Letters To My Children

Advice to my Daughter as Mother’s Day draws near:

Anything you want to be, you can.  You are the engineer of your own life.  I know that sometimes life can be overwhelming, that it can seem as if all things are closing in on you.  Just remember, you are never alone.  Your battles are oftentimes easier to bear if you remember that someone has your back.  As long as I draw breath, I will be that person for you.

It does not matter how much weight you gain or lose in your life.  You are beautiful.  You always have been.  Your smile lights up a room.  Your presence puts others at ease.  You are a warm and compassionate person and people recognize that immediately in you.

I want you to live your life fully.  Right NOW is the time.  Enjoy every moment that you have been given.  If there is something you want to do, find a way to do it.  Never hold back your curiosity.  Never feel that you are unworthy to enjoy life.  Never let other people put obstacles in front of your happiness.  See your way through or around those things and make sure you fulfill your dreams.

Don’t let your heart become callused when others slight you.  It’s their loss.  An open heart finds love more often than one that is closed but an open heart is more often broken.  That is not a bad thing.  Broken hearts come to us in a range of styles: friends, family, loves, employers, etc.  It is ok to have your heart broken.  But it is not ok to allow that broken heart to keep you from future happiness.  Put it in your pocket, learn from it, and keep growing.  But, most importantly, keep moving forward.

Anything you want to be, you can.  You are the engineer of your own life.  And I am your biggest fan.

I love you,

Mom

 

Advice to my Son as Mother’s Day draws near:

How did you become a man overnight?  Was it not just yesterday that you were this bright-eyed toddler that was curious about everything in the world?  Never lose that curiosity, no matter what age you reach.  Although you teach, remember there is still a lot to learn in this life.  When you share your knowledge with these young men and women, make sure you share more than your wisdom – give them a role model, those are sometimes hard to find for young people nowadays.  Your kindness might be the only one they see in a day.  We never really know the struggles others face, even the bad ones.  The “good” you offer might just be the life changing offering a that a kid needs to experience.

I am so excited for you as you enter this next phase of adulthood, marriage.  I know the two of you will be a great fit.  And, although together you will be a formidable team, make sure to keep a bit of your own individuality.  It’s what she fell in love with.  Make sure you tell her that you love her every chance you get.  Others will see it as sappy but moments are fleeting and you never know how many chances you have to express your feelings.

And, when the time comes, I know you will make an amazing father.  You have always been a kid with so much heart, with so much love to share.  The moment when you go from being someone’s son to someone’s father, the transformation will be magnificent.  “Be young” with your children, I was and you guys turned out pretty decent.

I am so proud of you.  You were a kid who was unlike all the others.  I know that you have an amazing future ahead of you, make sure you live in the moment – enjoy every second of it.  If you have an opportunity to do the things you love DO THEM!  Never look back with sorrow on missed opportunities.

I love you,

Mom

It’s All About The Nap

You know, it’s a lot like having a toddler all over again. Except, he is not a toddler, he’s my Dad. We leave for an appointment and I check my purse for snacks and tissues. I make a mental note to grab a bottle of water from the fridge, last time I forgot and he stayed thirsty the whole time. Zip your coat up and let’s go.

He told me the other day that life is ironic – you come into this world having to wear a diaper and after seven decades on this planet you find yourself right back where you started. I shake my head but know he’s right.

I find myself slipping back into a Mom’s routine. Even down to limiting my alcohol consumption on the weekends because you never know when you will be needed.

The other irony is that his body is doing a decent job of healing even though his mind is not.

And, just like toddlers, we have relearned the value of a nap.

What Five Famous (Dead or Alive) People Would You Invite To Dinner?

So I went on an interview today.  Post-Interview, I feel really good about my presentation and answers.

I worried over what to wear.  I have recently lost about 23 pounds so my “large girl” pants no longer fit and my older “NYC attire” is a hodge podge (some still a little tighter than appropriate for an interview).  I settled on a conservative pinstripe shirt, black slacks and my favorite black bra.  I felt good in the outfit, comfortable.  So, imagine my surprise when I had to go through a “pat down” because the under-wire in my fave bra set the metal detector to beeping!

I am applying for a position with the Dept of Education within the WV Dept of Corrections (Women’s Facility).  And I half expected needing a pat down (as security is essential).  I just giggle as I think about it.  If I am lucky enough to secure the position, the detector will be set to a less sensitive setting.  I know a few of the current employees at the prison so, although nervous, I was not on full-throttle nervous.  After almost two decades in some form of HR position, I was familiar with the questions they asked and knew the answers they would like to receive.  At the end of the interview they handed me two sheets of papers for a written portion of the interview.

Q:  What three adjectives best describe you?

