Sometimes writing in this blog after experiencing the actual events takes more energy than I have, but here's a try. I can't remember if I mentioned it in the prior post, but after being admitted back into Good Sam's after the stroke Dad went back to the nursing/rehab facility or "jail" as he now likes to refer to it. While there we experienced moments where one day he'd be so-so as far as his mood, to days (four to be exact) where he refused to even change his clothes or his adult undergarment. Taking him to and from Affordable Dentures for a fitting that day was awful, because he smelled strongly of urine and...Oh my gosh. I did everything I could before and after returning to the facility to get dad to change into fresh clean clothes but he was as obstinate about not changing as a child would be about taking a nap. When I mentioned it to the nurse, she said she had noticed an odor earlier and had discussed with him why a change of clothing was in order and he'd refused to change. She explained that they do not like to force the situation as their residents already feel as if so much has been taken out of their control. Although I understood what she was saying, Tuesday was dialysis day and I couldn't have Dad sitting in that recliner during treatment for three and a half hours smelling like he did. She promised the attendant would get him to take a shower. She kept her promise however the next day Dad insisted on putting on the same dirty, foul smelling clothes.
Dad's mood declined even worst over his stay in the rehab facility. I walked into his room one day and he was talking to his brother Charlie telling him that Debbie and I had changed his beneficiaries. He told Charlie, "I just can't see how they could do such a thing. But I guess they did it so that Angie could benefit." He'd also been telling everybody that we'd tricked him into going into the facility. To be honest the doctor suggested it to him and I was actually very surprised he agreed. Even though I know Dad's suffered a decline in his mental capacity with the stroke, it hurt like a mofo hearing him talk about us that way.
Now an update...Dad's back home and we hope, pray, beg for him to improve both mentally and physically. Physically, he's doing great--walking up and down the stairs already. Mentally, not so good. Sometimes he refuses to eat anything because he feels like what's the use. "I can't have hostess cupcakes," he said tonight. "So what's the use?" Or he goes on and on that hopefully the next stroke will be the one to take him out. Tonight his sugar was low--78, which concerns me but he said, “Well hopefully it’ll get lower during the night and…whatever.” I hate it when he says things like that. It makes me angry and sad...mostly angry. Okay, enough for now.
Sunday, April 24, 2011
Thursday, April 14, 2011
Past Month or So
The last few weeks have been ugly for Dad and all of us. He went into a skilled nursing facility for rehab on Thursday, March 18th and early the following Tuesday morning I get a call from Rainier Vista, the nursing facility, telling me that he'd fallen off his bed the night before. The nurse on the phone assured me he was alright and that they lowered his bed to prevent possible injury in the future, and had him sitting in a chair and would check in on him every 15 minutes. Apparently in these facilities they can't put rails on the bed because of WA state law. It was explained to me that nursing facilities are homes to some people and it isn't right to restrain people in their own homes, even if the illness is serious and the chance of falling is inevitable. So he fell, and when I got there they had him sitting in a chair. He complained of lower back pain and wanted to lay down but the assistant on duty said the shuttle would arrive shortly to take him to dialysis, which was a surprise to me because when he was admitted we were told they didn't have shuttles for the timeframe that he was scheduled 3:45 pm). So since the shuttle wasn't due to arrive for another two hours I told the guy I wanted Dad to lay in bed until the last possible minute to ease the pain in his lower back (probably the kidneys), to make him comfortable before he had to be carted off to Davita Dialysis center.
