Enough funerals!

    OK 2015! Uncle! I'm willing to admit that I'm licked, and that odd-numbered years are way better than me. You don't have anything else to prove. Enough with the deaths already.
    Granted, they were both wonderful, wondrous funerals, celebrating wonderful wondrous lives. But the obvious problem with funerals is that there has to be a death first. And I'm quite sure that Russ was even less willing to go than Dad was. But it was indeed a brilliant memorial service. Russ was full of jokes, smiles and laughs, and his friends shared a lot with us. As it happens, I went to Russ' dad's funeral back when we were still in high school, and remember being peeved that the minister clearly didn't know Mr. Henderson at all. This minister had no such problems. He was a long-time neighbor and family friend, and even got Russ' pronunciation of "Cool!" right.
    Moreover, when your memorial service is in a large chapel and is not only standing room only but has people spilling out the doors, that's probably all that needs to be said about your life. We would have stayed for the visitation with the family, but there were at least 100 people waiting and the guy from the funeral home was coaching them to be as brief as possible. I figured I would get in touch via Facebook instead.
    So 2015, do we have a deal? Can I get a break here? I think I'm ready for my happy new year now, a month late, if it's all the same to you.

Brain function (intermittently) improved

    Chatted with the main lawyer today about a whole range of things and was much more on top of things than heretofore. Fortunately (since it's much cheaper that way) but unfortunately (since I'm lazy), I'm now entrusted with many many more trustee/ personal representative type jobs than previously. The fact that I know that I can handle them still doesn't help with the intimidation factor of their sheer volume. Also, each one you do has a way of ramifying. Also, my brain still tends to get very tired a lot earlier than I would like. Perhaps I'll lift my hoodoo on coffee for a little while.
    The weather still continues just crazy mad stupid beautiful. Sorry, Boston!

Reassurance always good

    Talked to accountants today. Basically, they said that I had nothing that had to be taken care of immediately. (Granted, two months has a way of evaporating pretty quickly, but still that isn't "immediately".) And they were (or said they were) surprised that I was as on the ball as I am. Even if they were just being nice, it was good to hear that it's possible for clients to be even more frazzled and confused as I am at present.
    It's true that all the marathon walking (OK, 5K walking) is gradually reducing my baseline anxiety level to somewhere around tolerable, and I'm starting to think clearly at least now and then. After lunch, I got in the car to drive to a trail. That never strikes me as the clearest thinking, and neither does the following. I was going to take the beltway and go to Cayce Riverwalk/Timmerman Trail walk it and its additions in their entirety. But the people in a couple of vehicles annoyed me, so I let them have the exit lane and I went out to Congaree National Park instead. While this may not have been an unusually rational move, it was a good one. The day was perfect. A morning that started out at 24 degrees turned into an afternoon closer to 60, and gorgeous. I walked a hell of a long way, I guess about 3 hours worth, more than I could have gotten at Timmerman without doing the big loop more than once. And I think I walked some more kinks out of my psyche. Or I like to think.

All the best recipes say "Follow package directions"

    This is really another retread, since I think I already posted about my peach cobblerish gluten-free dessert. But we'll see if portion control makes it better.
    I've been making mini-muffins of various types for years, for no reason except that I could find a mini-muffin pan and they seemed the right size for me. Late last year, I was looking for mini-muffin paper liners and accidentally bought the full-sized ones instead. I couldn't use them, so they just sat in the drawer.
    Today, Aldi had non-stick muffin pans at a reasonable price. They also had peach slices in fruit juice (like the pans, not an item they carry every day) and gluten-free yellow cake mix. The latter is an every day item, but may not be for long. The gluten-free baking section is moving ever further into Siberia and I got the last yellow cake mix visible. (Take that, Colin Powell!)
    I drained the heck out of the peaches, rinsing them repeatedly because that peach and pear juice looked a lot like heavy syrup to me. And I cut up the slices a LOT. But yeah, otherwise, I just followed package directions, except for using almond milk instead of milk. Getting the dang goop into the muffin cups took about a year; I guess I'll have to think out my method better if it turns out well and this becomes a habit.
    As well as it came out in a pan, I'm pretty confident that the stuff will also be good as muffins. They sure smell good! So dessertification resumes, I'm glad to say.

