I'm Thankful

I'm thankful for all the years I had when all of my family members were present, whole and able to laugh and joke about the silly things; while for a time, being completely and benignly oblivious that it could be anything but. I'm thankful for my amazing children, Tony and Michael; Melissa, my daughter-in-law, and my granddaughter, the Diamond monster. I'm thankful for the presence my mom represented in my life for the years I had her in it; for having a brother like Kenny who showed me by example how to be kind and good, and to chill when life is bustin' butts and taking no prisoners. I miss you! I'm thankful I am able to feel the pieces of my heart every time it breaks from the loss of mom and Kenny, because it reminds me of what I had and how blessed I am to have had them in my life. It also reminds me how important it is to continue to feel; the downside being that I could become so numb from loss that I stop feeling at all. I'm grateful for every day my Dad, a cantankerous and ornery 'ole dude--sometimes, yes he is--is still with us and the strength God gives us daily to do what we need to do to keep him with us. I'm grateful for Debbie because she makes me laugh when I don't always feel like it. And for Mary, my bestest friend in the whole wide world (bfitwww), who is a staple in my life that keeps me grounded, and who quite honestly, would haunt me into the afterlife if I didn't acknowledge her publicly as my bfitwww. I'm grateful to be surrounded by people and friends, who've been in my world for many years, and have kindly (and patiently), listened to my ramblings when I'd take the longest route to get to the point, any point. I'm grateful for my siblings, my nieces and nephews because they are good people, and I am reminded everyday what a blessing it is they are a part of my world. I'm grateful I woke up this morning to enjoy an overabundance of food, drink and family; especially grateful for all the libations, which helped keep me in a zen state--thanks to Lisa's cinnamon whiskey, yum--so I wouldn't forget my gratitude for family, especially when they piss me off, as family sometimes do God bless 'em. I'm blessed for the reminder that one day the faces around the table may not always be present and that I should appreciate the moments with them while I am being honored.

Thank you! Thank you! Thank you God! You are so good to me!!

The Blues

The other day, I sat close by perched on the arm of the sofa listening to Dad rant and rave to Britney, the Gentiva Home Health nurse. He ranted about being on "house arrest" in his own home, and all the people that have been hanging around his house. Said he's sick of them all. "The people" are actually his daughters, who've taken time away from work and their lives to tend to him, his grandchildren who he complained just come over to sleep, and the ridiculous health care people from Gentiva that all do the same thing. Says Dad. "One tells me to wiggle my toes," he went on. "And then another one will show up and ask me to do the same thing. It doesn't make sense!" Again, the lift of the voice to close the sentence and reflect appropriate agitation. Then he went on to fuss about Medicare and how pretty soon "none of the Gentiva people are going to have jobs." He tells Britney this at least once every time she visits.

I could see a smidgen of frustration cross Britney's face as she struggled to maintain her professional facade. It was almost comical. While he fussed, she took his blood pressure and frowned. "Mr. Beck," she says, "something is obviously bothering you. Your blood pressure is very high today."

Dad's face wrinkled up and he crossed his arms over his chest like a petulant child. "I don't want to talk about it," he says. "I'm just tired of everybody coming here."

Britney said. "Mr. Beck, are you saying you'd like us to stop providing the service. We don't have to be here if you don't want us here." I could tell the moment when he realized he'd gone too far.

"Well," he started, "I'm fine with you. But not the others." Britney smiled.

"Well, you don't have to see the Occupational Therapist and the Physical Therapist here if you don't want to. However, it would help you to have at least one continue for a bit longer." Dad's frown deepened.

"And this one." He points in my direction. "She sick you know." Huh? "Did she tell you?" I knew where he was going with that. That morning I'd mentioned I had some numbness in my left arm. As soon as I got to work I made an appointment with the doctor for the next day. It concerned me too. However I didn't appreciate my health issues being discussed with his nurse.

Britney said, "Is that what's bothering you Mr. Beck? That something will happen to your daughter?"

Dad unfolded his arms and sat back. He wasn't one to admit to any type of vulnerability, but his face said it all. He had a fears, and lots of them. It broke my heart. "If anything happens to her..." He left the rest hanging out there, like the hundred million emotions we've experienced on a daily basis, since mom died and Kenny died; fearing what each day is going to bring, or what the future will feel like.

I knew Dad was depressed. Sometimes he just stares blankly at the Television set not seeing anything on the screen. And he's been having dreams lately about mom, which really freak him out. Dreams that seem to always take place in Hawaii. And sometimes he wakes up confused, feeling like all he has to do is call out to mom and she'll answer. It mostly happens, he said, after he's had a really difficult time. That's how close he feels to her sometimes. He said it makes him feel bad though.