A:  Energetic, Versatile, Humorous  (I feel that is pretty accurate and not “too standard”)

Q:  If you were able to invite any five famous people (living or deceased) to dinner, who would it be and why?

A:  1. Einstein (his combination of wit and intelligence would allow for great dinner conversation); 2. Elvis (but I would expect him to sing for his supper); 3. Martha Stewart (but I would expect her to come before the meal was served so she could help me with the center pieces); 4. Nelson Mandela (after suffering from so much strife, I would love to get his take on the current state we find this world in); and 5. Roberta Mancino (I would find it interesting to pick her brain on how she excels at such a male dominated sport).

And there was was an essay question regarding “what I would do in the event of” scenario.  (Prioritize, prioritize, prioritize)

I think I made a good impression.  I was personable, spoke with ease regarding what strengths and skill set I could bring to the position and noted my immediate availability.  Although there is an immediate need, there is a certain series of protocols that must be followed.  So, even if hired tomorrow, I would not start until May 15th.  I am keeping my fingers (and toes) crossed, hoping I get the position.  It is down to me and two other candidates…

The one thing I am so thankful for, they did not ask the one interview question I was seriously dreading:

Keep your fingers crossed for me….  I will update you as soon as I know.

Ciao!

A Tale of Two Doctors and Other Interesting Stories

“Hello?”

“Is James Seletyn or Rebecca Seletyn available today?”

((heavy sigh)) “No, I wish.  My Mom passed January of 2010.  My Dad has been permanently placed in a nursing home and will never be able to pay the bill you are calling about.  Please remove this telephone number from your register as only a caretaker for the house will be here and he is not able to answer any of your questions. I have turned in my Mom’s death certificate this week to the bank.  It is on record now if you look.”

((infused sad politeness)) “Ok, I will get that note in here.  Thank you.  Are you their daughter?”

So begins my Saturday of cleaning out my Dad’s house, packing up the savable, shuffling around the discardables and answering the onslaught of debtor calls.

I clean, pack, throw away – all without knowing which things held relevant meaning to my Dad.  This rock, sitting here on the desk, did it have meaning?  The partial newspaper that is housed between two books, I read the pages but nothing clicks.  I despise this, the dismantling of my Dad’s life at my own hands.  I know it is a necessity but that realization does nothing to quell the unease for the task at hand.  My inner teenager keeps reminding me that this shit sucks.

Earlier in the week, there was a caregivers meeting where I met with his “team” and then had a one-on-one with his doctor.  They have all been such wonderful people.  I am glad that we were able to get him into Overbrook.  It is a difference like day vs. night in the quality of care he receives.  I especially like Dr Simpson.  I keep thinking it is like a “Tale of Two Doctors”.  You see, while Dad was housed at Huntington Health and Rehab, he started a very unsettling trend of weeping.  I say weeping, not crying, because he would tear up and suddenly be racked with sobs.  It disturbed me in ways I cannot begin to describe.  When I was unable to get a meeting with Dr McCormick (not an uncommon thing), I “bum rushed” him at the nurse’s station to ask him about Dad and if there was anything we could do.  I noted that Dad kept weeping.  His response, “Jesus wept.”  ((stunned silence)).  The complete lack of decorum displayed by that doctor was the driving force behind my finding Overbrook and getting Dad to a better facility.  The proof is in the pudding, as they say.  Dad is doing much better now.  Will he return to his faculties and have complete coherency?  No.  But his quality of life has drastically improved since the move.  That is where Dr Simpson comes in…  His blood sugar is now regulated and within a normal range (sometimes it is low, but not too often).  And in my one-on-one meeting, I had one question that plagued me.  I explained how I likened what I was going through to Survivor’s Guilt.  Here I am, healthy and ok, dismantling my Dad’s life and trying to sell off his home.  And, all the while, I had am plagued with the worry that “what if” he “comes to” and is once again ok and hates me for leaving him in such a spot?  Dr Simpson explained that although Dad might improve tremendously, he will more than likely never get to a place where he could live on his own.

By the time we were discussing this, we were walking down the hallway.  He put his arm around me and said, “Michelle, I give you the day off from worrying.  I learned two words early on in my career: concern and worry.  Concern is ok because it makes you take care of things that are necessary.  Worry, on the other hand, just keeps you up and night and is nonsense.  So, I want you to quit worrying so much and start thinking more of yourself.  You worry about everyone and not about yourself.”  He gave me a squeeze and walked back to his desk and went about his routine.  Although I know that Dad’s move to Overbrook was (more than) the right choice, it was that moment that completely sealed the deal.

And, even though I knew he was in very capable hands, at 3PM on Saturday, when Overbrook’s name popped up on my iPhone to announce the person trying to call – my heart picked up speed and a dull panic set in.  It was Dad.  I had hoped my uncle could have visited him on the day I could not be there but he was unable to.

