I don't want to turn this into everything else I write: A hard to read novella. So anyway....
My Dad was as tough as they come. Crazy Vietnam Vet type. His work ethic was insane. Never complained. And it killed him. He had a fist sized ulcer that literally ate a hole through important areas in his stomach. The VA drs kept trying to put him on the same dose of painkillers he must have been on for the last months or so. They couldn't grasp that he just suffered in silence.

VA fucked the surgery up. He kept bleeding out. At one point, for about 2 minutes, he was bleeding faster than they could put it back in him. After a month, and only my second time seeing him, they told me that if the bleeding starts again, thats it. And fucking 1 minute later, while it is just me, him and my two little ones in there with him, I look at his sheet and it's starting to soak through. I look at him, he nods and glances at the kids. I just said I'll go get mom and tell the nurse. He smiled.

They come in, give him his "comfortable" dose to help go. They figure as much as he is bleeding, he won't make it more than an hour, tops. So two hours later, in that packed room, everyone crying, telling him...fuck, I haven't ever told this. Damn. Uhm, telling him its OK....
He has been pretty much out a few minutes after the dose. But then he suddenly sighs and slowly opens his eyes....sits up, looks around and says "What the fuck is taking so long?"...smurks, lies down...and......yeah.