Do Not Resuscitate

My Dad is in New South Wales now, at a nursing home just a couple of minutes from where Sarah is living. I guess this is a Good Thing; Sarah might be inclined to stay put in one place with that kind of motivation, and she certainly doesn't have the same kind of complications I do in my relationship with Dad.

We now have a better understanding of his condition. He's bedridden and unable to walk at all anymore. His dementia has gotten worse too, and his short term memory is now very patchy indeed. At ninety this is all to be expected; his health has been gradually deteriorating over the last five years or so to the point where he regularly gets infections. Winter is coming, and that means an increase in the bugs floating around. So it's not a shock that the nursing home staff have asked Sarah what she would like to do should he need resuscitation.

She's said that she'd like me in on the decision. I wouldn't blame her if she hadn't, since I've had very little to do with Dad since I was about fourteen. I'm not sure if she feels a sense of propriety or moral necessity in that regard, or whether she just wants someone to share the burden with. Probably a little of both, and that's okay.

( long ramble behind the cut )