I talked with the head of the Palliative Care team. Part of the curse of working for doctors is that when I talk to other doctors, they don't sugar-coat as much as they would for other people. (Shit... I still remember the day my friend died up at UC five years ago, and the cardiology attending, who knew me slightly, turned to me the instant his daughter left the room, gave me a long look, and said, "You're the only grown-up here, right? You're taking care of her for the day? Her dad is not doing well. At all. You understand what I mean when I say that. Someone has to know." Yes, yes, I understood.)
My dad's condition is unstable; his lungs aren't clearing and his fever isn't going down and the underlying progressive lung disease is complicating everything. And if for some reason, during the therapies they're planning, he were to have a cardiac arrest the outcome would likely be dire, including neurologically, and they would all recommend strongly against prolonging his suffering.
I can't even begin to think how to clearly convey this to my family without them all coming unglued. One of my brothers is working from home with his two little kids and his wife who was just laid off and he's a crying mess; the other is stoic and trying to cheer me up with pictures of his cats as he gets ready to head into NYC tomorrow morning for his monthly chemo infusion. My dad's girlfriend is doing some fucking heroic work keeping everyone's shit together and keeping track of everything. And my aunt, his big sister, just called me and spent 20 minutes sharing the wisdom she'd gleaned from her husband's totally uneventful painless passing in his own bed at home at age 92, interspersed with backbiting the girlfriend.
Also, the co-worker who's supposed to be cross-training to do my job is barely capable and I'm afraid that even gentle constructive criticism will snap her like a twig.
Fuck all this noise. This is bullshit, I tell you.