“Chelle, where are you.  I haven’t seen you in forever?”

“Dad, remember we talked about this yesterday.  I am in Fayette County checking on your house, cleaning up a little, making sure Max is ok.”

“Oh, yeah yeah yeah.  I was just missing you and didn’t know why you had not come today.  Take your time.  Take care of everything.  I want to come home soon and you can make sure everything is ok there for me.”

My stomach sinks a little bit at this conversation.  The house is not on the market (yet).  So I am not a liar when I tell him that his home is still there, his dog is still there and Alex is looking out for both.  I do not tell him how Medicaid insists on our selling his property. I do not tell him that I am dismantling his life.  I try to remember the difference between worry and concern.  And, like always, worry wins out.

Some things I learned while combing through my Dad’s artifacts: He once worked for a baker, making $1.10 per hour (I found out today that he was in the process line and put dough into pans).  He owned a machine company that build a pizza cutter (which he and his partners never patented and therefore never received credit).  And he collected memories, much like I do – in the forms of pictures, postcards, old greeting cards (both made by Hallmark and by us kids), newspaper headlines, etc.  I have included a few of those treasures I unearthed while sorting through the basement.

I made a dent in the work on the house.  There are just so many details to attend to and only one me.  It will take a while, but I will make my way through it all…

 

 

 

The Hunger Games (books 10-12)

The first book was delicious, I devoured it quickly.  (Did you catch my play on “Hunger” there?  Clever, eh?)

Congratulations to Suzanne Collins, the author of this fine series of books.  She did a great job giving us the next “I have to see this when it comes out in the movies” set of books.  After Potter and Twilight, did we fear a dry season or what?  She did not disappoint.  She has another series (“Gregor” about a kid in NYC who falls through his laundry room into a subterranean world called  the Underland.  Complete with cockroaches and everything! http://www.suzannecollinsbooks.com/works.htm).  I am interested if they will become a success now that she has done so well with the Hunger Games trilogy.

I realize the downside to having seen the movie is that I have the “looks” of the characters already programmed in my head.  I find part of the fun with reading books that make it to the big screen is the comparison of how I see the physicality of the characters compared to the actors who portray them.  But, for the most part (other than Haymitch being played by Woody Harrelson) I was ok with how I envisioned the characters vs. casting of the movie.  To me, upon reading the books, I just cannot see Woody as Haymitch… I am interested in how Jena Malone will be playing Johanna.  However, she was a voice in Howl’s Moving Castle, so I give her cool points for that going in.

I did tear through the first book and enjoyed every bit of it.  I cried where I should have cried, felt outraged when I should have and overall loved it.  Books two (Catching Fire) and three (Mockingjay) – although I enjoyed them as well, both had somewhat slow beginnings.  Book three… I am on the post about whether I feel aggravated over the ending.  Although I was not a member of Team Peta or Team Gale, I truly did not have a favorite for her to choose until she chose and then I felt…meh, let down maybe? – I am not sure if I enjoyed how the love triangle played out.  I think, with the way it ended, that Gale turned out to be a huge douchebag.  IMHO of course.  I think that book three took so long to build to the climax that when it ended, it ended too quickly.  I don’t know exactly.  I am still trying to put my finger on what is bothering me about the finish.

Have you read it?  Did you enjoy the ending?  If so, let me know…

If you have not read the series – I DO recommend that you do.  It really is a good read (even if I did not COMPLETELY enjoy the ending).

Also, in looking up the next movies, I see that IMDB has Mockingjay listed as a Part 1.  So that means they will water down the story so they can draw it out and make the fans have to pay for one more movie when there really should only be three.  The Potter series – those were some huge books with lots of content, I understand the need for Pt 1 and 2, but it set precedence for others to feel it is ok to do that as well when maybe they should not…

Ciao!

Yes, this is the author (from her website http://www.suzannecollinsbooks.com/)- very interesting shot in Central Park!!

Everything before the but…

My Dad once told me that “everything before the but is a lie”.  Now, what did he mean?  Let me give you a few examples:

I would love to help you move BUT I am busy this weekend.

I would like to go out with you on a date BUT I have to wash my hair.

I would volunteer BUT I have to work on each of those days.

Get the point?  Well, let me officially start this blog with, “I don’t want to come off as an asshole but…”

Dealing with Dad’s health is a cross between a devastated bewilderment and a heart wrenching agony.  I hold it in well though.  Because that is what I do.  I am that person in my family, always was.  The ever present strong shoulder everyone else can lean on when times get tough.  I am the “reassurance” that everything will be ok.  Only now everything is not going to be ok.  And I have allowed myself the realization that my Dad is not coming home and is now placed in a nursing home permanently.  Unfortunately for me (and both of my kids), we sometimes feel as if we are the only ones that have reached this realization.  Now, don’t get me wrong – I would LOVE for my Dad to recover and be his full self.  And there are times when he is lucid and when he is not agitated (those times when my real Dad shines from behind those beautiful blue eyes) that I have a feeling of hope.  So far, those glimmers of hope quickly fade as his clearer thoughts never last for more than a few hours.

