his words revealing and very touching.

he had arranged with his landlord that he would move to a vacant apartment on the ground floor, which would be ideal for him as he aged and would increasingly rely on a walker. the plan was that he would be fully moved out of his existing apartment by the end of july.

so by this point, it was the beginning of june. i believe it was june 4, the day before my nephew's birthday. about 10 days later, on a sunday morning, i got a call from KGH, which surprised me. i was told that my dad was in emerge and needed to be picked up for a drive home. apparently he was there about his feet. i was really surprised by that; "your feet? what's wrong with your feet?". so the boys and i headed over to KGH to pick him up. i was already planning on doing a costco run for him, so we took the long way down front road and stopped at reid's dairy before going to costco. it was around 10:30 in the morning, but he was delighted at the thought of getting an ice cream cone while at reid's dairy. he even suggested me getting one for myself and the boys. i got him his cone, and got jumbo freezies for the boys. we bumped into my friend melodie in the parking lot and i told her how my dad wanted an ice cream cone. we laughed and she said "that seems like a solid life choice", to which he just shrugged.

i tried to get more information about his feet, which he had not really thought to tell us much about at that point. it turns out, that during his previous visit at the hospital, he wasn't wearing any shoes or sandals when he frequently needed to rush to the washroom. this resulted in 6 or 7 pressure sores on the soles of his feet. he was in severe pain and had decided to go to the hospital in the night. i think he took a taxi there. they had arranged for some homecare to come in and tend to his wounds. about 3 days later, i got a call from a local foot clinic (where he had monthly appointments to care for his feet – just regular foot maintenance, toenails and stuff). he was there for an appointment and the woman felt he needed to go to the hospital asap. so he drove up to our house, and brendan gave him a drive down to KGH. he was in emerge for the afternoon and evening, and was admitted for these large wounds/ulcers.

the next sunday was father's day, and we were going to have a fun father's day bbq in joy's backyard. my dad was so looking forward to it, but we said we'd postpone. instead, i went to visit him in the hospital. i'd given him this 'write your own memoir" book a few years ago, and during the pandemic, i was at him about filling in the questions (since he had so much time on his hands). but he suggested that we work on it together. i could ask him the question and he could tell me about it, and I'd write it down. that was actually my original suggestion, so that was fine with me. so i took that along with me, and we had a nice long conversation (about 2 hours) about his family, upbringing and childhood. he was so thrilled to see me, and to spend time with me. he said "i feel like i've just had a counselling session!". his childhood was extremely difficult and adverse. they were a poor, irish family; with a elderly, veteran father (already in his 50s and 60s when his second batch of kids were born), who his kids called 'sarge' instead of dad and a mother with an undiagnosed mental illness. both were heavy drinkers. it was a very rich conversation, and i was looking forward to many more. despite the bandages on his feet he was in good spirits and really enjoyed talking. he would move around on his bed a lot, and would opt to lie at the footend of the bed, so he could see out the window better. he remained pretty agile. his spunky self.

a few days later, i got a call from a social worker at the hospital. she said she'd spoken with my dad about having a two-month respite at a local seniors facility to help rebuild his strength and prepare him for independent living again. he wanted her to call joy and me for our opinions. this sounded great to us. he would have the 24-hour support that we thought he'd benefit from. having a team who could monitor his health and take action as needed. they'd also be able to do wound care, physio, and his meals would be provided. it all sounded great to us. so he got moved there at the end of june, and had to be in quarantine for 2 weeks (which meant he couldn't leave his room).

things started out ok, although a little weird. but it was all new to us, and the circumstances were different because of COVID, so we remained optimistic. it was roughly a 20 minute drive from our house, and i would occasionally drive out supplies to him (clothing, reading material, toiletries, etc), since he'd taken nothing with him to that hospital that day, but wouldn't get to see him. he was starting to get increasingly disgruntled there, and was unhappy with some of the staff (one woman repeatedly called him rude, which upset him, since he was, at that point, in severe pain from his feet). he was feeling disoriented about the date and day of week, since there was no calendar and his watch was being repaired. on at least two occasions, he got a drive (once from a friend, and once from joy) down to the hospital. the first time might have been about his feet or lungs (the meds they had him on was causing his lungs to fill with water and he was having difficulty breathing), and the second time was about his kidney or gout. he was worried that he was getting dehydrated. both times, he returned to the seniors place with reassurance things were fine. he developed a flare up of gout in his right foot. he had a history with gout, and his father before him. but his family doctor (who my dad gave permission to speak with joy) said that there were no safe medications to treat gout that wouldn't harm my dad's kidneys. we learned that in the past, he had received treatment for his gout and it did do harm to his kidneys. the doctor explained to joy that eventhough everyone thinks of the heart as the most important organ, everything goes through the kidney. another complicating factor is that my dad was not getting enough blood circulation to his feet, which was why they weren't healing properly. he had an appointment scheduled for later in july with the vascular team to put a stint in his leg. by this point, joy and i agreed that one of us needed to go along with him to appointments. his hearing wasn't good (although he wouldn't wear his hearing aids), and we were starting to wonder if he was hearing everything the medical team was saying; and if he was, did he understand it well enough to explain it to us. between his wounds and his gout, he was in severe agony. he would call us, but not even talk, he'd just moan in pain. joy was particularly traumatized by those calls.

