I wrote Frail in September 2010. I had a day where I kept thinking that I should call to invite my father sailing and kept not getting around to it. I finally sat down and thought, "What am I doing?" It was hard to think about it. I realized that I was avoiding calling him because he had missed chorus two days before. He was getting frailer and frailer from emphysema. He wouldn't wear his oxygen enough. He was stubborn and living alone. If I called and he didn't answer, I would either drive out and see if he was alive, or worry while I sailed.
I decided not to call until after we sailed.
I've driven the 17 miles to his house a few times over the last five years to make sure he was all right. When we lost grundoon I thought we would lose him within a year. People with emphysema shrink but become lighter, as if they were trying to turn into birds. They lose muscle mass so that the lungs and heart will have less work. They move cautiously and not very much.
At the end of May he called complaining that his phone was cut off. I tried to fix it but since I wasn't him, the phone company was unsympathetic. I offered my house and to call with his presence. He refused and called me back after going to a pay phone, successful. Two days later I called and left a message on Sunday, that my daughter was going to perform playing her viola. He usually would call back that day or the next.
He didn't call. I ignored it on Tuesday, but by Wednesday, June 6, I was worried. I called three times in the morning and then drove out.
No one answered my knock. The cars were there. I couldn't see a body, just oxygen tubing going in to the bathroom. I couldn't find the hidden key. I carried a plastic lawn chair around and peered into windows. I debated calling the police. I checked once more and found the key. I went in. He was on the bathroom floor, quite dead, cold and with livid blood on the side down. "Oh, papa." I said and cried. I thought that I mustn't touch anything.
I called 911. I said, "I've found my father dead. It's not a siren call. I need the sheriff but he is cold."
"Do you want instructions to start CPR?" said the dispatcher.
I had a moment of quite illogical panic. I had not started CPR. What sort of daughter was I? The medical part of my brain kicked back in. "No, no. I'm a family doctor. He has been dead for more than a day. CPR would not help."
Even so, I was glad when the police arrived. Then the sheriff, then the undertaker. They all assured me there was no sign of a struggle and that he had died instantly. They said about 4 days. I suppose if I had been in the next room when he went down I could have done CPR but it would have been to no avail. They were all very kind when my first response had been, oh, I mustn't touch anything, what if they need to do an investigation? But they just wanted his medical history and to know if it was expected. "Yes," I said, thinking of Frail.
It's not surprising and not me seeing the future. My father was a bit of a hermit and had very few visitors. His cleaning people had come by but they didn't have a key. It would always be most likely that I would find him. It was terribly comforting to be told that he hadn't lain there in pain.
And at least he had someone who came to look for him. I hope that everyone does.