Boy, are we going to learn patience.
My father was moved to a regular room last night. I got out of work late and had to go the grocery store afterward, so I called him at about 11:00 p.m. to see how he was doing. He kept asking me to bring him his computer and some toilet paper. I tried to explain that he couldn't have his computer (a desktop) because there was nowhere to put his huge tower. I didn't even comment on the toilet paper. I explained that we would see about finding him a laptop. He asked me if I was on my way with it and I told him I wouldn't be able to come see him until the next day. He said okay, said "I love you," and hung up.
So today....
We drove to the hospital. We had a laptop with a mouse, because I knew he wouldn't be able to use the laptop's scrolling mouse. That was the first thing he asked about when we came in. "Where's my computer?" We explained that we had called the hospital to ask them if he could have his desktop and of course they had said no, but they said he could have a laptop. He asked why he couldn't have a desktop. We explained, again, that there was nowhere to put the tower because it was bulky and if they needed to move it quickly they wouldn't be able to. He said they could put it on the table, the rolling table that he eats off of and then they could just roll it away. We told him that wasn't an option and he looked like he was going to cry. He stared off into space and almost started crying.
We tried to show him how to use the laptop. He couldn't figure out where the keyboard was, even when I would point to it. He just kept asking me how he was supposed to find the 'H' and 'I' keys when he didn't know where they were. He just wanted to type 'HI.' I had tried to show him how to turn it on and how to use the mouse, but the mouse was too fast and he couldn't get it to move slowly and so finally he just said, "Why can't you just get me to my poker? There's no reason you can't do it for me." So I did it, but he couldn't even type the word 'HI.' I asked him what he would do if I wasn't there to get him to his poker and he couldn't answer. So, the laptop came right back home with us.
Then he complained, loudly and often, about the fact that the nurse told him she would bring him a roast beef sandwich, and he was expecting a sandwich from Arby's and what they brought was an open-faced roast beef sandwich on white bread. Then he started asking us to bring him some food, and when we explained that we couldn't because his diet is restricted, he started accusing us of just not wanting to be bothered with doing something for him, and calling us lazy, and explaining to us how easy it would be and that we needed to just go do it. We spent an entire two hours arguing this point with him.
Then we ordered him some fish for dinner. He actually ate that fairly well, but did complain that it wasn't from Long John Silvers.
As we were leaving, he asked us if we were going to bring him some real food when we come back tomorrow. We told him we'd ask the doctor what we might be able to bring him and he said he knew we wouldn't really bring him anything. We just told him we loved him and left.
Earlier this week, Fucking Janet (her new official name) made a comment about how if it was her dad, she'd be there every minute of every day and no job or amount of money or whatever would stop her. But you know what? It was really hard being there today. It was harder being there. Because he was frustrating, and he can't help it, but sometimes he was rude to us and to the nurse and it was hard not to snap at him a little. And because he doesn't understand what's happened, and because he thinks he's been there for months, and because watching him trying move the mouse or type the word 'HI' was really sad.
What if he's like this forever? What if he will never again be able to even push a button? My mother said with physical therapy his motor skills will come back, but what about his memory? He told us the same story about the Arby's sandwich several times today, each time like he was telling it for the first time. He couldn't remember what shrimp were called. He couldn't remember the word 'biscuit.' He kept calling my niece by my name. He kept asking where I had gone.
I keep trying not to ask that question back.
July 31, 2013
July 27, 2013
Hospital Etiquette
Lesson #1 -
It isn't about you.
I went to see my father today. Yesterday, at about 1:00 p.m., he went to get in his car and felt sick, then realized he could not get back into the house and laid down in the back seat. A neighbor saw him and came to tell my mom there was something wrong. He'd had a stroke.
He was transferred to a bigger hospital. I drove my mom and sister down to see him in the neural critical care unit. He was somewhat responsive. He threw up several times. We asked for a popsicle and that seemed to make him feel better. He slept and we just kind of talked quietly amongst ourselves and read.
