pineapple man ... part 3

My third day with dad marked one week in the hospital for him. My journal reveals a day dizzy with information from doctors and mental confusion for dad.

We came face to face with the decision of dad's next step. The choices: Vanderbilt, where his geriatric doctor practices, or a rehab center where he would work on mobility and basic living skills, most of which he'd lost in the hospital.

Thankfully, the decision was unanimous. Doctors, nurses, and family all agreed. As soon as an opening could be located at a reputable rehab facility, he'd be packing. I'm no doctor, but I surmised that until and unless dad could get out of bed and move around, his medical issues wouldn't matter much.

But all was not neat and tidy. I rode an emotional roller coaster this day, listening to dad's tale of an episode with a Ford truck. He assured me this had transpired down in the parking garage overnight. Next he pointed out a baby's head peeking out from behind my laptop.

Then, "did Bill go back to St. Louis?" He got my husband's name right, but the wrong city.

It was all a bit creepy to me, not knowing what lay around the next corner of dad's muddled mind. I tried to shake it off, but keeping dad on track was difficult. It was as if I walked a balance beam in gym class while some bully on the floor below gave nudges to throw me off.

Intertwined through our days were my amazing stepsisters Anne and Sarah and their husbands. Anne did the legwork of making phone calls, checking out rehab centers and making sense of insurance coverage. Sarah was Sally's errand girl, running for groceries and such. They both sat at dad's bedside, too, talking with him. Dad and Sally have been married for nearly 28 years, yet I'd never really gotten to know Anne and Sarah. After a week together, crying and talking and praying, it seems we are more like sisters and I count this as another amazing gift of God.

One of the physicians told me about "sundowning" in the life of an elderly patient, and I witnessed it in dad. At day's end, he often became more confused and fatigued, and much of the progress of the day seemed to evaporate. Then, I knew. Time for me to leave my "boy" and get some rest.

The thought occurred to me that sundowning was happening to me, too. Exhaustion and fear of dad's unknown future brought another wave of tears as I left his room.