Everyone wants my Dad to be ok, to be “on the mend”.  I sometimes feel that if his mortality is in question that oftentimes it gives them pause to reflect on their own vulnerabilities and how many good years they might have left.  I field a number of calls from Dad’s friends who all want to check in on him.  They are wonderful people, some more like family than friends, constants in my life growing up.  They call, ask: How is he? – Is getting better? – When will he be home?  Those are the standard three.  With my regular responses: Same – No – Unfortunately he won’t.  They are well-intentioned, I know.  They WANT the answers to be what we all want them to be.  However, they do not realize the toll it takes on me, on the kids, to continually repeat to them every week that “No, my Dad is not coming home.  He has brain damage.  No there is no surgery that can correct it.  He was without oxygen for too long.”  They are all looking for a miracle that is not coming and it kills me to have to repeat it with the frequency that I do.

For his longtime friends who call on a regular basis, I have finally broken down and told each of them that he will not be coming home.  This is permanent.  And, for the most part, they have been wonderful.  They still call and check.  They say what a pity it is that he found himself in this condition.  They give their love and hope for more good days than bad.  But I have one or two (and the kids have one or two) that persist in putting us through the rigors of “when will he be home” even after the explanations have been made.  They are holding out for the miracle.  They want to force “hope” upon us.  For me, it causes great guilt to feel as if someone is struggling with my “inability” to want more for Dad.  I DO want more. And, if a miracle will happen I will be the first in line to dance the happy dance.

However, right now I am overwhelmed by taking care of his finances, insurances, writing debtors that they will never receive payments, sewing name tags into his clothing, preparing to put his property up for sale – all the while trying to live a life of certain normalcy and looking for a job, being a part of the kids’ lives as they venture on their own paths of adulthood and trying to just take a few moments to enjoy that I am still a newlywed.  It is not an easy place that I find myself in – this bittersweet limbo.  I balance between the demolishing ache in my heart that my Dad is no longer in control of his life and trying to enjoy what are supposed to be the best times my life will ever see (newlywed, building a house, starting my life with Bobby).

So, I am trying to not sound like an asshole, BUT…

Yes, we have hope even though we are weary and are trying to survive this horrible ordeal.

No, we do not need you to remind us there are miracles that happen.

Yes, we want you to keep calling, to keep sending cards, to keep coming to visit.

No, Dad is not coming home.  And please quit inadvertently making us feel like shit for trying to explain this to you.

Yes, we will love you anyway but understand the pain you can sometimes cause me, the kids.

And I do truly love that so many people have reached out.  I promise to try to not sound like a robot as I answer your questions.  Understand you are probably not the first to ask these questions and have patience with me as I rattle of the answers with a certain lack of emotion in my voice.

Below is a great pic of Dad.  We took him out for some fresh air and he was giving Alex some life advice.  I am thinking about video taping some of our visits (the more lucid ones), so we can preserve what precious memories we have left.

Love you guys.

Ciao!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

This Lil’ Piggy…

Friday was the appointment for Dad’s partial toe amputation.  I had explained it in a way that did not terrify him.  They are going to “work” on your toe.  They have to take the dead black part of.  Nonthreatening language that I was careful to word myself in a way that would not send Dad into a tailspin.  Thursday night I went to bed early knowing that Friday was going to be a long day.  At 430AM my cell phone goes off.  When I was a young parent (and the kids were toddlers), I slept light because I was on constant vigil of making sure they were ok.  The slightest noise sent me checking on them in their beds at all hours.  That slightest noise has been traded for a shrill cell phone ring (shrill to make sure it wakes me up).  I shot out of bed, fumble with the on switch and answer…  The night nurse said that Dad was in a panic about the procedure for the day. He was terribly upset and he wanted me.  Blue jeans, sweatshirt, shoes, ponytail and out the door I go.

I arrived twenty minutes later.  Seems when Dad asked the night nurse for something to drink she told him that she could not give it to him because he had “surgery” in the morning.  Now, because this was an outpatient procedure, I opted to tell him “toe needs worked on”.  Surgery was the first bell and whistle for my Dad.  He asked that she explain what was going to happen.  When the word “amputation” was used, he went insane.  So, this is what I walked into before 500AM on the day of his procedure.

“No, they are not taking your WHOLE toe off.”  “Yes, I know Louis lost his legs but that was from DIABETES, this is from a blood clot associated with your surgery.”  “No, I promise you I will not let them take your whole toe off.”  “Don’t cry Daddy, you have not lost everything.”