I hated seeing Dad wheeled onto that shuttle. His head was hanging over his chest and he just didn't look right. And he looked so forlorn. I followed the shuttle over to the dialysis center. I got there first, because the shuttle had to make stops to pick up other riders. About 15 minutes after I got there, it arrived, and Dad dropped off. I wheeled him into the facility and we were asked to wait in the lobby because it was still 45 minutes before he started dialysis. I didn't like the way he looked, something was off. His head was still hanging forward and he was not very responsive. I asked, "Dad, what's wrong?" And he'd mumble, "Oh my goodness, oh my goodness." I asked him if he needed a Tylenol and he said yes but when I tried to give two, the first went down with water and the second just sat his tongue. I said, "Dad, something's wrong and you're scaring me." He mumbled. "I don't want to scare you." I went through the wide door leading to the room where several people reclined in chairs plugged into the dialysis machine, grabbed a nurse and explained Dad's condition. I told her he wasn't acting right, something was wrong. The nurse came out and took his vitals, checked his sugar and said he seemed okay. She went back into the other room. Right after that Dad started moaning and shaking with drool coming from his mouth. I yelled for someone to help him. A couple people came running and agreed to call an ambulance after questioning me as to whether this was normal behavior for him. Hmmm...drooling from the mouth and shaking violently...really? When the ambulance arrived, the paramedics did there thing and one of the guys asked Dad to smile. Dad's face didn't change one bit. "Dad, he asked you to smile." Dad mumbled, "I am." But he wasn't. I-was-terrified. Vickie walked in the door at the same moment I felt my composure crumble. I was on the verge of reverting into a two year old and balling my eyes out.
The ambulance took him back to Good Sam where he was admitted for almost two weeks. He'd had a stroke. In addition, he was put on some new medication to treat an increased heart rate and low blood pressure.
And there you have it. But I'm not done because there's so much more to this update.
I hated seeing Dad wheeled onto that shuttle. His head was hanging over his chest and he just didn't look right. And he looked so forlorn. I followed the shuttle over to the dialysis center. I got there first, because the shuttle had to make stops to pick up other riders. About 15 minutes after I got there, it arrived, and Dad dropped off. I wheeled him into the facility and we were asked to wait in the lobby because it was still 45 minutes before he started dialysis. I didn't like the way he looked, something was off. His head was still hanging forward and he was not very responsive. I asked, "Dad, what's wrong?" And he'd mumble, "Oh my goodness, oh my goodness." I asked him if he needed a Tylenol and he said yes but when I tried to give two, the first went down with water and the second just sat his tongue. I said, "Dad, something's wrong and you're scaring me." He mumbled. "I don't want to scare you." I went through the wide door leading to the room where several people reclined in chairs plugged into the dialysis machine, grabbed a nurse and explained Dad's condition. I told her he wasn't acting right, something was wrong. The nurse came out and took his vitals, checked his sugar and said he seemed okay. She went back into the other room. Right after that Dad started moaning and shaking with drool coming from his mouth. I yelled for someone to help him. A couple people came running and agreed to call an ambulance after questioning me as to whether this was normal behavior for him. Hmmm...drooling from the mouth and shaking violently...really? When the ambulance arrived, the paramedics did there thing and one of the guys asked Dad to smile. Dad's face didn't change one bit. "Dad, he asked you to smile." Dad mumbled, "I am." But he wasn't. I-was-terrified. Vickie walked in the door at the same moment I felt my composure crumble. I was on the verge of reverting into a two year old and balling my eyes out.
The ambulance took him back to Good Sam where he was admitted for almost two weeks. He'd had a stroke. In addition, he was put on some new medication to treat an increased heart rate and low blood pressure.
And there you have it. But I'm not done because there's so much more to this update.
Sunday, March 20, 2011
L.O.V.E. Living One Vibrational Energy
I've always hated hearing the word "love" tossed around, as casually as hello and goodbye. You could say it's because I'm cold and unfeeling, but you'd be wrong. Like most people, I have a way about me, and that's one of them. LOVE is such a powerful expression of affection for another person, because it completely embraces into the emotional fold so unconditionally every single aspect of things that happen to us in life...beginning, end and in-between. It's not a still photo shot of just the picture perfect memories at Christmases, Church on Sundays, if you're so inclined, Easter dinners with Mom and Dad and the FAM, tiny little precious additions, graduations, marriages. It's carrying someone, a cherished someone, someone you once said "I love you" to, like, a million times, when they can no longer stand on their own.