on joelle's birthday, we had a family get together at sydenham beach for eamon and joelle (since they're birthday neighbours). my dad was so down that he wasn't permitted to go. i tried to reassure him that it was just because of COVID, but he was definitely feeling like a prisoner in the seniors' place. on the sunday, one of the staff called joy to say he appeared to be depressed and wondered if we could visit. at that point, i didn't even know he was allowed visitors. we had a bit of a discussion trying to figure out what our responsibilities were. was it on us to muster up some friends of our dad's to go visit him? i was struggling a little with feeling like he had made relationship decisions (to leave his marriage, to date but never get serious with anyone, to pull away from a significant other in his life in recent years) that meant he didn't have a partner, and i was resisting providing more care in the situation that a 'regular daughter'. what were we responsible for? i pretty much landed on being a loving, caring daughter, but not trying to be all things to him.

while all this was happening, his wounds and legs were slowly becoming infected and none of us had any idea. he'd been given instructions on what to look for, things that would indicate an infection. but i had not seen him, and was relying on him and the team at the senior's place to be vigilant. when we spoke on the wednesday morning, he told me that he'd woken in the night (he had not been sleeping well for weeks, if not months, and would frequently lie awake at night), and thought he was in a drug treatment facility in buffalo. he had always abstained from substances, and i wasn't sure if he'd ever been to buffalo. but regardless, it was very odd. a staff member came in the room for some reason in the night, and my dad said "i'm so glad you're here" because it helped him come back to reality. over the morning, and into the afternoon, he was concerned that he was becoming dehydrated, which would harm his kidney. i didn't really see any reason why he'd be dehydrated and wondered if he was just disoriented in the night. he needed a nightlight and a calendar. he called to say he needed a drive to the hospital. i was reluctant, and tried to assure him he was ok (in hindsight, i realize that it was my hope that he was fine. i didn't want there to be an issue, so i had encouraged him to stay put), but told him we could give him a drive if he needed one. he looked into a taxi, but it was going to cost $400 (we thought this seniors facility was going to take care of any transportation to and from the hospital. even before this, it was clear that the care there was not what we'd signed up for. we were disappointed and frustrated by the situation there). so brendan and the boys headed out to pick him up, while i worked.

i don't know how other people cope or process grief. i honestly don't know. but i'm someone who has to think and write out my thoughts and feelings as a way of getting them out.

i have a lot on my heart and mind as i grieve my dad after what felt like a sudden illness, a month of setbacks and close-calls, and his relatively short time in palliative care before he died last thursday. 

i also know that the story unfolded in a specific order of events, and i want to write them down so that i don't forget or the details don't get fuzzy.

but ultimately, i miss him and i'm so sad that he's gone. i'm hoping that by giving him my heart and headspace that i will be comforted and soothed.

over my 40 year relationship with my dad, our dynamic changed and evolved in both good and bad ways, and went through a lot of versions. when i was a kid, we were super tight. when i was 10, my parents separated, which severed our relationship in significant ways. in part because of absence, but perhaps more significantly because of misunderstanding and miscommunication, although the lack of availability (physically and emotionally) didn't help at all.

when i was around 25, circumstances shifted and he became much more involved in both my life again and my sister's life too. he was a phone guy, and he's usually try to be in touch at least once a day. we didn't always answer. i was often annoyed by it. but as i got older, and he persisted, he eventually wore me down and started playing a more significant role in my life once again. in recent years (i can't say how many – maybe 10?) he has called several times a day. i would make a point to answer at least once (even if simply because if i didn't he'd keep calling). i grew really fond of him again, and let go of old feelings of hurt, disappointment and critical judgmentalism (on my part). i think i was always really fond of him, but i had a wall up for a long time and didn't want to be vulnerable to him for fear he might hurt me again, but i let down that wall. anyway, i would say i've had a good relationship with him for the last 15 years or so. he made me laugh and brought me joy. i frequently told others "i enjoy him". it felt i was finally back in the close relationship i had with him when i was a child. there was something in me that resonated with something in him. i felt most at home when he was part of family functions. my family felt complete when he was there, probably because of all those years when he was absent. our inner workings functioned in the same way. we had a lot of the same strengths and a lot of the same struggles. in enneagram terms, we're both 7s with an 8 wing. we shared a certain level of understanding.

at the beginning of the pandemic, i found myself indulging his frequent calls with more willingness. just to say that when called 5 or 6 times a day, i'd answer the phone each time. he was, after all, stuck at home at home alone with an immunocompromised pre-existing condition (kidney disease, PLUS a kidney transplant), so the least i could do was talk to him. it's not like i had anything more interesting to do. plus, he made me laugh (he used to joke that he had a really busy pandemic schedule. that he sits in a chair and stares at a wall, then switches to another chair and stares at another wall). i think it was during that time that i became especially attached to him – he was part of my everyday life. i told him about the nitty-gritty of my daily, parenting life, then followed up later with updates. he really genuinely cared. we also talked about the news, COVID and politics. after brendan, he was the person most involved in my life. he called a lot, and i benefitted. i started doing his costco pharmacy runs and grocery shopping, and learned to factor my aging parents into my work-life balance.

