July 20, 1991
Saturday

AFTERNOON
Paul's family is certain that Mark and I are torturing him for our own queer reasons. His mother called Dr. Kominski this morning and demanded he prescribe a higher dose of thorazine during the day to knock Paul out. Mark has been given control over medication so he vetoed it and now Paul is getting a small dose during the day to calm him down and a large dose at night to knock him out. They will go to a morphine drip starting Monday.

Paul moans constantly but not from pain. The doctors all say it's a result of the toxo in his brain and is common. He's moaning out of confusion and sometimes his moans turn into words when his brain tunes in.

I'm afraid the family is plotting something. They want Paul to curl up in a fetal position and waste away like the good victims on TV do. Why should they be deprived of a pathetic experience? As long as Paul is awake they don't feel in control. Mark refuses to have him put to sleep, like an unwanted dog. We wait for him to stop breathing and what does it matter if he's awake or asleep? As long as he's not in pain why not let him have the chance of knowing the people who love him are there?

EVENING
Mark and the family had a "pow wow" this afternoon. They accused him of thinking only of himself by not wanting to let Paul die quickly and with dignity.

Mark had already agreed to the drip bag for the morphine and a small dose of thorazine during the day but they were happy to think they'd won. As soon as they leave the room we start touching and talking to Paul and he responds with a grunt or groan. Now we're afraid to leave the family alone in the room for fear we'll come back and find them standing around the bed, each with a pillow in hand.

And he does know when I'm there. I respected the family and didn't wake him when I went in this afternoon but as soon as I sat down and started talking he started groaning. So I went up to him, said "Hi" and he stopped. Enough said?

I've tried to imagine what my mother would do in the same circumstance. I figure she'd be repulsed at first then sit herself down beside my bed and refuse to move. Mark thought that was a pretty normal mother thing to do.

I don't have much patience for "dysfunctional families" I guess. And besides, if you're gay you develop an alternative family that eventually over-rules the one you were born with. If you're lucky.

The older brother, Bill, the one causing all the problems, is a lot like my own brother Dennis. When their father left them he was a self-appointed father for the rest of them but, unfortunately, he wasn't really up to the job. And the others didn't need a father figure, they were all adults. I could always beat my brother up anyway.

NIGHT
Decided that one of the paintings I'm working on is done whether or not it really is. Doesn't matter, never does. What I see as wrong with it nobody else does and I'll feel much better when I ship it off to the gallery.

Mark is busy planning the service and has decided to donate a bench near the crypt and to hire a lesbian rabbi for the service. He's staying part of the night to monitor Paul's breathing. The morphine drip can sometimes interfere with respiration. But isn't that what we want?

100 degrees today and 89 at 10:00 PM. More of the same tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. Hard to work because I need ventilation but I can't even open the window. The hospital is too hot, even the nurses are complaining and I think the heat could be part of the cause of Paul's hard breathing.