Oh my

    I complain so much about the cold (even though it isn't very cold here) and the grey and the rain that it seems worthwhile to proclaim it when it's as beautiful as it is now. I took my walk early, just circling about in the neighborhood when it was still cold, windy and overcast, and now I feel like an idiot because it's just perfectly, scintillatingly beautiful outside. Time to take another walk! Although I always say that I hate winter, it's just the cold part that I don't like. I love a bare tree, though bare trees plural tend to make me think of death. And I love the crazy beautiful blue skies, and their reflection on the water. So except for the cold, I love winter. If I could just learn to dress properly, I could fairly drop the "except for the cold" part.
    I spent forty minutes on the phone with a lawyer getting very good advice that is going to be a pain in the butt to implement. But not doing so would be so much worse, something I wouldn't have known if I hadn't talked to her, so I don't count the time or the money in any way wasted.

"Did you buy that because you've already read all his other books?"

    The Friends of the Richland Library have a book sale each quarter. Paul decided not to bike out there Saturday because it was not the loveliest weather, but they continued it Sunday afternoon so we decided to give it a look. Apparently a lot of people had come out to look rather than buy, because there were a lot of books left. Paul made quite a haul and I found a lot of things I would have liked, too, but the only thing I bought was Dick Francis' autobiography. The teller asked the question in the subject line. Although it was perfectly true, I still thought it was a bit of a putdown to Mr. Francis. Besides, it's the new revised edition; maybe he'll finally come clean about the breakdown in the Grand National! The story on that

Starting to be a little less blank

    So far, in the period since my dad died, I've had pretty high levels of clarity while I'm out hiking, pretty much period. This, obviously, doesn't help a lot. The rest of the time, I have pretty clear ideas of all the important stuff I'm supposed to be doing and every good intention of doing them. And I never decide not to do them; I'm not intentionally malingering. I just go blank. I don't feel depressed, but I certainly act depressed. Apparently, I'm in the blankness stage of grieving.
    Yesterday and today, I've been gathering up all my papers and getting a little more organized. It may not qualify as getting off my duff, quite, but it's more than a start. Unfortunately, there are some documents I need before I can proceed, and some of them may have gotten lost in the mail. So I have to find some way to track those down ASAP. While it would be nice to be able to do this without having to pay the lawyers more, a lawyer's name on the letterhead would probably expedite matters considerably. But I guess I'll phone first to see if stuff is in the mail. 2015, can I start having fun soon?

Tricky brain

    My brain is still tricky. I needed to get cash and I needed to get gas. The latter was more pressing, since without cash, the car still goes, but without gas, I'm walking some distance in the cold, putting down a deposit on a gas container, filling it and walking back. Anyway, I guess my brain decided to rearrange reality a bit, because after I hit the ATM, I was all relieved about not being out of gas anymore, which of course I still was. There was some significant chance that I might have driven all the way home without bothering to stop at the gas station. I didn't, but it was pretty odd. I guess I have misplaced faith in my own sense of priority: "I did a thing, so it must have been the most pressing thing." Or some damn thing.

That cold, bony hand

    Last week, Margaret's friend Mildred died, and she found how especially sad it is to have another funeral just after losing a person particularly close to you. Yesterday, my friend and high school debate partner Russ died, and I'm finding the same thing. Just a little extra shock, to go with the considerable one of having somebody just a little older than me leave so early. We haven't seen each other much in 30-odd years, but stayed in touch via the Internet. I have no details at all, either of how it happened or when services are happening except for a suggestion that they would be this weekend. We were for some reason the Steinberg Twins, on what must have been the most obnoxious debate team in the history of the world. More recently, Russ served in the Gulf War. His many amazing stories were supposed to turn into a book, co-written or at least edited by me. I'm so sorry that that never happened.

