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.