That was harder to achieve than it would seem. Just
urinating,forinstance, proveda problem.Hisparalysis
had advancedfrom justtheweek before,and onesign
wasthat he becameunable to pee.He couldstill feel
when hisbladder becamefull but couldmakenothing
comeout.Ihelpedhimtothebathroomandswiveledhim
ontotheseat.ThenIwaitedwhilehesatthere.Halfan
hour passed. “It’ll come,” he insisted. He tried not to
thinkaboutit.HepointedoutthetoiletseatfromLowe’s
he’dhadinstalledacouplemonthsbefore.Itwaselectric,
hesaid.Helovedit.Itcouldwashhisbottomwithaburst
ofwateranddryit.Noonehadtowipehim.Hecould
take care of himself.
“Have you tried it?” he asked.
“That would be no,” I said.
“You ought to,” he said, smiling.
But still nothing came out. Then the bladder spasms
began.Hegroanedwhentheycame overhim.“You’re
going tohavetocatheterizeme,” hesaid. Thehospice
nurse,expectingthismomentwouldcome,hadbrought
thesupplies and trained my mother.But I’d done ita
hundredtimesformyownpatients.SoIpulledmyfather
upfromtheseat,gothimbacktobed,andsetaboutdoing
itforhim,hiseyessqueezedshuttheentiretime.It’snot
somethingapersoneverthinkstheywillcometo.ButI
gotthecatheterin,andtheurinefloodedout.Therelief
was oceanic.
His greatest struggle remained the pain from his
tumor—notbecauseitwasdifficulttocontrolbutbecause
itwasdifficulttoagreeonhowmuchtocontrolit.Bythe