It's funny (obviously not ha ha), we can follow instructions from the nurse to keep him as healthy as possible; clean this wound, lotion feet to prevent cracked skin (dangerous for a diabetic), watch for temperature, make sure cathater area is clean, make sure he eats regular, takes meds regularly...etc. etc. But there's not a damn thing we can do about all the bad things Dad's experiencing on the inside.

Anyway, about the numbness in my left arm; my doctor says it's a bad case of carpel tunnel, and not a sign of stroke. Not yet anyway.

Okay, nothing more to say today. Ciao.

Good News and Bad News!

The good news first. Dad made it through the weekend without the catheter and without having to call paramedics to escort him back to the ER. On Monday, the neurologist inserted a scope into Dad's bladder (I think it was the bladder) and it showed no blockage (yea!). He's been home and doing pretty good. He's been walking around the house with his cane the last couple of days, which is a big difference from two weeks ago when he could barely stand on his own. Matter of fact, today he walked up the stairs. Big surprise to me, who was on the phone discussing client issues with my boss with my lap top plugged into the office. "Need to get on my computer now!" says Dad. Plenty loud enough for the boss to hear. Yes he did. Dad must have forgotten I was able to take care of him in the guise of actually working from home and that I was NOT on vacation just chillin'. I had to apologize to my boss, and explain that I was temporarily shutting down my computer (although I know she heard Dad in the background but pretended not to). My computer was plugged into the ethernet that also plugs into Dad's computer. In other words, only one computer can work at a time now that wireless is on the fritz. But you probably already know that. Sorry, I tend to explain anything computer-related as if the rest of the world is as computer illiterate as I am.

Okay, now on the flip side, he's been noticeably, and heartbreakingly, depressed the last few days. Not surprised considering how much he's been hit lately. But not sure what can be done to fix it, or even if there is a fix. And I'm not particularly in the mood to discuss it right now. Today was difficult, for Dad, and pretty much anyone who crossed his path. More later. Ciao.

Emotional Roller Coaster Ride

Watching Dad muttle through each step of his illness is enough to break one down. I don't know how he does it. Yesterday was difficult. He had an appointment with the urologist to determine why his body is not functioning properly without the catheter. Well, the result of the appointment was to send him home without it to see what happens. Again. I'm a layman and that reasoning is pooty even to me. They have him scheduled for some kind of scope on Monday to see if there is a blockage. Okay, today is Thursday and you mean to tell me they couldn't set up an appointment for something this urgent on Friday? We have to get through Thursday night--without calling paramedics--then Friday and the weekend without urine backing up into his kidneys. Couldn't they have taken the catheter out after the test when they have a better idea of what's going on? You see, he had the catheter taken out only a few weeks ago. We were more or less advised to wait until he's at the point of extreme pain, which means a toxic level of urine is backed up in his bladder. Late that night he pushed the button on his first alert necklace to summon the paramedics. He was in excruciating pain. At the same time he was also, if you will recall from earlier post, dealing with hiccups from hell. When in ER, they emptied a toxic amount of urine from his bladder, had him comfy in a bed with an IV that contained medicine that calmed, then rid him of the hiccups he'd had for days, and he was able to find some relief and peace in sleep. But that didn't last long. Around 1:00 a.m. in the morning they woke him up, attached another catheter, and kicked him out. Hiccups returned as soon as they stopped the drip. So you see we've already been there, done that. Damn.

Dad's Eye Appointment

It's raining outside, brown-golden leaves litter the ground and there's a nip in the air that had me thinking earlier about the jacket I'd left at Dad's house. I moved boxes of stuff all day into my new place and my middle aged body is feeling the pain. I love my new place though, a two-bedroom townhouse with a bonus room I can use as an office. It's cosy and in a so-so neighborhood. Not Tacoma's echelon but at least I can come and go without packin'heat. Just kiddin', it's a nice neighborhood. I'm back at Dad's now trying to blog my thoughts.

Dad had an appointment at America's Best for new glasses this morning, and yesterday he agreed, reluctantly, to rent a wheelchair. He's been so stubborn about getting it, which is frustrating because getting him to the car, in the car, and out of the car when we're at the appointed destination has been quite a work out. We're usually okay if the end destination is a hospital because they have wheelchairs for our use. I had no idea why he was being so stubborn until I heard, from the dining room where I was pushing buttons on my computer, a conversation between him and Megan.

Megan: "Dad, the only reason why we want you to have a wheelchair is because we want you to be comfortable. Besides, it also makes it easier on the person taking you."

Dad said, "I don't need a wheelchair." A pause. "And most of the time when we get where we're going they have wheelchairs."

