It was Monday, November 2.
While dad had shown marked improvement in three days, he still had a long road ahead. His manual dexterity was shaky. He needed two physical therapists to get him to a sitting position. It was all he could do to walk from one side of the bed to the other, using a walker. A victory was one hour in a chair beside his bed, eating his lunch. He may as well have run a marathon, he was so exhausted.
The day's focus was dad's next stop. As the afternoon wore on, word came that Richland Place had room for dad. As soon as the details, paperwork were complete, dad would go by ambulance to Richland.
Again, confusion reared its head. Dad asked me, "how far a walk is it to Richland?"
My stepsister Anne came by to update me of the details and encourage dad, telling him of Richland's amenities. "They have everything there, Joe. You can even get a manicure and pedicure."
"Real men don't get pedicures," dad responded.
The confusing babble of tests needed down the road, diagnoses, and dad's meds only served to overwhelm me. I could only think of how an ambulance ride to a new environment might further muddle dad's mind.
When the time came, about 5:30 p.m., and the E.M.T.s loaded dad on a skinny little gurney, I felt scared again. I was emotionally fragile by now, having witnessed dad's horrifying mental and physical decline. I squeezed his hand, kissed him and said, "see ya soon."
By the time I arrived at Richland, dad was already in his room. The staff, incredibly efficient and caring, barraged Anne and me with questions and paperwork. I didn't care about the stinkin' paperwork.
Dad's roommate, a spry and friendly fellow, contrasted starkly to dad's exhausted state. I tried chatting with dad for a few minutes, but it was apparent that he needed to sleep.
Half a dresser. A TV mounted too high on the wall. A tiny closet with no hangers. And dad's bed with a curtain pulled around it. This was his new home. A nice place for a care facility, but not nice enough for my dad.
I hugged Anne, unable to stop the tears. "It seems so final," I told her.
3 comments:
My heart is aching for you as this story continues. I feel so fortunate that I have both my parents still alive and kicking and that they are also is such good health. Mom turns 80 in August and Dad will turn 79 in March. But they are both doing really well. That being said...I know that the time will come and it will be sooner rather than later. I wonder how I will cope and I hope that I am up for the challenge this new part of life will throw my way. You are a wondeful daughter.
Thank you, Lyn. It's good to "hear" from you and I'm glad your parents are doing well.
This all came on in a hurry, however dad was doing a good job 'hiding' his decline.
There have been blessings with the heartache. My older brother Pat is with dad this week.
Love to you!
Barb, as I read each entry, you remind me to cherish my parents now, while I can. Thank you for sharing your journey.
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