I want to scream at the well-intentioned nurse.  I really do.  But, she was doing what she thought was ok and nothing more.  But really… Sigh.  It took me about an hour to calm him down.  And I headed back home to rest up a bit, grab a shower and then head back to meet him as they loaded him in the ambulance.  Two beautiful girls were loading him in the ambulance when he tells them, “Wellllll Ladies.  Just so you know, thoughts enter the right side of my brain but get lost before they make their way to the left side.  So I might say anything.  Sorry if I offend.”  ((shake head))  My Dad is flirting with young pretty EMTs even through the confusion.  Go Pops Go.

At Holzer in Gallipolis, Dad explains to Dr Clark that his apprehension over the unexpected was what had him nervous.  I get that.  Because the surgery was not occurring until noon, I was terrified that his blood sugar was going to plummet (he was not allowed to eat or drink after midnight and his levels have finally balanced and occasionally run low vs. always high like before).  But he made it back into surgery with a blood sugar level of 127.

Post-surgery, Dad’s sundowning kicked in and between the confusion and the fear, he was (for lack of a nicer word) an asshole.  Brutal asshole.  He had no idea what part of the world he was in.  Was mad at me for making him go to so many facilities.  He was loud and verbal and not fun at all.  I was thankful to see the ambulance crew come down the aisle to load him up.

I picked up his favorite Bob Evans’ dish (salmon in butter garlic sauce) on the way back to Overbrook.  While eating it, he told me it was ok but I didn’t know how to make it like Bob Evans.  Sigh.  I didn’t even try to correct him.  He looked at me and told me “I am sorry if I was an ass to you.  I was scared.”  “Don’t apologize Daddy, you would do it for me.”

Saturday he was ok but “tired”.  I fed him some chili for lunch and took to reading the last of the Hunger Games while he slept.  He would wake ever so often and ask me a question, seemed like he felt safe because I was there and then would drift back off.  He “answered” his pillow, handed it to me and told me Donna wanted to talk to me.  I took the pillow and “told Donna” I would call her back.

Donna and Chris were able to visit today (Sunday) and Daddy was wanting to nap.  We got him up and into his wheelchair and then took him into the TV/activities room.  He drank Root Beer and was good about staying awake.  I had to head to the airpark with Bobby so I cut my visit at 1130 and left him in the very capable hands of my sister and bro-in-law.  Donna told me that Daddy didn’t want them to leave.  That is the sign of a good visit.  He misses people in his life.  Asks for a handful of people (some alive, some not-so-much) on a regular basis.

My long-term hope is that he gets strong enough for trips out of the nursing home, even if only to dinner or down to the river.  I remain hopeful.  Now that the necrotic tissue on the toe is gone (and the smell is SO much better), I am hoping that it leads us in an overall positive direction.  I know that his mental status “is what it is” and do not claim to wear rose colored glasses about it getting better.  But, keep your fingers crossed for us.  I like to think that I see light at the end of this crooked tunnel…

Ciao!

Bittersweet Symphony

As I took my jacket off Daddy burst into tears:

“I was just thinking I would call Alex or Mandy and have them bring your Mommy to see me.  I miss her and I wanted to see her.  Then I remembered she was dead.”  And then he wept harder.  He asked how we got here, did he have a stroke?  I went through a brief summary – the surgery, the cardiac arrest, the hypoxia and lack of oxygen, the stay and Huntington and now our current location at Overbrook.

He wept.  I wept.  It was a waterworks fiasco.  But it felt like progress.  I asked if there were medications that could be described for the low points but there is not.  This is a wave a memories, not like just being depressed – it is like reliving that Ma had just did.  Anti-depressants will not fight that for him.  So we will have to just roll with the punches.

I am still loving Overbrook.  The facility is so much better than HHR.  Love the staff.

Amanda came up to see her Pawpaw so did Tommy (his brother), Teresa (sister-in-law) and Terry (one of his close friends).  He was a little confused at first but recognized everyone.  He was a jokester and was pleasant to be around.  Once he had lunch and was back in bed he (very unceremoniously) let us know we should leave and go home.  As everyone stood in line for hugs, he grabbed his friend Terry and told him to give him a big hug.  It was nice to see him in good spirits, surrounded by people who love him.

Monday we had an appointment to see Dr Clark, the vascular specialist with Holzer in Gallipolis.  Dad was transported by ambulance (it was offered to allow me to transport him but there is no way I could have gotten him out of the car by myself and we do not have our own wheelchair).  The two young men from Life Ambulance (I am pretty sure that was the name of the service) were very nice young men.  They never left Dad’s side the entire trip and through the visit.  While at HHR, the van would take him to the appointment and then I hunted them down to even get them to help me get him from the chair back into the wheelchair.