Megan responds softly, patiently. "But Dad, they don't have wheelchairs available at America's Best Eyeglasses. Instead of buying one, maybe you can just rent one for the day. I'll pay for it. Can't be more than $30-$40." Another brief pause. I had to strain my ears to hear him his voice was so soft.

"Well, maybe I could rent one for one day." Longer pause. "I'm afraid if I get one of those things I'll get used to it. Then I won't get better."

Ah...so that's it. God bless Megan. We hear him fussing from time to time, and that's all we hear. But Megan actually spoke to his heart and listened. It's funny, but we've been so focused on trying to treat all the symptoms evident on the outside, we forget everything going on with Dad on the inside. Dad was a Sargent in the U. S. Air force, an extremely independent man used to handling his own affairs without input from anybody. A husband and father to eight children he was responsible for providing a home, feeding, and clothing. And now he is completely dependent on his children and their grown children to nurse him, feed him and bathe him. For such a proud man like Dad, this has to be extremely excruciating. On the inside, he must be terrified, and there's no treatment for that.

So Debbie took Dad to America's Best today and unfortunately he was told that due to his multiple illnesses, they couldn't help him and recommended he see an optician. They also told him he was blind in one eye and so-so in the other. He seemed okay with it when he got back, but I'm not so sure. He's been hit hard the last few weeks, one health issue after another. Of course, we will check with an optician to see what can be done. He really wanted those new glasses though. It's all he's been talking about the last few days.

Debbie said that before he drifted off for a short nap today, he said, "I just need a little bit more time to get better, maybe come spring."

I pray that is so. God, please make it so.

Pops

Britney, the Gentiva Home Health nurse showed up at 7:30 a.m. bright and early this morning. The first words out of Dad's mouth when she walked into the living room where he's stationed, "You hurt me and I'll sue ya!" Britney smiled. According to Dad, when she performed the enema yesterday, which he's supposed to have 4 days in a row starting Monday, she didn't do a good job. "You didn't find the right hole," he complained. "All that pokin' around hurt. Does the hole move around?" he asked. Again, Britney smiled, patience a definite virtue. "Mr. Beck," she began, "there's only one hole and it doesn't move around." If you need an explanation regarding the "hole" in question, I'll give you one. For those of you who'd rather not go there--I don't blame you a bit--so skip down a few sentences. Apparently, and I just learned this tidbit myself, 12:00 of the stoma is a hole and to quote the Highlander, 'There can be only one'. Anyone who has two is probably in the Guinness book of records, as they should be. Well, the tip of the bottle filled with a saline laxative is inserted gently into the hole to...well, you know. I had to watch because should he become backed up again I will be performing this task. I don't mind, except the colostomy nurses said the stoma is very sensitive and I worry about causing irreparable damage. Anyway, he survived the procedure again today and now can't wait for Britney's visit tomorrow so he can tell her she put the wafer to his colostomy bag on wrong. Poor Britney. Not to worry, she can handle Dad. Although she is a young nurse, she's very patient and wise for her age.

In addition to the visit from Britney, the physical Therapist also paid Dad a visit today. His name is Bill. According to Dad, Bill was very pleased with his progress today. Considering last week about the same time he was so weak he couldn't even get out of the recliner chair, and his hiccups were so harsh he couldn't talk without gasping for breath, I'm not surprised Bill was ecstatic. Dad is not aware of this but only last week both the nurse and the physical therapist were so concerned by Dad's weakened state they called Dr. Jin, his primary care doctor to discuss his deteriorating condition. They said the doctor advised he may be ready for hospice. The brutal hiccups concerned Bill and he'd made the decision not to return until the hiccups were gone, as they were causing his heart to work harder. Dad's heart, not Bill's. Considering Dad has congestive heart failure, this is not good. I asked Nurse Britney not to talk to Dad about hospice until after his appointment with Dr. Jin on the 24th. In my opinion, just the mention of hospice may obliterate Dad's will, and we just can't have that. He's not ready for hospice; he's still fighting for life, as well he should. Don't worry Dad, this is one battle we're willing to fight with you. Says I!

Dad's improvement from last week is amazing. But we're not surprised, he's superman!

Thank you God for always listening!

Finally, Good News!

I sent off a prayer and it was answered! Dad's hiccups are gone. And to think the doctor said there was nothing that could be done, Britney, the Gentiva Home Health nurse said all that could be done had been done. Wrong! These people do not know Dad; he's a tough and fiesty old dude! Those hiccups were rocking him to the core, but now they're gone and the healing process can begin. Okay, sometimes short is sweet and nothing else needs to be said. I'm done. Ciao.

P.S. As always, thank you God for answering my prayer! Thank you, thank you!