Irreversibles

Having seen the considerable effort he expended and discomfort he endured yesterday, simply to get from the hospital parking lot to his oncologist’s office, I am certain that my father is never going to his lab again. Well, maybe for one last tour in a wheelchair, but certainly never again under his own power, to sit at his desk and read or write.

In the packet of materials provided yesterday by Kaiser, in the wake of my father’s formal diagnosis, is an application for a handicapped license plate which will find its way onto my father’s white Honda Accord.

In short order, my dad will be moving from the top–floor bedroom he has shared with my mother for 35 years (one year after they moved to Berkeley) to the guest bedroom on the first floor. This is a consequence of his declining mobility. The stairs are a depleting and challenging obstacle. A cane is already a necessity and a walker and then wheelchair are not far in his future.

Unfortunately, the guest bedroom is equipped with two twin beds. I am considering recruiting several friends to move their queen bed to the guest bedroom so that my parents may continue to sleep together, although such effort probably would be short–lived as Dr. Cainin has suggested a hospital bed for my dad’s comfort.