Dr Clark will be performing a partial amputation of Dad’s left big toe this Friday.  He wants to take it from the knuckle up and pull the “good skin” flap over the top to seal it up.  He does not want to take it all the way down because there are issues that could come up from it.  The thing I found very interesting from his prognosis – Dad’s feet have great blood flow.  He does not think that the toe turning was due to diabetes (because only one toe turned, good pulse, etc).  He believes that when Dad went into cardiac arrest, he threw a blood clot that traveled to the toe and lodged in a smaller blood vessel, cutting off the blood supply to that side.

The first time we noticed his foot discoloration was the day after Dad went into cardiac arrest in Richmond four days post surgery.  I am hoping to find out if it is possible that while Dad was going through respiratory despair and cardiac arrest (chest compressions were performed) that maybe that is when the heart threw a clot.  I plan on asking Dr Simpson a ton of questions about it when I see him again.  In looking up reading on hypoxia, the first thing that always pulls up is a hand that looks bruised.  And it is due to the cutting of oxygen/blood flow to the extremities (during the hypoxic event).  And I know that we will probably never know exactly when the clot was thrown but it is a question that I will try my best to delve into over the next weeks.

My sister from another mister, Lisa came to visit Dad as well.  I wish she could have had as upbeat a visit as the one that happened on Sunday.  He was confused, cranky, ready for everyone to leave.  He wept at the sight of cardinals outside his window in the tree.  Overbrook has done an amazing job of attracting all of these cardinals (male and female) and they are huge and colorful and beautiful.  Daddy now thinks that the two he sees are Ma and Uncle Freddy (both have passed) and that they are there for him.  He said, “They will be there from the morning until I go to bed, they are here for me.”  Then he wept again.  The brain is a beautifully horrific part of our body that controls everything.  We are at its mercy.  And sometimes, it is a cruel cruel demon that tears at our very fabric.

Dad has forgotten our conversation and his realization that maybe there is something wrong with his brain.  He has fallen back to paranoia – Eastern Standard Time, people screwing with his days or times, etc.  I tried to explain the upcoming partial amputation.  It seemed like he understood.  But for how long, it is hard to tell.

This week I hope to get him to BINGO at least once, I made salmon for lunch today for him (actually was for dinner last night but at 630 he was in bed and refusing to wake back up), and preparing him for the upcoming procedure.

For those of you who are curious what a necrotic toe looks like, it is pictured at the very bottom of this post.  The black portion is what will be removed and the good skin will be pulled over and used to cap off the wound.  It is VERY gross – prewarning.  I put up the picture of me and Dad as a sort of barrier between good and bad (in case you don’t want to see the nasty).  Look at your own risk.

Keep him in your thoughts.  I know it will all go well…

Ciao!

 

Call The Sheriff!

“I am calling the sheriff!  You have me here against my will!  Who are you?  Where am I?!?”

Yesterday morning was a far cry different than the day of transport for Dad.  I received a call from a befuddled Dad that morning.  With his hearing impairment he could not understand me but was shouting I needed to get there as soon as possible, paperwork needed to be filed.  Once I got there, I walked into the room (with much trepidation, not knowing which way the pendulum had swung overnight).  His wound care nurse looked up at me from the bandages on his foot and said, “Hi, you must be Michelle.”  Dad turns and says, “You are on my list.”  My heart sunk.  Then a smile creeped across his face that actually reached his eyes.  The next thing he said alleviated all the worry that had given me a toss or turn that night, “This is the best place I have been in the past three months.”  I almost cried tears of joy.  Music to my ears. (Of course the irony here is that in Dad’s mind he has been to about eight states and Europe, not to mention three different decades – all in the past three months of his residence in Huntington).

I chatted a while with the wound care nurse who told me that he had chatted (pleasantly) all morning with her, telling her about the grandkids and kids.  She told me that Physical Therapy (PT) had come by to pick him up but because she was working on his toes, heels and knee, they would come back.  I asked if it would be ok for me to wheel him down there.  I like to meet the people who are working closely with my Dad on a consistent basis.  I found in Huntington, I was more apt to get adequate information on Dad’s mental state from his PT people because they had to actually concentrate on him for an extended period of time vs. come in, change diaper, leave – come in, check blood sugar, leave – ect.  The rehab area of Overbrook is nice.  They have a lot of equipment that looks in good condition.  A number of things (like faux staircases) that are used for occupational therapy.  It is staffed (yesterday at least) with all women.  I asked how long they would be – till noon (primary evaluation of need).  Dad looks at me and says, “I am hungry, I want chili and a grilled cheese.” – smile.  So, I ran to Wendy’s, ran by house to pick up his hearing aid (we are going to give this another go) and headed back to him.  He was already in his room (still in decent mood).  I sat our food out on the tray between us.  When I tried to feed him, he said he only wanted help if he spilled something.  That was great – fed himself (which does not happen often enough these days).  We had great conversation and then he wanted to nap.  That was around noon-thirty-ish.  I got him into bed and explained I had to go home to finish getting his possessions ready to inventory and admit.  He said “I love you.” and I kissed his forehead.  A ritual that happens every time I leave his side.