It's sitting at Dad's bedside when his teeth aren't in because bone deterioration is so bad dentures no longer fit like they’re supposed to. It's holding his hand when he's scared, and the only way you can tell, really, with such a proud man like Dad, is when you feel his hand clasped in yours tighten, as if just the thought of letting go is the equivalent of letting go of everything dear. It's listening to him talk about moments that are past as if they just happened, and then glimpse for a moment the confusion when he realizes things are not coming out right. It's watching him hold on so desperately to a familiar life that's fast slipping away and making sure to look directly into his eyes when you say, 'I WILL NOT LEAVE YOU HERE', so he will believe it and keep fighting.
Love will walk into the dark with you; you feel it all around you protecting you, holding you up when your legs are too weak. Love is everything and in every moment. L.O.V. E. Living One Vibrational Energy, that's it. Accepting anything less, is just wrong. So, yeah, sue me, for not wanting to hear the word from a single mouth unless it's raw and true like it's meant to be.
We put Dad in a nursing facility this past week. It's supposed to be only for a week or two. With dialysis added to the mix, he's got a lot on him right now. And he's got a full catheter, possibility of having to use a cath a day. A week, two at the max. Until he's stronger, then home and home health care. That's what the doctor said. Dad's always seemed bigger than life to me, yeah Superman. But, on my way out of the room, I looked back, and for a moment, it looked like the bed could swallow him whole. The last few weeks in the hospital have taken a toll. He's still Superman. To me. I love you Dad.
The rain literally pummeled my car on the way home after getting Dad settled in, but I hardly noticed, because my eyes were so blurred from my own inner storm. God took the wheel that day, 'cause I could barely see or focus on the expanse of road in front of me, and yet, I made it home safely.
God this hurts.
It's sitting at Dad's bedside when his teeth aren't in because bone deterioration is so bad dentures no longer fit like they’re supposed to. It's holding his hand when he's scared, and the only way you can tell, really, with such a proud man like Dad, is when you feel his hand clasped in yours tighten, as if just the thought of letting go is the equivalent of letting go of everything dear. It's listening to him talk about moments that are past as if they just happened, and then glimpse for a moment the confusion when he realizes things are not coming out right. It's watching him hold on so desperately to a familiar life that's fast slipping away and making sure to look directly into his eyes when you say, 'I WILL NOT LEAVE YOU HERE', so he will believe it and keep fighting.
Love will walk into the dark with you; you feel it all around you protecting you, holding you up when your legs are too weak. Love is everything and in every moment. L.O.V. E. Living One Vibrational Energy, that's it. Accepting anything less, is just wrong. So, yeah, sue me, for not wanting to hear the word from a single mouth unless it's raw and true like it's meant to be.
We put Dad in a nursing facility this past week. It's supposed to be only for a week or two. With dialysis added to the mix, he's got a lot on him right now. And he's got a full catheter, possibility of having to use a cath a day. A week, two at the max. Until he's stronger, then home and home health care. That's what the doctor said. Dad's always seemed bigger than life to me, yeah Superman. But, on my way out of the room, I looked back, and for a moment, it looked like the bed could swallow him whole. The last few weeks in the hospital have taken a toll. He's still Superman. To me. I love you Dad.
The rain literally pummeled my car on the way home after getting Dad settled in, but I hardly noticed, because my eyes were so blurred from my own inner storm. God took the wheel that day, 'cause I could barely see or focus on the expanse of road in front of me, and yet, I made it home safely.
God this hurts.
