Aaaaarrg!

Dad's being very, very difficult. They just released him from the hospital today. I'm pissed! The discharge date was supposed to be Sunday and I was hoping for one more day in my own place to get a good night sleep. I know, I'm frickin' selfish. So what! At least, at the hospital he's being well cared for by people who know what the hell they're doing. AND we needed the time to figure out how we're going to get him, to allow us, to bring a medical professional into his castle to be with him during the day while I'm at work. I don't believe they'd have checked him out so early if they'd understood he doesn't have 'round the clock home care. On several occasions (when he was asked) if he had somone living with him, I'd cut in and tell them he was alone during the day. But whenever I wasn't around and dad was asked if he had someone with him at all times he'd reply, "My daughter stays with me." Um...dad. I'm there Sunday through Friday morning and then I go to my home for the weekend. The nurse tells him, "You need someone with you 24 hours a day, 7 days a week. We can call Gentiva Home Health Services to check up on you. Will that work?" "No," he says, "I have daughters and granddaughters that take care of me. I don't want anyone in my home." This went down yesterday afternoon just after I'd left. My sister called me to vent about her frustration after listening to the entire verbal exchange.

My dad's biggest fear is dying alone, and with everything in our power we have spent the last 6 months since his surgery in December helping him recover, helping him live, and making sure someone is with him as much as possible to assuage those fears of his. But dad is not making this easy on us. He has Tri-Care for Life and Medicare which may cover someone staying with him during the day until I get there. Hell, his insurance may cover someone staying in the house all night, if he'd let them. Another thing, he won't stop driving, and those damn doctors won't advise him not to. They seem to be leaving it up to his good judgement, which he's in short supply of these days. I'm terrified that one day I'll come home from work and find him unconscious on the living room floor, or worst. Or, while driving to a chemo appointment his blood sugar will drop and he'll end up harming himself and someone who has nothing to do with any of this. Fuck!

Tamara agreed to stay with him last night. He told her that he hadn't realized how mean some people were (some people = me). He told her that I was mad because he wouldn't allow strangers into his home (stranger = Gentiva Health Care = psycotic murderer), and that I was being really mean and talking crazy. Let's see, yes, I was pissed, but I was never disrespectful or irrational. I asked him if he wanted me to go to the store. He said no, but would I pick up his prescriptions. I said of course. Then I asked him if he wanted any dinner. He said he'd eaten at the hospital. Oh...the crazy part. I handed him one of his new prescriptions that is used when he's having difficulty breathing, so he could get the phone number off of the label for the Spanaway pharmacy. He thought I was handing it to him to take, which he did, and I said, "Dad, I didn't mean for you to take it. It's for emergencies only." Which I'd written on the top of the box in CAPS. That must have been when he thought I'd lost my mind and was talking all crazy. And sometimes my eyes do get a little cockeyed when I'm trying NOT TO TEAR SOMEONE'S HEAD OFF.

Dad is pushing me over the doggone edge! HELP!!

God, now you know this is one of those times when I've got to step out so you can step in. I'm putting my beloved dad in your hands. Be gentle with him, 'cause he's a good man going through really hard times. Love, Angie.