On my way out, the doctor caught me to speak with me briefly about Dad, what to expect and what happens next.  Wonderful guy.  Took me to an office and sat there with me as I went through a brief summary of how we got to this point.  I went through his ailments, various medicines taken, what my concerns were, etc.  He explained that the notes received were useless to him.  That it was a poor job of transfer documentation that was sent (no surprise).  I asked him about the podiatrist’s notation of needed Dad’s big left toe removed.  He told me that he would prefer to do a full evaluation and then make a decision first. When I left his office I thought to myself – in that fifteen minutes I received more details and encouragement than I did with Dad’s entire stay at HHR under the care of Dr McCormick.  I left Overbrook with a better feeling than I have had for some time.

I had to wash all of his clothes (even the clean ones) before they could enter Overbrook to prevent disease and germ spread between facilities. Understandable.  So I had washed all of his clothes, his quilt and his pillow cases to make sure to comply.  I waited until evening to return.  I had dinner with my husband and his parents, Bobby repaired Dad’s broken eyeglasses, I printed out a property list (along with photos of things he would have) and then made my way back.  As I walked up to Overbrook, I greeted the CNA who was just getting off shift.  She is a warm and wonderful woman so far.  She told me that she put some clothing racks in Dad’s closet (I was carrying in his possessions as I met her at the door).  She wanted to make sure I had some in case I had forgotten to bring any.  She had been very thoughtful all day.  Because I had all of Dad’s clothes and he woke up at the crack of dawn, he had told her he was cold.  She made her way to the laundry room, to unclaimed items and found a pair of warm fleece pants for him to wear until I arrived with his clothes.  I told her thank you for all of her help.  She had been an angel.  And I asked how he was.  ((insert the shaking of my head))

After Dad’s nap and true to his sun-downing nature – he woke as a tyrant.  He told her that the sheriff needed to be called because he had no idea who she was or where he was or how she had gotten him to this place.  He sat up on the edge of the bed with a start.  He wanted to speak to his daughter or to the head nurse or to anyone, immediately!  She became stern with him and told him:  “Fine!  But… you have to get out of that bed and into this wheelchair to do any of that.”  And he responded: “Like this?!?”  And stood, unassisted and took the steps (by himself) to the chair and sat down.  Promptly shushed her out of the way and using his feet as a motor, exited the room and headed down the hallway.  What I would have given to see my Dad stand unassisted.  Another thing that does not happen nowadays.  She said he made his way to the charge nurse’s office and sat in there for some time discussing matters of utmost importance.  When she saw my concerned face – she told me not to worry, the charge nurse listens to all the patients, even the confused ones and patiently lets them vent or chat or get over being alone.

Dad was in bed asleep by the time I made it to his room (asleep by 730).  I chatted a little with him groggily.  I helped his roommate Roy retrieve a piece from his razor that had fallen far under his bed and out of his reach.  And then I kissed Dad’s forehead and left for the night.  He asked that I come early in the morning because there was much needing to be discussed.  I patted his back and said, “Ok.”

I am preparing to head that way now.  Who knows what today has in store for me.  At least I am not facing it with the utter dread I had yesterday…

Thanks for checking in.  Remember, if you would like to visit or send Dad a note, it would lift his spirits and is completely welcomed!

Ciao!

Overbrook Center – New Beginnings

Before I start my blog, Dad has been moved to a new facility:  Overbrook Center, Middleport, Ohio, Room 309.  I am getting a phone put into his room and will update with a number as soon as I can.  Now to the blog…

Yesterday was supposed to be a happy day.  It really was.  I found a nursing home that is pretty great and only 9.3 miles from my house.  Previously driving door-to-door was 67.6 miles.  I tracked it yesterday on, what I am hoping, is my last ever drive to Huntington Health and Rehab.  But, when I walked through the door and Dad’s nurse Bryan (Dad pronounces it Bree-yan) looked at me, shook his head and said, “Holy crap he is pissed at you.”  I knew it was going to be a rough day.

Firstly, HHR once again scheduled an appointment for my Dad’s podiatrist without even telling me.  I found out last night at five when I was alerted to his acceptance at a new facility.  With Dad being a sun-downer (he does better in the morning than the afternoon), I knew this was going to pose complications as it would be at least one before I could start personal transport (transportation of that distance would not be provided by HHR and an ambulance ride would be a couple grand).  He was in the dining room (which never happens) drinking a cup of coffee, coat still on from doctor’s visit.  I walked in and pure, genuine evil looked at me from behind Dad’s eyes.  He says “You are on my shit list and I need to talk to you where I can cuss, somewhere private.”  Well, there is no place private.  So, in the hallway outside of his room (with passersby gaped-mouth in astonishment), my Dad started to curse me as if he never knew me personally before that moment.

