Single Decisions - Part 2
Eighteen months ago I was scheduled to have a major, life-changing operation. The decision to proceed with the surgery had required a not-insignificant amount of deliberation on my part – was this the right course of action? Would it finally resolve the health problems I’d been suffering? Would I regret taking such drastic steps? I weighed up all the pros and cons, and having reached the conclusion to proceed, I focussed on mentally and emotionally priming myself for what was ahead.
The procedure required me to undertake a gruelling pre-operative preparation and would result in a long convalescence period during which I would briefly lose some of my independence, but I had psyched myself up for both these events and was ready to go.
The night before I was due to begin the pre-op prep, I received a solemn call from my brother.
The nursing home that cared for our dementia-addled father had called to suggest that the family might want to come and sit with him – “tonight”. This could only mean one thing, of course, but they were reluctant to be unambiguous about it.
It was seven-thirty in the evening. I had just settled down in my pyjamas to relax and watch a movie after having spent the day cleaning my apartment from top to bottom, knowing it would be weeks before I would be physically able to do it again.
There was no question in my mind about what to do, however. I jumped in the car and drove the hour-and-a-half to my father’s nursing home to sit with him for as long as he needed – we would not leave him alone in what could be his final moments.
It was devastating to witness the agony my father suffered that long night, fighting death with every breath and yet longing, I’m sure, for the nightmare to end. As I sat at his bedside, I held his hand, stroked his arm, cooed and soothed him when he struggled to breathe, reassured him that all was well and that he was free to depart.
By morning, to everyone’s surprise, he seemed to rally – his breathing had become less laboured and he finally seemed to be peacefully asleep. It would have been easy to believe he had improved enough to stay with us a few more months, but there was no doubting my father was slipping away. The question was, how many days would he hang on for? No one could give the answer. It could be a few days or a few weeks.
As I drove home later that morning, drained and strained from having been awake for more than thirty hours and witnessing my father’s struggle, I knew I had an impossible decision to make and fast – do I postpone my life-changing operation until after my father’s imminent but unpredictable departure, or do I proceed with a decision I had already grappled with, resolved and mentally prepared for?
Exhaustion from lack of sleep and the emotional turmoil of sitting with my dying father combined to hamper my ability to see clearly. But there was no clear choice here. Delaying my surgery could mean prolonging a painful and stressful condition indefinitely, but proceeding with it could mean missing my father’s passing and being unable to join my mother and brother in grief.
I agonised over the decision, knowing whatever I chose would be wrong. I sobbed under the weight of the decision, spoke to everyone I trusted to provide guidance, but no one could tell me what the right thing to do was – only I could make the final call.
In the end, I went ahead with the operation.
My father passed away on the fourth night with my mother asleep by his side - it was the day I was discharged from hospital. Thanks to a dear old friend, I was able to return to my hometown in time for my father’s funeral and be with my family.
I have never regretted any of the decisions I have made in my life, not even the dumb ones; I know that all of them were well considered and/or right for me at the time, but they have not always been easy to make. It can be overwhelming to make big decisions when you are single but, ultimately, I’ve realised that some decisions are no less onerous simply because there are two of you contemplating them.