A little reluctant

    I'm still somewhat disinclined to go out to shows or gigs by friends (also shows, I suppose) for fear of having to answer what's been happening type questions. I don't mind per se, of course; I just don't like making people feel uncomfortable. I guess I could go get a black armband as a sort of tipoff, but I'm not sure anybody has used those in fifty or a hundred years. Black rose, while very styling, might give the wrong idea, or none at all.
    I guess I'll get back in the swing gradually. I am glad to say that my health has more or less swung all the way back. Most of the things wrong with me were probably greatly worsened by infinite stress; a lot of stuff like my mysteriously pins and needly ankles has just gone away entirely. I'm still a few years overdue for a checkup (as is the senior kitty), but I suspect we'll survive a little longer.
    Speaking of the evil poltergeists with whom I share my life, one gifted me with a dead mouse by the front gate, while the other gave me a hairball on the carpet. Can't help but remember that I didn't actually volunteer to take in either of these rotten, stinky little weasels. Lucky for them that they're cute.

I refuse to say what I am

    I mentioned at least once about the music writing app on Windows Phone which I used to enjoy futzing around with. It was somewhat Rock Band themed, I suppose, as there was a guitar, synth, bass and drums. On Android, I have an analogous one, but it has instead one synth voice and a half dozen percussion sounds. Both just provide four bars, repeated endlessly, but both are vastly more entertaining than one would expect given this description.
    Partly this is due to a peculiarity of-- the brain I guess. People just got to make sense out of things. So with the other app, I found myself turning the sounds into words and with this one I do, too. Strangely, it only ever seems to happen with the phone in my shirt pocket. Whether this is a function of the pocket muffling some of the sounds or of the vibrations transmitting to my skin, I haven't a clue.
    The most recent, uh, composition I would have wanted to talk about anyway, because it was very pretty and happy and I wished I had some idea how I had done that. Since this app has no way to save anything (unlike the other, which would at least output a code that I could copy and paste and then paste in again to play back something I had written and liked), I also have no way to play it back short of recording it on a blank tape. (How 20th century!) But what I really liked about it was that the sound eventually resolved into sounding like it was saying, over and over, "I refuse to say what I am." The ghost in the machine? I'm telling you, it'll be the dance hit of the summer!

Possibly unprecedented

    I don't ever actually remember buying new releases before. Norman Blake put out a new CD today and Chris Potter put out one last week and I bought both this morning. Those there are pretty darned new releases. If I'd noticed that the Potter disc featured strings, I probably wouldn't have bought it. This would have been a shame, as the strings are well-integrated and their participation is well thought out. The only shortcoming of the record: not enough Chris Potter. He's a pretty generous cat.
    Norman plays beautifully but his voice, never the most magnificent, seems to be tapped out. I think he should have let Nancy sing. Still, I like what I've heard. These two discs share the 3 CD changer with Ellington and Coltrane's collaboration; they're having a little trouble competing, but anybody would.
    Weather continues gorgeous, and amusingly just on the cusp of cold and warm. I took a nice long walk on Old State Road, out where I belong. I'm always happier on dirt than on cement, but as noted, I don't mind waiting until the mud dries up a little, which it did.

Hoping against reflux

    Throughout the recent crisis and aftermath, I've had an intermittently scratchy and burning throat as well as the cough that never quite goes away which I'm sure I've mentioned now and again. Somebody suggested that it might be acid reflux rather than a cold or flu. Since I don't have a lot of refluxy type symptoms, this seemed unlikely, but I tried sleeping on my slant pillow for a while just in case. And my throat got better. So I put away the slant pillow. And my throat got worse.
    Now in the theory of things, I wouldn't have any problem with just sleeping on my slant pillow every night forever. However, I wake in the night with numbness at the back of my head which takes quite a while to subside. Last night, I just said "heck with this" and slept without any pillow at all, which is much my preference. While my throat isn't great, it isn't bad either. There's a hint of burning, but nothing painful. It occurs to me that kitties lying on my belly might not be the greatest thing for acid reflux and if I could persuade them to stop, it might be a good thing. But my ability to persuade kitties to do anything has so far proved to be minimal. I will hope it isn't reflux and if the burning continues, I'll see somebody about it sooner or later.
    Weather continues insanely beautiful and warm and the winds have blown away. It's always almost funny when I'm out taking a walk and cross over in about a second from chilly to hot. Almost.

