Kathe Tanner: Should my husband spend his final days at home or in a nursing facility?

Aug. 27--One of the hardest things I've ever done was telling someone I've loved so much for so many years that there's nothing more doctors can do for him -- and watch him try to process that devastating news with a mind muddled by medications, illness and age.

Then, imagine having to choose between taking my beloved husband Richard home and trying to care properly for a 220-pound man who can't sit up or walk on his own yet, or taking him to a skilled nursing facility.

At a nursing home, he'd be treated by professionals but he would be quarantined for 14 days due to the coronavirus pandemic. After that, we could only see him from a distance.

If I left that fragile man there without the physical and emotional support force of family, I might never see him again.

People dying alone, even when they don't have COVID-19. It's a so-sad side effect of this awful virus.

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Ultimately, we brought him home.

It was the only decision we could live with.

Doctors say that whatever time we have left together could be a marathon, or it could be a sprint. We plan to fight for and make the most of whatever we get.

Which is all anybody can do in any circumstance.

Yes, the road we're taking is far from easy.

You never understand what 24/7 duty really means until someone's life is literally in your hands.

Those with new babies understand this -- except new parenthood usually has an overlay of hope, happiness and optimism that's hard for us to muster right now.

But for there to be real parity, you'd have to multiply the newborn's weight by 25 and opinionated-ness by a zillion. And you'd still only have a fraction of what's entailed in caring for a mostly incapacitated nonagenarian.

Family and friends who would normally be in full-bore support mode have been left on the COVID-19 doorstep -- not knowing how to help from a socially distanced afar, other than sending constant love and encouragement. We are very grateful for that support, even when we can't answer the phone or muster enough energy to answer emails.

There have been so many changes, so fast!

The hospital bed is in the living room, along with all the supplies needed for his care, including his wounded foot that simply isn't healing right.

I know the fireplace hearth is there somewhere. I just can't find it right now.

Everything that was where the hospital bed is now is elsewhere, either shoved into a new location in the room, stashed in another room (like the heavy, 6-foot-long oak table on its end in his office), or downstairs in the studio/basement area.

Why, oh why, did we give up our storage unit earlier this year?

Some of husband Richard's medicines are the same, some are different, and the management is daunting.

Some of his diet is the same. But some of his favorites are off the menu now.

His and our routines are all cattywampus. There are new people living in the house with us. And life is more terrifying now, especially after being COVID-sequestered for so long, and then thrust out of our protective cocoon by fate.

Medicare and our supplemental insurance cover some, but certainly not all, of the costs. I'm trying not to think about that quite yet.

To top it off, we brought husband Richard home to a town inundated by wildfire smoke from the north and a bruising heat wave from Mother Nature.

I'm not doing this alone, of course.

Sons Sean and Brian have been stalwarts, physically and emotionally. Staff at French Hospital Medical Center in San Luis Obispo were stellar and helpful, sometimes bending over backward to make sure husband Richard had the best care and attention possible and a safe release to his home.

He spent eight days at the hospital, with me at his side for most of it.

I was the only visitor he was allowed to have during his entire stay, and at the point where we were having to decide between a skilled-nursing facility and home, the heartbreaking possibility that the boys might never get to see their dad again helped tip the scale toward bringing him home.

Yes, even with now-beloved caregivers, home-health support and help from Dr. Chris Byrne and Dr. David Griffith's home-visit practice, this is definitely a whole new ballgame.

It's tough.

But he's so worth it.

Especially during those glorious shared moments when he's feeling relatively good, his mind is sharp and his always bizarre sense of humor and mischief is in full flower.

I can only echo what he said, haltingly, when I asked if he was glad we'd brought him home.

He said softly with a smile, "Thrilled."

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