Wednesday, March 9, 2011
Planning For Home Care
Last few days have been rough for Dad, and for all of his fam watching him go through it. He's still in the hospital being treated for Phneumonia and a collapsed lung. They stopped his dialysis for now, as his breathing seems to be doing okay. And another good thing is he no longer needs the BIPAP during the day as his oxygen levels are fairly good and now he only requires the two plugs in the nose delivering normal doses of oxygen. He's kept on the BIPAP at night in an effort to get rid of a build up of mucus, which caused one of his lungs to collapse, with treatments of meds that are administered through the breathing aparatus. I know all of this sounds grim, and it is, but he is doing better. Yesterday he was able to walk down the hall with his cane, with Tamara on one side of him and the nurse on the other...just in case. I couldn't help notice how rediculously small his ankles were. They were normally three times the size they should be. This was apparently the work of dialysis with the removal of excess fluids from his body. He's doing pretty good putting down the grub too, which is a definite improvement from when he was admitted to the hospital. The social worker paid a visit to talk about the usual things, who's taking care of him when he gets out, services available to assist him and family and the fact they think he should go to a facility...the usual stuff. Dad assured them his family could take care of him and reittered the fact that he was not going into a facility.
Is it normal for me to be so anxious? I worry about how we're going to make things work so Dad gets the at-home care he needs. Each time Dad has one of these episodes he returns home with at least one or two more issues. For example, one, two or three additional medications, at least one more ailment...this time, oxygen deficientcy, which means he has to have a machine in the house, which he will probably need for the rest of his life and dialysis treatment which he will have to have at least three times a week at a facility -- again, for the rest of his life. Oh, and I think I mentioned in one of my posts that he swore he would never have the homehealth people in his home again. Yeah, well, unfortunately since Dad plans on rehabilitating at home, Home Health Care is a must.
Dont' take this wrong, but I feel so much more comfortable and at ease with Dad in the hospital. We know he's being taken care of while he's there by professionals who actually know what they're doing. Anyway, we're still standing. Ciao.
Is it normal for me to be so anxious? I worry about how we're going to make things work so Dad gets the at-home care he needs. Each time Dad has one of these episodes he returns home with at least one or two more issues. For example, one, two or three additional medications, at least one more ailment...this time, oxygen deficientcy, which means he has to have a machine in the house, which he will probably need for the rest of his life and dialysis treatment which he will have to have at least three times a week at a facility -- again, for the rest of his life. Oh, and I think I mentioned in one of my posts that he swore he would never have the homehealth people in his home again. Yeah, well, unfortunately since Dad plans on rehabilitating at home, Home Health Care is a must.
Dont' take this wrong, but I feel so much more comfortable and at ease with Dad in the hospital. We know he's being taken care of while he's there by professionals who actually know what they're doing. Anyway, we're still standing. Ciao.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Back To The ER
Wednesday started off similar to Monday with an early morning call from Dad. Except this time en route to his house I called 911, and Vickie to meet me, once again, at Dad's. When Dad called I could immediately tell he was in trouble. He was having a great deal of difficulty getting his words out and said he was coughing up blood. My stomach dipped, and I got queasy, and I swear my heart was beating so fast I felt my chest would explode. When I got to the house the paramedics were standing on the door step. I used my key in the lock and prayed it opened and wasn't blocked by the stick. Right before I opened the door, the paramedic cautioned me to be careful as Dad could have collapsed right on the other side of the door. He hadn't. Dad was sitting on the steps gasping for air. While a couple of paramedics took care of Dad, another one asked me the usual questions: his age, brief medical history, copy of list of meds. Surprisingly, as I was gulping down my fear, I was able to answer: age 79, Rectal cancer, past heart attack, kidney disease, COPD, past stroke, diabetes, congestive heart failure. My poor dear Dad.
Vickie and I, in our own cars, followed the ambulance to Good Samaritan Hospital in Puyallup and after doing a stint in Emergency where they ran a ton of tests, he was admitted to the hospital, where they are still running test. He's on oxygen and anytime they try to reduce the amount his levels drop drastically. He coded twice where they had some trouble reviving him. Both times it was because he'd pulled the oxygen mask away from his face--or a BIPAP, the 21st century version of iron lung. It's heavy, uncomfortable and Dad can't stand it. But his kidneys aren't functioning properly--on a good day they work about 30%--and tonight they gave him lasix, which is supposed to reduce the excess fluids around the heart and other major organs--the major cause of his breathing difficulties. If that doesn't work they will put him on dialysis. Permanently.