i started observing that he wasn't eating very well. he was mostly living off cereal or cans of soup, and would often pick up fast food to eat on my porch (sharing the fries with my boys). in may, after a routine kidney appointment at the hospital, the nurses called him in to be admitted. his creatinine and calcium levels were too high and he needed to be on an IV. i wasn't too concerned about this, he'd been in the hospital at least twice before because of his creatinine levels since his kidney transplant. he usually enjoyed the change in routine and talking with the hospital staff. looking back now, i wonder if i didn't understand the seriousness or if he just downplayed his kidney disease. i suspect it was a bit of both. over the following months, we found we needed to get medical information directly from the hospital staff because he wasn't conveying all the important information.

at one point, a hospital staff member called to say i'd been given approval to visit on odd number days. so i went in to see him on kidd 4. he was sitting on a chair by the window reading the newspaper. in that moment, he seemed content, not particularly sick, and like his usual self. he was happy to see me. he was having some digestive issues and would often have to rush to the washroom from time to time. it makes me sad to think of now, because those urgent washroom breaks caused a ripple effect that led to his death four months later.

during that visit, he admitted with a fair amount of reluctance that he has not been taking care of himself very well. his doctor was upset that his declining kidney health had slipped through the cracks, and efforts were made to set up some homecare for him. ideally a homecare nurse would go in regularly to provide general care, but also keep an eye out for signs that he was not doing well. the hospital staff offered to set up help with meals and chores, which he declined, but 5 minutes later he called the nurse back in and admitted he needed help. he said "i'm a survivor" and explained how he tries to get by on his own. he talked about his childhood poverty and the shame he developed of having visitors in his home. he was very embarrassed to admit to her, and later me, that his apartment was deeply neglected, since he was not well enough to keep on top of chores in recent weeks and months. 

he asked me if i knew anyone who he could hire as a housecleaner. i told him that wasn't necessary, and that i would help him. that evening i took his house keys and went to his apartment to "just quickly do the dishes". i can't, and don't really want to even if i could, describe the state of his apartment. but i will say that i had to give myself reassuring self talk within seconds of walking in – "it's ok. you can do this".

he was discharged the next day, and i started going in as often as i could to help with chores. brendan and i got rid of a big broken recliner that was taking up too much space to help declutter his one-room apartment. we even invited him to live in our basement in-law suite. he gave it some thought, but felt he wasn't quite done with living in his apartment building (he had lots of friends and acquaintances there and felt he could make a positive difference in their lives). he wanted to move to a ground floor apartment in his building, and start getting some home-care, and eventually, when he really needed to, he would move to our house. we agreed on this two phase plan.

i've been listening to hayden's album "us alone" a lot this week. i don't know if a hayden album has resonated with me so much since 1997.

i'm pmsing, and this day has been difficult (both related and unrelated to fall i had first thing this morning on an icy patch of sidewalk). now i sit in the dark, self-soothing and being soothed by this lovely album.

i went to my first banff centre film festival world tour at duncan mcarthur in about 2005. i'm pretty sure it was the catalyst for getting my nose pierced. i'm sure there's a blog entry about that somewhere.

since then, i have gone ALMOST every year, except for about 3 years in a row when we couldn't get tickets because we left it to late and it was sold out. i've learned to buy my tickets early, but still depend on reminders from bren to pick them up before it's too late.

we took both our boys when they were babies, and look forward to them being old enough to come along with us. i can't wait to blow their minds :p

the bcff always has an impact on me, and stirs a desire for adventure and nature. to take risks and be rewarded for that. my whole life, i've had an affinity for the olympics. i always get chocked up, and touched by the perseverance of the athletes. i've been known to refer to it as a "triumph of the human spirit". i think the bcff embodies all that i love about the olympics, only better. i love getting to know the people, hearing their stories, celebrating their achievements with them.

this year was different though. in a good way. this time, instead of wishing i could quit my job and go do this or that, or feeling stirred to get out there and push myself, i felt a great sense of satisfaction. in the last year, i've made decision that move me closer to my outdoor adventure fantasy life. i've shifted my priorities to make time for hiking. in training for the grand canyon, i fell in love with being more active (or maybe it's more accurate to say that i fell in love with how it makes me feel to be more active. perhaps a bit of both). AND rach and i trekked the grand canyon (there was an hour long doc about the grand canyon, which really hit home with me).

i'm excited about my 40s. about becoming an outdoorsy person, about making my boys into outdoorsy people, about spending quality time in the outdoors with friends, family or alone. 

the other day, i came across an article about a group called "unlikely hikers" who are fat/people of size (they use both terms), people of colour, people with disabilities, etc etc. generally, people don't fit the typical stereotype for hikers. i found this very reassuring and encouraging. it's good to be reminded that hiking and outdoor activities are not exclusively for any demographic. they're for everyone :)