Peace of mind

    As I have remarked, my dad wrote out by hand a multi-page set of instructions for what I was supposed to do after he died. This was two or three years ago, when he was worried about it. I guess writing it out gave him peace of mind, or I hope it did. He never actually gave me the document, nor even showed it to me. Since then, he and Margaret had to evacuate to a motel suite twice for reasons that I still can't tell you about, and everybody's possessions got kicked all over the place.
    Suffice it to say that we couldn't find the document. I imagine that even if I had it, I would still manage to bollocks up most things. It's just a skill. Still, it would be nice to have it. But I still like to think that writing it gave Dad some measure of peace, and the fact that he never got around to giving it to me might reflect some level of (perhaps misplaced) confidence in me. Anyway, I know where the life insurance policies are; I can probably cover most of the important stuff myself. And a lot of his ideas were fairly unrealistic, so maybe not having the document is in some ways a blessing.
    We got crazy-beautiful weather today, too, but it's windy. So it's balmy outside except you're somewhat at risk of getting blown to Oz, or at least to Kansas. This makes it a good day to stay in and watch football, a lucky coincidence, on the whole.

Put more nicerly

    I'd hardly like to imply nor even to let anyone infer that I'm happy or relieved that my dad has died. I'm just as cut up about it as you'd think, and likely will continue to be for a long, long time. However, I've been living in neverending crisis mode for more than 3 1/2 years. There is therefore a physiological reaction of relief that that's over, no matter how sad the reason why it's over. And that's one of the things I'm going through now. Also I can go out at night without worrying. And I can cook for other people without worrying that then I'll run out of food and have to take out time that I don't have to cook again. Etc. etc. etc. Which may not actually be nicerly, but I hope that it's relatively clear.
    We had another lovely day today, by and large, and I took another long walk. It didn't start out entirely nice, though, since Harry the cat stayed out all night in the freeze and didn't come back until the morning had nearly worn away. But he seemed little the worse for wear and is already out gallivanting again. Fortunately it wasn't a very bad freeze and as my brother points out, Harry has a nice fur coat. I was very glad to see him come home nevertheless.

Weather relents

    We did indeed get our clear, beautiful day today, a keen relief to all in South Carolina and I think Georgia, too. It's supposed to be unpleasant again all weekend, but the one pretty day was a considerable boost to morale. I went to Congaree National Park for the first time in ages. It was flooded, but gorgeous. Amazingly, they still haven't rebuilt the elevated boardwalk damaged in the storms of last February. At this point, it doesn't seem much like they ever will, does it? But even with the low boardwalk and most of the trails inundated, it was still a pleasant little hike.
    I'm supposed to get in touch with a CPA, and elder law specialist and an investment adviser. I'm still not much in the mood for any of this. Also, I remembered that Dad wrote out a very detailed document about everything I was supposed to do after he died. Fortunately, he then lived another three years; unfortunately, that makes finding the document more than a little tricky. I'll start the hunt momentarily. If I can't find it, I'll just continue winging it.

Continuing sleepy

    I guess I can check back to previous Januarys (Januaries?) of this blog, but I don't recall being this exhausted all the time. I suppose it's mostly the bad shock of Dad's death coupled with the all-night vigil in the ICU and this stupid neverending URI (since "cold" would be ambiguous; then again, I might be talking about the University of Rhode Island. English is just all ambiguous, no?) Regardless, I sleep all night, then nap much of the day in the comfy chair. Still, my cough seems to be getting oh so slowly better and I seem to be getting a little bit more functional every day. And though it's expected to remain cold, the clouds are supposed to blow away for at least one day tomorrow, which would be a big improvement. This is what I think of when I think of December in South Carolina (cloudy, rainy, cold); that it's crossed me up by doing it in January, too, is maybe not a surprise, but a slight disappointment.
    It may be necessary to put this blog to bed, because although there's a lot of stuff going on, very little of it is appropriate for public discussion. Then again, I've had lots and lots of that for years and somehow managed to blither my way through. So if you hear a lot about hiking trails and the weather, don't be too surprised. That probably isn't all that's happening; if I could say more, I would.

