My dad is dead. It might not be the most cheering topic to write about, but it is a natural part of life. It has a beginning and an end. This blog begins with the end.

I had told my parents that I wouldn't call them Monday and Tuesday because I had consultants at work and would be too tired. I had been given the task to sell my mom's old iPad, and I wanted to do it Monday, but I got held up at work, so the store was closed when I finally got there.

Luckily, Tuesday was only a half workday, and I stopped by the store. To my surprise, I got a very good price for the iPad. I was so proud that I had to call my parents when I got home. While we were talking, a bird hit one of my parent's windows, and my mom went outside to keep an eye on the groggy bird. She didn't want the cat to eat the bird.

I kept talking to my dad, and all of a sudden, his voice changed and got lower and more unclear. I asked if he was okay, and he confirmed that he was feeling fine. He started making sounds that sounded like hiccups, and I've never heard him have hiccups. Again, I asked if he was feeling well, and he answered a bit annoyed, that he, of course, was fine, and that we were talking. The last part was difficult to understand, and I got really worried that something was wrong.

I tried telling my dad that he sounded strange and that I wanted my mom to look in on him, but he didn't understand why I was concerned. I had to hang up the phone so that I could call my mom, and she ran into the house. Immediately, she could tell that something was wrong because my dad's entire left side was limp.

Impatiently, I was sitting on my sofa, waiting for my mom to call me back. I had the feeling that it could be a blood clot in the brain, so I started packing some clothes, my toothbrush, and so on. That made me prepared to spend the night at my mom's if necessary - and it did.

When we arrived at the hospital, we were told that my dad suffered from a severe brain hemorrhage in the right side of the brain. The hemorrhage resulted in my dad being paralyzed on the left side of his body. And now it's time for sensitive people to jump to the next blog. My dad had severe rheumatoid arthritis and had arrived at the point in his life where a lot of everyday chores were either impossible to do or very difficult. He had difficulty walking, and because of his condition, it was not possible to help him with a cane, walking frame, or similar things. He was a very independent person and had a hard time accepting that he needed help with a lot of things. That was why my mom and I were completely devastated when my dad's future included being paralyzed on the left side of his body and a nursing home. I have on several occasions talked with my dad about how he wanted to spend his days if he wasn't able to live with my mom. Each time he has, without hesitation, told me that he then wanted to die. I got the same answer if he would end up in a situation where he needed help doing everything - e.g getting out of bed in the morning.

It is not possible to actively help people to die in Denmark, but we told the doctors that they shouldn't do everything to save him. Of course, we pointed out that it was according to my dad's wish. The most frustrating part was when the doctors and nurses constantly tried to comfort us and tell us that he would get better. Several times I had to emphasize that it was about my dad's wishes and not about whether my mom and I wanted to visit him in a nursing home.

The next couple of days were like a roller coaster. My dad was conscious enough to know who he was, who we were, where he was, the date, and so on, and that were good signs. Of course, he got tired very quickly, and it was not possible to have a long conversation with him. Short sentences which only demanded short answers were ok. Some people would say that my dad was conscious enough to say no to treatment, but that was not the case. The brain bleed was on the right side of his brain, which means that he was unable to oversee the situation and the consequences of the paralyzes. That made it even more difficult to explain to the doctors why my mom and I wanted my dad to die.

On Thursday, we were told that my dad was doing a lot better and that he would be sent to a rehabilitation center the next day. Luckily, excuse me for my blunt opinion, my dad got a lot worse during Friday. The nurses had trouble communicating with him, and he seemed a lot worse, so he had to stay at the hospital.

My mom needed to get away from home, so we planned that she would come to visit me on Saturday. On the way to me, she visited my dad in the hospital, and she was shocked to see how bad my dad was doing. It was impossible to come in contact with him, and he had trouble breathing. My mom called me, and I jumped into my car and raced to the hospital. It definitely doesn't look good. After a couple of hours, we want some dinner and we are told that we shouldn't go too far away. We drive back to my mom's house since she lives only 15 km away from the hospital. Luckily, I had enough foresight to bring extra clothes, so I spent the night at her house.

Actually, I won't call it spending the night. I had only slept about one hour when the hospital called. If we wanted to see my dad alive one last time then we should come to the hospital immediately. It turns out that the brain bleed either never stopped or has started bleeding again. No matter which, the damage is so severe that the hospital can't save him. Since it isn't legal to help my dad die faster, the course of action is to stop treating him. They removed the oxygen mask, that helped my dad breathe, and they gave him some sedative and pain medication. And then you wait. And wait. And wait. Meanwhile, my dad was lying gasping for breath. I really don't understand how we in good consciousness call it humane. We would never have allowed it if my dad was a pet. Then you would have called it animal cruelty.

It took three hours for my dad to die. Now I'm both happy (on his behalf) and sad (on my behalf). He had deserved a quicker death by euthanasia either Tuesday when he was admitted to the hospital or the night when he died.

My dad is dead.