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Well, Dad is not improving. The neurologists at University Hosp. say that the chances that he will rehabilitate from his stroke are slim. Because it occurred in his brain stem, a lot of involuntary function is shut down. Right-side paralysis is the least of his problems. He can't swallow, his circadian rhythms are shot. Even his heart rate is affected. He's been having incidents of tachycardia (some dangerously long) every day, just about. In the ICU, this sets the monitors beeping and people hurrying to try and solve the problem. Mom has decided to have his heart monitors taken off. These incidents don't hurt him. There's a good chance that one will go on long enough to make his blood pressure drop dangerously low. When that happens, the doctor says, he'll go to sleep and not wake up.

Well, all right. If it's a choice between that and keeping him in ICU so they can jump at him every time the monitor beeps...well, it's not going to get better and we can't keep him there forever. He hates the monitors. He's totally cognizant...when he's awake, which doesn't seem to be very often.

Mom told Dad the plan. She says that they will move him to a regular room for a couple more days until they are sure his feeding tube is working well; then she will have him transferred to the assisted living place they've picked out in Oshkosh. The condo is ready to be moved into. Mom will live there alone, I guess - Dad will need 24/7 nursing care. She told him all this, and he mustered the strength for one word: "home".

I sighed when she told me that. I feel bad for him. How would it be to go to church one morning, not knowing that you would never come back? But there's just no way. If he were even able to sit up in a car and a wheelchair, it might be managed, with a few strong guys. But he'll be transferred by ambulance. Anyway, the house is all taken apart.

Is it bad of me to say that I hope he doesn't hang on long? I hope he does have a spell of tachycardia that makes his blood pressure drop too low. Soon. Selfishly, I would love it if he hangs on long enough for me to see him (two more weeks). But. I used to work in a nursing home, and I took care of people who were just like Dad, but who hung on for years. Lying unaware and emaciated in bed all day long, unable to chew or swallow, unable communicate. Jenny Cupery was like that. I would spend ages feeding her a thickened liquid diet. Each spoonful would just sit there in her mouth as I massaged her throat and said, "Swallow, Jenny. Jenny, can you try to swallow?" Finally, a horrible gagging, and down it would go.

I can appreciate that, even when so badly stricken, people manage in their own ways to exemplify grace and patience; and in that way, they teach us gentleness and compassion. Would it be OK, though, to wish a different ending for Dad?