Oh God, my heart is breaking.
Vickie and I, in our own cars, followed the ambulance to Good Samaritan Hospital in Puyallup and after doing a stint in Emergency where they ran a ton of tests, he was admitted to the hospital, where they are still running test. He's on oxygen and anytime they try to reduce the amount his levels drop drastically. He coded twice where they had some trouble reviving him. Both times it was because he'd pulled the oxygen mask away from his face--or a BIPAP, the 21st century version of iron lung. It's heavy, uncomfortable and Dad can't stand it. But his kidneys aren't functioning properly--on a good day they work about 30%--and tonight they gave him lasix, which is supposed to reduce the excess fluids around the heart and other major organs--the major cause of his breathing difficulties. If that doesn't work they will put him on dialysis. Permanently.
Oh God, my heart is breaking.
Tuesday, February 22, 2011
Another Monday
Yesterday started with a phone call from Dad at around 4:30 a.m. Tony was scheduled for back surgery around 9:30 Monday morning so I was staying at my place to help him out his first week. I prayed Dad was okay during his week alone so I could do just that. However...
Dad was having difficulty breathing but didn't want to make a decision on calling an ambulance until I got there. Yikes! My internal screech! Uh...Dad, I'm on the other side of town! He said he was okay if he sat very still so he wanted to wait until I got there. Once I got on the freeway, I called Vickie to meet me over there, and since she was closer figured she'd get there before me. My thoughts were racing as I sped down the freeway (yes, I sped or speeded) doing about 70-80 mph. What if Dad doesn't have enough strength to take the stick out of the front door? Against our better judgement, he lodges a stick against the door that's held tight with the wall for leverage; guaranteed to keep out all undesireables, including those folks that expediently respond to 911 distress calls. The paramedics would either have to break down the front door or break a window and climb through...both of which would take precious extra minutes that could be the difference between life or death. And I know he said not to, but should I call an ambulance? Aarrrrgh! After a short conference with the man upstairs, I decided not to call 911. This time.
I beat Vickie to the house. In my haste to get through the front door, I almost slipped on that damn stick which was lying in the middle of the floor; Dad was sitting in the living room and seemed alright. He'd obviously managed to pull the stick away from the door and make it back to the couch. After taking a couple of puffs from his meds (can't recall the name of that thing right now), he was feeling much better. He has one for everyday and one for emergencies. This classified as an emergency obviously. Vickie pulled into the driveway only a few minutes after me. With Vickie sitting on one side of him, and me on the other he chatted about current events in between puffs; Jean's results on finding a job, the economy -- his favorite topic, Jimmy's progress in the hospital etc. etc. And we let out a sigh of relief. Anytime Dad's mouth is moving and he's fussing about one of us kids, he's good to go.
I stopped by again later that night to clean the kitchen, put away some groceries still sitting in bags on the counter -- which means he was able to drive to the store on his own (which he shouldn't be doing), and another sigh of relief that he was able to get out and about. The whole time I was there Dad was fiddling with his computer talking about how "people" need to stay away from his computer because "they" are always messing it up. Oh and that he needed to put a lock on his refrigerator. Uh-huh. Those people he likes to reference are actually his grown children and he's convinced we're out to take over his life and upset his calm existence.
Anyway, before I left I organized his meds for the week, called Walgreens to get a refill on those he was low on, and left for home with my usual silent prayer, God please watch over my Dad. Amen.
As I was heading out the door, Dad yelled! "Hey, aren't you gonna make me some dinner?"
Nope. He had leftovers, which he hated. He'll be just fine.
And I'm a bad caregiver.
