Fever Day 12

My dad is dying. He's been dying for a long time—many years. As long as I've known my husband, and longer. We've had so many years of "who knows if this is his last Christmas," except, those years all seem kind of silly now. We know this will be his last Christmas. If he makes it to Christmas. Things have gone down hill over the last year. He sees the end coming. It scares him. His disability embarrasses him. He's only 58. He's had a fever for 12 days now. Low-grade, most of the time, I think. His doctor wants him to go to the ER where he can get some IV antibiotics and steroids. He won't go. He's always been stubborn about going to the doctor, especially to the hospital. But now, for the first time, I can understand why. He doesn't want to die in a hospital. That's been long-established. He wants to die at home. With his cats and his wife, and after having said goodbye to his kids. If he goes to the ER and they hook him up to an IV... well, if his time is fast-approaching, he might…