Back where I belong

    Because of Dad's illness and death and funeral and various attendant troubles and crises, I haven't been able to take a proper walk in a couple of weeks now. I walked around the neighborhood, but that's hardly the same. Today, I returned to Timmerman Trail, which is now part of Cayce Riverwalk, somewhat confusing since it doesn't connect to the rest of Cayce Riverwalk. But there you go. What ever became of the 12,000 Year Park, I don't know; I guess it'll get here some time in the next 12,000 years.
    Soon, soon, pretty soon, I'll be back on proper trails instead of the concrete stuff. I ache to head to the mountains, and also back to Bull's Island in the Lowcountry. At the moment, I'm a bit too much at the beck and call of lawyers, accountants and tombstone carvers. But I'll be back out with the bears and the alligators again soon. Already I feel like I can breathe way better.

Affective

    As I've mentioned before, cold weather feels a lot different depending how sunny or cloudy it is. Last week was probably a lot colder than this week, but it was sunny and beautiful, so we were all a lot more cheerful about Dad's passing than we would have been otherwise. This week is cold, overcast, rainy, windy and clammy and everything seems a lot more depressing and death-like. People talk about Seasonal Affective Disorder, which I understand to be a function of the short days and long nights. I guess I don't have that. I more have Rainy Days and Mondays Disorder; I'm just bummed when it's cold and damp. More Frank McCourt than Shirley Manson, I suppose.
    I'm starting to make progress with the lawyer, whom I like, and I received a draft drawing of Dad's marker, which I also like. Scrolling down, I can't see that I've mentioned it before, but if I did there's no harm mentioning it again. It will feature a caduceus, his full name, his dates, and "Beloved Father" and "A Pillar of Public Health in SC" There were three characters left over; we considered putting three hearts between the two inscriptions, but I like the drawing so much, I think I'll leave them out.

OK, now what?

    We got everything done, and done well. Now the shock can finally arrive. It hasn't even been a week yet. His absence doesn't really register yet, and probably won't for a while yet. (Last night I dreamed he was on an ocean liner, and tides rose and fell to such an extent that we could walk out to the boat, out at low tide, 60 miles from high tide.) I'll be tied up with his estate for a while of course, and will have the joy of doing his 2014 taxes. I'm pretty sure the lawyers will do the heavy lifting for the former, though.
    There's all the guilt about having wished to have my life back and getting my wish. I know perfectly well that this isn't the way I wanted it back, so hopefully the guilt feelings will be limited. This is the problem with being sane. When you're stuck in an insane situation, you can only wish to be out of it. That's pretty much the definition of sanity. Fortunately, sanity also means not torturing yourself for wishing happiness for yourself. Hopefully, I'll measure up.

All kinds of moving

    We picked a fairly ecumenical Lutheran pastor to conduct Dad's funeral. He's done hospice work for 30+ years; he wasn't going to beat the drum too heavily about heaven or hell. We told him all about Dad, about Dad and Mom, and about Dad and Margaret. He was pretty tickled about all our stories.
    He let us deliver the eulogies. Anne, Malcolm, James and I went up. I think we made pretty clear that Dad was flat adored. None of us got through our presentations without crying, but all of us got through. Margaret wanted to say goodbye out at the actual cemetery. She was very cold, but she got though hers, too with tears but with flying colors.
    The only fly in the ointment was when it was time to head to the cemetery and there were no police cars to escort us. We had to wait 15 minutes or more, but when they finally got there, they did a great job. Oh, and we almost dropped the coffin. But anybody could have done that! (And we didn't.)
    It was a great experience and a wonderful funeral and no one left with any doubt that Dad made a tremendous impact nor could anyone have missed how loved he was. You wish there had been thousands there, but let's face it: he outlived most of the people who knew him. It was a great day regardless.