Dad was having difficulty breathing but didn't want to make a decision on calling an ambulance until I got there. Yikes! My internal screech! Uh...Dad, I'm on the other side of town! He said he was okay if he sat very still so he wanted to wait until I got there. Once I got on the freeway, I called Vickie to meet me over there, and since she was closer figured she'd get there before me. My thoughts were racing as I sped down the freeway (yes, I sped or speeded) doing about 70-80 mph. What if Dad doesn't have enough strength to take the stick out of the front door? Against our better judgement, he lodges a stick against the door that's held tight with the wall for leverage; guaranteed to keep out all undesireables, including those folks that expediently respond to 911 distress calls. The paramedics would either have to break down the front door or break a window and climb through...both of which would take precious extra minutes that could be the difference between life or death. And I know he said not to, but should I call an ambulance? Aarrrrgh! After a short conference with the man upstairs, I decided not to call 911. This time.
I beat Vickie to the house. In my haste to get through the front door, I almost slipped on that damn stick which was lying in the middle of the floor; Dad was sitting in the living room and seemed alright. He'd obviously managed to pull the stick away from the door and make it back to the couch. After taking a couple of puffs from his meds (can't recall the name of that thing right now), he was feeling much better. He has one for everyday and one for emergencies. This classified as an emergency obviously. Vickie pulled into the driveway only a few minutes after me. With Vickie sitting on one side of him, and me on the other he chatted about current events in between puffs; Jean's results on finding a job, the economy -- his favorite topic, Jimmy's progress in the hospital etc. etc. And we let out a sigh of relief. Anytime Dad's mouth is moving and he's fussing about one of us kids, he's good to go.
I stopped by again later that night to clean the kitchen, put away some groceries still sitting in bags on the counter -- which means he was able to drive to the store on his own (which he shouldn't be doing), and another sigh of relief that he was able to get out and about. The whole time I was there Dad was fiddling with his computer talking about how "people" need to stay away from his computer because "they" are always messing it up. Oh and that he needed to put a lock on his refrigerator. Uh-huh. Those people he likes to reference are actually his grown children and he's convinced we're out to take over his life and upset his calm existence.
Anyway, before I left I organized his meds for the week, called Walgreens to get a refill on those he was low on, and left for home with my usual silent prayer, God please watch over my Dad. Amen.
As I was heading out the door, Dad yelled! "Hey, aren't you gonna make me some dinner?"
Nope. He had leftovers, which he hated. He'll be just fine.
And I'm a bad caregiver.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Sunny Days
Dad is doing great! Since he started taking the anti-depressants--which he swore he wouldn't take if prescribed by the doctor because he didn't like the way they made him feel--his mood has changed considerably. And so far (knock on wood) no episodes, no seriously dipping sugar levels and no really serious problems with the colostomy and no troubled breathing. Very grateful. I've changed my schedule a bit by going back to Dad's on Monday after work instead of Sunday night. I did a drive-by yesterday to see if he needed anything, which of course he did, and after picking up his medicine at Walgreens, and stopping by Safeway for a few items, Debbie and I stopped by the hospital to see Jimmy, then I went home and chilled Angie-style. Saturday was a really nice day!
Today will be breezy. After getting friendly with the elliptical stationed in my livingroom -- some sweet talk before beginning the work out to ensure it doesn't kill me -- then I plan on working hard at doing nothing. At some point today, I need to get up from the couch to make a ton of chocolate chip cookies for the Valentine Day bake sale at work tomorrow. Love my Sundays!
This week Dad doesn't have chemo because someone in the doctor's office is going on vacation. Kind of weird something as serious as chemo would be temporarily put on hold for a vacation day, but that's what Dad said they told him. Oh well. Just trying to keep you in the know. Ciao.
God, as always, I thank you for every single day!
Today will be breezy. After getting friendly with the elliptical stationed in my livingroom -- some sweet talk before beginning the work out to ensure it doesn't kill me -- then I plan on working hard at doing nothing. At some point today, I need to get up from the couch to make a ton of chocolate chip cookies for the Valentine Day bake sale at work tomorrow. Love my Sundays!
This week Dad doesn't have chemo because someone in the doctor's office is going on vacation. Kind of weird something as serious as chemo would be temporarily put on hold for a vacation day, but that's what Dad said they told him. Oh well. Just trying to keep you in the know. Ciao.
God, as always, I thank you for every single day!
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