In his mind:  He was in his bed at his home in FayCo this morning when some woman woke him up and put him on an heliplane.  They flew him to Huntington, took him around some place and then brought him here.  He had never been there before and now some fool was telling him that I was putting him in a nursing home.  He had never seen HHR before (although he has been a resident since Dec 28th).  No matter how many nurses and passersby tried to convince him he was not on a plane that day, he said we were all fucking crazy and needed put away.  He needed to call the sheriff because this was kidnapping.  He even believed that he had NOT gone to the doctor today, I was a fucking fool for saying it out loud.  In an attempt to try to calm him down, the rehab nurse asked him if he would like to go visit Mike (his rehab therapist who he adores).  He said he has no idea who that is but whatever.  So, as I start to pack his belonging and take down all the pictures that I have taped up, they bring him back in.  And he starts screaming.  Those are his pictures, I am not allowed to touch them.  Then it switched to pleading – just put the pictures back up, don’t take me from my home Chelle.  I never thought you would do something like this.  And no matter how much I tried to remain calm, disconnected from his confusion, I sobbed.

He told me I was on crack.  That he had actually looked into the crackhouse and the regular guy, the wet guy, who makes the crack was off sick and I had stood in for him.  How did I come to this in my life?  He told me that I don’t love him, never have.  He stated clearly I have repeatedly lied to him, that his house is gone, his dog is gone, he has no friends, no family.  The whole drive back he searched his empty pockets for his cell phone so I could call Bryan and tell him we were coming back, please hold his bed.

He is pissed that I am “taking him away from his best friend Jackie”.  And though I have remained silent (until now), I can say that this person, who he called his girlfriend, is at the bottom of my list for people deserving to draw breath.  I stayed full time with my Dad from mid August through taking him to Richmond in December.  I saw her at the house ONCE.  And, that was when she lived less than ten miles away.  I asked her to help me ONE evening.  To give me ONE night off and she couldn’t because she had no cell phone service at Dad’s.  Not ONCE did she offer to come sit with him to give me a break.  HOWEVER – Dad did inform me that she told him she did not want a relationship “like that” (whatever that means) but that they would be friends.  She came to the ICU in Beckley once (maybe twice) and she came to Richmond once.  Every time with my aunt (who introduced them) in tow.  She has come to visit him twice at Huntington from Dec 28th to Mar 13th.  And, to me – this woman must not have the same feelings as my Dad but yet I am to consider her needs as if they are precious.  I call bullshit.

Whew.  Ok.

So, he is in his room at Overbrook which is a million times better than HHR.  You look out the window and see the trees and fields and there are bird feeders with woodpeckers and cardinals.  There are two garden areas that they take the patients to.  There is BINGO twice a week.  And, if he doesn’t hate me too bad today (because his emotions swing like a pendulum from day to day), I am hoping to maybe take him down there for the festivities.

He was still pretty angry, even in his sleep – teeth and hands clenched.  I fed him chili and grilled cheese.  His neighbor (a nice man named Roy, a veteran) sneezed and I said bless you.  Dad asked who that was, I said Roy your new neighbor.  Then he lost his mind again – he has no roommate.  Older me do NOT have roommates.  And when I said, you are at a new facility dad.  He screamed BULLSHIT I am in my same bed that I have slept in for over twenty years!

It is hard bit I am truly trying to stay positive.  There is a tough financial battle I have to wage.  I have to go fill out medicaid forms (assistance from the government that my Dad despised -irony).  I get to sit with a new doctor today to discuss his previous care and what to expect next.  We were informed yesterday that his big left toe will need to be removed.  I am going to the Veteran’s Administration Office because I want someone there to explain to me how my Dad could be in cardiac arrest for almost an hour without having a trachea tube inserted to ensure oxygen was received.  There is so much.  But removing almost three hours of daily drive time will allow me to concentrate more on all of the important things – good care for Dad, acclimating him to the fact that this is his new home, taking care of my own life – I have been married a month today.

Life is this beautiful. tragic, amazing, frustrating, wonderful thing that most of us take for granted until it is too late.  Don’t wait until the last minute – if there is something you need to do, see, experience – if it is in your heart to do these things – DO THEM.  My Dad laments that he has seen others do things, why can’t he?  Hypoxia has robbed him of any opportunity to do those things at this point in his life.  It was unexpected, it is cruel and it leaves devastation of all forms in its wake.  Do not let a horrible circumstance make you realize that you have missed “life”.