Monday night and Tuesday

    Monday, Margaret needed a ride to the post office since she had a certified letter from the IRS to pick up. Because of that, we were relatively late visiting Dad. Because of his condition, the nurses waived the ICU's rule of only two visitors at a time, so Anne and Malcolm were with him, too. Visiting hours ended at 10; however, as that hour approached, the nurse told us that she didn't think that Dad would make it through the night and that we could stay. So we stayed.
    We weren't just in denial; Anne's a doctor and we all knew that Dad has a pacemaker. So although we had no way to say whether his mind might survive the night, we were pretty sure that his body would. But we stayed. Because I had a very ugly cough, I wanted to segregate myself, so I said goodbye to be on the safe side and told him not to take any backtalk off St. Peter and went out to the waiting area to try to sleep. William had gotten there by 10, but left at the same time.
    I wasn't really able to sleep except maybe about 15 minutes, but I got some rest. Nobody let me know what was going on, which was that Margaret developed severe abdominal pains about 4:30 and went to the emergency room. The ER there is usually top-flight, but they were having a really bad day that night. Staff said they would call Margaret's daughters; they didn't. I think they lost some of her tests and also misplaced her false teeth. It was a nightmare. Malcolm tried to stay with her, but needed to be with Dad, too. It was totally unfair.
    When morning came, we were told that if the doctor we'd talked to previously was making rounds, then he would be in at 7:30 or so, but if it were another doctor, he or she would come much later. I was worried about the cats, so when 7:30 came and went I went home to feed them. And of course the doctor turned up immediately. (And the cats still had plenty of food so the trip was unnecessary.)
    The doctor said that it was all but certain that Dad was gone except for the BiPap mask, the adrenaline drip and the pacemaker. He suggested that we remove the first, shut off the second, and put a magnet on the third and let nature take its course, and at least we'd be able to see him face to face. We asked them to leave everything on until Margaret was released from the hospital. He said sure.
    Margaret had a whole slew of tests, so we had more hours to wait. Anne left and Malcolm stayed with Margaret a while longer. I was left alone and was on the phone with the hospice people Anne had talked to a few days earlier. I had to say with regret that it didn't look like we would need them. And somebody showed an older lady wearing a breathing mask into the room. I had told Dad's former secretary about the situation and she said she had the flu, so I thought it might have been her; I started talking to her as if that were the case. She finally asked who I was, and I returned the question. She said, "That's my husband!" I told her no and she told me what room she was supposed to be in. So I took her there. It was fine; I badly needed the comedy relief.
    When we all finally reconvened, we explained the situation to Margaret, but she was so exhausted I don't think she understood. She didn't want any part of it, though, so I tried to take her home. I was so exhausted though that I couldn't remember that I had parked on the 2d level rather than the 3d. So I wound up asking Malcolm to take her home. And I returned to Dad's room.
    His last bag of adrenaline (Levophed or norepinephrine, actually) was starting to run out. Anne asked the nurse to start tapering his intake. That's all; no turning off of machines. It was probably totally a coincidence. But the nurse came back and couldn't hear a heartbeat. She tried the parabolic microphone and still couldn't detect anything. She took off the mask and he wasn't breathing. So Anne and William and I were there, but Malcolm wasn't, sadly.
    I tell you what, though. We were no wise happy that he was gone, but his skin was so papery that it was almost dangerous to touch him towards the end. So it was surely a relief to be able to hold his hand, to hug him, to say goodbye properly. And you'd better believe that we did. A titan is gone. But he was seen off the right way.

