Why I Broke My Promise to My Dad

Years ago, shortly after my mom died, I made a promise to my dad that I would never put him in a nursing home. He said he would rather take a bullet in the head than live in one of "those places" with the stench of urine and Lysol permeating everything. Four years ago, in an effort to keep my promise, I moved back into the house in which I grew up to care for him as his health declined. And a few days ago, I broke that promise. I placed him in a nursing home for a short-term stay.  He will be there for 14-21 days to work on physical therapy, increasing strength, stamina and balance. 

But here's WHY I broke that promise: I am not a doctor, nor do I have training as a nurse, physical therapist or dietitian. I am not qualified to provide the level of care he currently needs. I pride myself on the job I performed as his caregiver, but I realized that I may have been doing him more harm than good. I did everything for him. I prepared his meals, dressed him, bathed him, helped him with toileting, dressed his wounds...you name it. As his needs increased, I faced more and more decisions regarding his care. Back when he was healthy and fiercely independent, I felt confident in making that promise. "Sure," I thought. "I can take care of him just fine." But I can't. 

Dad regularly takes 19 medications. He's had both knees replaced. He suffers from worsening congestive heart failure, COPD, atrial fibrillation, diabetes, neuropathy in his hands and feet and, of course, depression. He is incontinent and cannot move himself at all. He requires two people to move him. His last visit to the ER revealed pneumonia, a urinary tract infection and a fractured clavicle. And suddenly, he became unable to swallow. He ate nothing; drank nothing for three days as the staff attempted to determine the cause of that little surprise. 

I learned many things from my mother, but one of the most important was to recognize when I reach my limit. I once believed I was capable of caring for my father at home until his final breath. I never dared considering turning his care over to strangers and abandoning him in a strange place. However, that's exactly what I did. And while I did break the promise - the one I should have never made -  I feel like I can honor the spirit of it. 

I am still his primary caregiver. I can take care of making his room seem a bit more homey; I clearly labeled all of his belongings; I communicated with the facility very specific needs like his bedtime, his wake up time, laundry, bath schedule, etc. I am a visible and vocal advocate for him with the nurses, technicians and administrators of the center. I am committed to ensuring that the care he receives at The Highlands is equivalent to that I would provide at home if I were properly equipped to do so. 

Yes, I admit there is some guilt about taking him there (I'll deal with that in another post), but there is also something pretty cool about it. I feel like I can enjoy his company again, rather than fuss over whether his feet are elevated, or if he needs to change pants, or if he took his meds properly, or if I need to rub some ointment, cream or potion on him. I'm not exhausted from doing everything for him, not frustrated because he peed his pants again, not pissed off about being tied to him. When The Pie and I visit, he is pleasant and when I choose to do things for him, like cutting his fingernails, it comes from a true place of love in my heart and not from a sense of obligation.  It's the only time I can really hold hands with my daddy. 

I'm human. I can't do it all. But I can manage the care that others provide him. I can be present and aware of the progress he makes and dedicate myself to being his daughter again.