Patience

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.