Locusts still in abeyance

    The way this year kicked off, I could be forgiven for expecting us all to have been carried off by a plague of locusts or maybe flying monkeys by now. Mercifully, things have reverted to what passes for normal so far at least. I'm still having trouble getting over this stupid cold, but it gets better every day. I quit Tylenol and zinc lozenges yesterday, and am probably retiring my new-found hot decaf tea habit today. Actually, I'm probably back to status quo ante by now; I've been coughing pretty regularly since it got cold. I tend to blame the kitties. The new thing was my throat being on fire. Happily, that is at an end. (Knock wood!)
    We very much enjoyed talking to the minister this afternoon, and were glad to include Margaret as well. He's a pretty open-minded guy, as befits somebody who has done hospice work for 30 years. He got a big kick out of the story of how my father's father left the Methodist ministry: he declared from the pulpit his doubts about Jesus' divinity. Rebels, us Dantzlers, every one of us! We liked his ideas for Dad's service and eulogy. I'm sure it will be lovely.

My obituary draft

Malcolm U. Dantzler, M.D.
COLUMBIA    Services for Malcolm U. Dantzler, M.D., 93, will be held at 2 p.m. Sunday, January 11, 2015 at Dunbar Funeral Home, Devine Street Chapel. The family will receive friends from 4-6 p.m. Saturday at the funeral home and 1-2 p.m. Sunday prior to the service. Interment will follow in Elmwood Cemetery and Gardens.
    Dr. Dantzler passed away Tuesday, January 6, 2015. Born in Woodford, SC, he was the son of the late William Zimmerman Dantzler and Ella Staley Dantzler. He graduated first in his class both from North High School and from the University of South Carolina. He then enlisted in the Army Air Corps during WWII, serving with distinction as a cryptographer. He graduated from the Medical University of South Carolina in 1950, again first in his class, and completed his internship in Columbia. He served as the health officer for Dillon, Georgetown and Marion Counties. In 1956-57, he obtained his Master of Public Health degree from the University of North Carolina in Chapel Hill. In 1957, he became the Assistant Director for the Charleston County Health Department and the Director in 1961. In 1965 he was appointed Assistant State Heath Officer, second highest position in the then-State Board of Health. From 1973-1988 he served as Deputy Commissioner of the SC Department of Health and Environmental Control (DHEC) and also has served as its Interim Commissioner.
    All told, Dr. Dantzler worked for DHEC and its predecessor, the State Board of Health, from 1941-1991, continuing as a consultant until 1995 as as a volunteer for another decade. During his long and immensely productive career, he helped establish many public health care programs, including one to improve the health of migrant farm workers, one for rehabilitation of stroke victims, as well as air pollution control and mosquito abatement programs. He started many clinics, including one for premature babies. After DHEC, he worked with Columbia Physical Medicine. He was a member of the Rotary Club. He was an active member of many medical and public health organizations, serving in leadership roles, including as President of the SC Public Health Association. Dr. Dantzler received the Order of the Palmetto from Governor Carroll Campbell. He and his sweetheart Margaret were stalwarts at the Lourie Center in Columbia, where they were known to cut a rug.
    Surviving are his sweetheart, Ildreda Margaret G. Bass; his children, Anne E. Dantzler, M.D. of Chestnut Hill, MA, Malcolm U. Dantzler, Jr. of Somerville, MA, William Z. Dantzler of Columbia, Frank J. Dantzler of Overland Park, KS and John M. Dantzler of Columbia; grandson, James D. Gerber (Maria Cristina) of Boston, MA; and a great-granddaughter, Mia Cristina Gerber. He was predeceased by his wife, Anne Salmonsen Dantzler; sisters, Eddie Georgia Howe, Clara Black and Frances Jeffcoat.
    Memorials may be made to the National Kidney Foundation.

Writing an obit: less fun even than you'd think

    We spent four hours with the funeral director getting everything set up for Dad's funeral and composing his obituary, which is pretty much torture when you need to remember 94 years worth of detail accurately and just can't. It didn't help that we were all exhausted and broken-hearted and nearly all sick. The draft is just icky; the grammar comes and goes and some stuff isn't so accurate. So I'll try to polish it up later and email in the corrections. I mean, we totally left out that he was a superhero. (Secret identities expire when you die.)
    I promise I will yet produce an accurate account of Dad's last 24 hours or so. Soon.