Then, a woman who has only just rekindled a relationship with my mother decided she HAD to come to the hospital. This is the wife of the brother of my mother's ex-husband. Yeah. And when my sister was in the hospital earlier this year, this woman realized she knew my sister, that she remembered her from when my sister was little, and wanted to get back in touch with my family.
Fine. That's fine. But now is not the time to try to be the center of attention. When she called us, we were at the hospital, and when she asked my mother if she could come my mother told her yes. I was in the background mouthing to my mother to say "no" because my father was not going to want her there right now. After my mother hung up, she asked my father if it was okay and he said, "As long as she doesn't talk too much."
Enter this woman. Talking loudly. Talking about things that we couldn't care less about. Some girl's wedding. Some picnic. Some fight she was having with someone. LOUDLY. Her husband sat down in a rolling chair and accidentally went flying, knocking into my father's IV pole.
In the middle of this, my father suddenly said, "I want to be alone." I knew this would happen. Then he starting telling the nurse he wanted to sit on the commode, so he could be alone. The nurse told him he didn't need to sit on the commode because he needed to use the bed pan, but I understood that "the commode" at home would be a place he would escape to where no one would bother him. So pretty much right after they got there we all had to leave.
Then we got downstairs and I said I was going to go get my car and bring it around because it was on the third floor of the parking garage. This woman said, "I don't understand why." I was like, "What part of that is confusing?" "You can't bring it here." (At that very moment we were standing near the elevators kind of far from the entrance.) "By the time I get to the parking garage, get up three flights of stairs, and pay for parking you all will be right there at the entrance and it will be convenient for everyone." "Well, I just don't understand. Are you parked in the green garage? So are we." "Yes, that's where I'm parked, and I just want to go get the car." "Well, wait, well, why?" And at that I just walked away.
BECAUSE I WANT TO AND I'M 34 YEARS OLD. And because it isn't about you. And I don't know you. And because I'm pissed that you upset my father and he asked everyone to leave.
Moral: Be the help someone needs, not the help YOU want to be.
It isn't about you.
I went to see my father today. Yesterday, at about 1:00 p.m., he went to get in his car and felt sick, then realized he could not get back into the house and laid down in the back seat. A neighbor saw him and came to tell my mom there was something wrong. He'd had a stroke.
He was transferred to a bigger hospital. I drove my mom and sister down to see him in the neural critical care unit. He was somewhat responsive. He threw up several times. We asked for a popsicle and that seemed to make him feel better. He slept and we just kind of talked quietly amongst ourselves and read.
Then, a woman who has only just rekindled a relationship with my mother decided she HAD to come to the hospital. This is the wife of the brother of my mother's ex-husband. Yeah. And when my sister was in the hospital earlier this year, this woman realized she knew my sister, that she remembered her from when my sister was little, and wanted to get back in touch with my family.
Fine. That's fine. But now is not the time to try to be the center of attention. When she called us, we were at the hospital, and when she asked my mother if she could come my mother told her yes. I was in the background mouthing to my mother to say "no" because my father was not going to want her there right now. After my mother hung up, she asked my father if it was okay and he said, "As long as she doesn't talk too much."
Enter this woman. Talking loudly. Talking about things that we couldn't care less about. Some girl's wedding. Some picnic. Some fight she was having with someone. LOUDLY. Her husband sat down in a rolling chair and accidentally went flying, knocking into my father's IV pole.
In the middle of this, my father suddenly said, "I want to be alone." I knew this would happen. Then he starting telling the nurse he wanted to sit on the commode, so he could be alone. The nurse told him he didn't need to sit on the commode because he needed to use the bed pan, but I understood that "the commode" at home would be a place he would escape to where no one would bother him. So pretty much right after they got there we all had to leave.
