For
those of you who have lost your fathers or father figures in the time
we've been friends, colleagues, neighbors, teacher-student, know that
I've been learning, observing, tucking away pieces of advice from
conversations and posts of the ordinary details of life without these
people. So, it was no surprise to me that you were there in the form of
compassion and gratitude with my parents this weekend. Instead of
judging or demanding recourse, I am treasuring every moment,
especially with this man. Feeling so much tenderness as his health
declines. Yes, we've had enough conflict to last many lifetimes. But
we haven't given up on each other. Life is so short. Thank you, thank
you. #parentsarentforever. #onetoughguy
EDIT: It was not lost upon me that my decision to be an advanced
practice nurse instead of a doctor is why I could do hands on wound care
at the old PEG site or use the most effective vocabulary to get a busy
nurse coordinator to return a message this weekend. My Dad was
originally hugely disappointed I didn't want to be an MD. "You're smart
enough to be a doctor, why would you want to be a nurse, take orders,
and get paid less?" is something I heard as recently as 5 years ago.
It was also his dream to be a doctor. He got into med school but
couldn't afford the tuition, so he became an engineer (on a scholarship)
instead. I was tempted to reference this irony while I changed his
dressings. But I didn't. He was so grateful. He may even have been a
tad bit impressed. He's always loved that I care for immigrant families
and others without insurance--he was my first "health care is a human
right" teacher. #myfathersdaughter