Dad died

    There will be a lengthy exposition of the events of last night and today soon, when I've slept more than 15 minutes and eaten more than 100 calories. Suffice it to say that my father died this afternoon surrounded with love. Margaret had decided that she didn't want to be there and Malcolm was returning from taking her home when Dad's heart stopped. It had just been too much of a fight. He's still the champ, though.

Nearer the end

    Dad actually improved a lot yesterday, but unfortunately such improvement ended by the end of the day. His blood pressure has fallen steeply and only adrenaline, maxed out, is keeping him alive at all. They can't dialyse him with his blood pressure so low, so this is pretty near the end regardless.
    Speaking only for myself, I'm pretty close to acceptance. The titan stood tall for almost 94 years. I'm proud to be his son.

They say Dad is dying

     Dad threw up yesterday after our visit and aspirated the food. His O2 levels fell a lot, so Lowman Home sent him to the hospital. They put him on a BiPap machine and he stabilized nicely. It looked like it would be a simple repeat of his hospital visit last month.
     This morning I called just to see how he was doing and the nurse said that they didn't think he would pull through. She wanted me to come and talk to the doctor so of course I did. He said that the BiPap was keeping Dad's O2 up, but that his CO2 was catastrophically high. (96%) So it's unlikely that he'll be able to recover brain function. Also, his vital signs were getting weaker.
     They kept asking if I had any questions; I just said that I was in too much shock. The family is on its way.

Coaster smoothes out

    Can't make any promises that this will continue, of course, since this has already happened three times in a week. However, dialysis went well Friday and Dad has stopped saying that he wants to stop dialysis. All he really needed was a pillow to sit on. That wasn't so hard, was it?
    Today's visit mainly saw Dad and Margaret sleep through it, but when his food arrived, Margaret was able to get him to eat all of it. This hasn't happened in a while. So megayay. Also, we got a little bit of singing, and he remembered more of the words of "Summertime" than I did. He also is slightly irascible these days, but I like that as a sign that he's still in there.
    As to yesterday's post about hospices, probably everybody but me knew that hospice care means the patient has a life expectancy of less than 6 months. This is a little alarming, but then he's almost 94; leaving aside his poor health, actuarial science pretty much says his life expectancy is less than 6 months. I will definitely sign him up.

Don't panic! Hospice news

    Anne accompanied Dad to dialysis today to make sure that it's as comfortable as possible for him, but they had (are probably still having) a long wait for a chair. She's been talking to a woman from a hospice service, and they called me on speaker phone to talk to me. I was inclined to brush her off, as I had already selected a hospice facility in town so that Margaret could visit as often as possible. But it turned out that what they do is offer additional care, whether in the nursing home or at home, even if the patient continues dialysis. And it's a government benefit, with no additional charge. Obviously, we don't know if after dialysis today, Dad will keep insisting that he wants to quit dialysis. If so, there's little point, and I should still try to move him to the in-town hospice facility. But given that constraint, I said (as I'm sure Anne had) Yes! Yes! Yes! Sign us up!
    I was thinking of telling her they should consider a name change, since "hospice" means something specific already. I think what they're talking about would better be called "additional palliative care." But whadda I know?

Again

    Dad is again saying he wants to stop dialysis. We've at least still got a commitment for him to try at least one more time tomorrow. It's possible that between the painkillers and the pillow to sit on, he'll be willing to continue. But we're starting (or Margaret and I at least are) to accept the idea that this is the end. Poor Anne needs to get back to work and also to get back to get her insulin, and is horribly torn. At the moment she's planning to stay at least a few more days.
    We all know it's near the end. We just don't want him to give up while there's any chance he can get better. But I'm not sure he's going to give us that chance. And maybe he's right; it isn't much of a life for him in bed all the time, almost blind, almost deaf, having to go to dialysis three times a week. I only wish he had told us sooner how painful dialysis is for him.