Then we got downstairs and I said I was going to go get my car and bring it around because it was on the third floor of the parking garage. This woman said, "I don't understand why." I was like, "What part of that is confusing?" "You can't bring it here." (At that very moment we were standing near the elevators kind of far from the entrance.) "By the time I get to the parking garage, get up three flights of stairs, and pay for parking you all will be right there at the entrance and it will be convenient for everyone." "Well, I just don't understand. Are you parked in the green garage? So are we." "Yes, that's where I'm parked, and I just want to go get the car." "Well, wait, well, why?" And at that I just walked away.
BECAUSE I WANT TO AND I'M 34 YEARS OLD. And because it isn't about you. And I don't know you. And because I'm pissed that you upset my father and he asked everyone to leave.
Moral: Be the help someone needs, not the help YOU want to be.
July 22, 2013
Quick News from My Life
In a nutshell: One of my nieces (22) gave birth to a baby girl. My nephew (18) (with whom I've had quite a troubled past) moved to Missouri on a whim last week. He was supposed to be going on a two-week vacation with his girlfriend but instead he decided to never come back. For now. Another of my nieces (20) found out this morning she is pregnant.
I'm going to choose to believe this is a blessing, this latest pregnancy. Earlier this year, my sister was hospitalized with Spinal Meningitis due to an infection near her spinal cord that allowed the virus to enter her bloodstream. The infection spread to her brain. After six weeks of intense antibiotics and surgeries the Meningitis cleared up and she was able to go home.
She has permanent brain damage affecting her short-term and long-term memory. She suddenly can't remember what she was doing (which can be dangerous if she's cooking or even showering). She can't remember what she was saying. She can't remember her childhood. The doctor says her short-term memory will probably right itself. But her long-term memory may be gone forever.
It has also been recommended that she have plastic surgery to repair the hole in her back causing bacteria access to her spinal cord. If she does so, she will have to enter a nursing home for six weeks, and she will not be allowed to sit up for the first four weeks. If she does so, it will at least cut the chances that something as life-threatening could happen again as easily. If she does not do this, infections will continue to weaken her immune system. She is, of course, refusing to have this surgery.
So, time is slipping away. Memories are slipping away. Maybe a little bit of happiness is what she needs, and maybe a grandchild will bring her some happiness. I'm choosing to believe this. Her other daughter (18 this week) will most likely never have children, so this may be my sister's one shot at ever seeing her grandchildren. Maybe, knowing that a baby is on the way, one she'll want to watch grow up, maybe she'll change her mind about having the surgery. I'm choosing to hope for this.
I'm going to choose to believe this is a blessing, this latest pregnancy. Earlier this year, my sister was hospitalized with Spinal Meningitis due to an infection near her spinal cord that allowed the virus to enter her bloodstream. The infection spread to her brain. After six weeks of intense antibiotics and surgeries the Meningitis cleared up and she was able to go home.
She has permanent brain damage affecting her short-term and long-term memory. She suddenly can't remember what she was doing (which can be dangerous if she's cooking or even showering). She can't remember what she was saying. She can't remember her childhood. The doctor says her short-term memory will probably right itself. But her long-term memory may be gone forever.
It has also been recommended that she have plastic surgery to repair the hole in her back causing bacteria access to her spinal cord. If she does so, she will have to enter a nursing home for six weeks, and she will not be allowed to sit up for the first four weeks. If she does so, it will at least cut the chances that something as life-threatening could happen again as easily. If she does not do this, infections will continue to weaken her immune system. She is, of course, refusing to have this surgery.
So, time is slipping away. Memories are slipping away. Maybe a little bit of happiness is what she needs, and maybe a grandchild will bring her some happiness. I'm choosing to believe this. Her other daughter (18 this week) will most likely never have children, so this may be my sister's one shot at ever seeing her grandchildren. Maybe, knowing that a baby is on the way, one she'll want to watch grow up, maybe she'll change her mind about having the surgery. I'm choosing to hope for this.
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