It's only Time
As some of you know, Dad had a hip replaced on August 12th. Mom is at Masonicare, in an acute care unit. Dad went to a local rehab/nursing home for 2 + weeks after the operation, and hasn't seen Mom since August 11th. We've been keeping track of Mom, going up a few times a week. It is about a 40 minute ride, and we actually trust the folks where she is to take good care of her (and they are taking SUCH good care of her!).
So, Dad is home now. He left rehab on Tuesday. Of course, I picked him up. Did you really think otherwise? That was a negotiation:
Me: When do you get released?
Dad: Be here at 9 a.m.
Me: Usually it's between 10 and noon.
Dad: Well, you have to get my stuff ready.
Me: I'll be there at 11.
Dad: I think 10 is good.
Me: Pack up your own things by taking them out of the drawers and putting them on the table. Start at 10.
Dad: You should do that for me.
Me: They're clothes. You can lift them.
Dad: Be here at 10.
Me: I'll see you at 11.
At 11:15, of course nothing was on the table, and he got a wonderful CNA to do it for him. The Italian Leprechaun was the "king of the floor" after 2 weeks. I suggested he use his walker, he wanted to be wheeled out (after all, he's been wheeled around Disney several times - why not to the car?).
He forgot his walker, and Miss L had to go back and get it. We had to go and pick up his commode (toilet was too low in his apartment), so we took a detour on the way home to the medical supply spot. "Since we're already here on Stratford Avenue, let's go to the Diner" was the comment after I wrestled the commode into the back seat. This was the 90+ degree day. It was, as I say, HOT AS F**K.
"Stairs OK?"
"Yeah, I can go up them, no problem." That should have been my clue - up?
So, yes, we go to Joe's, he gets a dog with homefries, and all I can stomach is a seltzer with lemon. What should have been an hour trip home is now ending its second hour...
He has no money, so I pay, of course. He takes his time going down the stairs, and gets to the last step. "This one is pretty big, I didn't really practice going down." WHAT? If you went up, didn't you have to go down??? Being the good daughter for the day, I just said to "Take your time".
We get to his house, and he practically runs in holding on to the walker. I drag all his stuff in, and he is already sitting in his chair. I turn on the air conditioner (H.A.F.!!!) and he says it isn't that hot. I ignore him. "Get me my mail while I'm sitting here." No "please", "when you get a chance"...I ignore him, and set up the commode over his toilet because all I want to do now is go home. "Judi, where are you?" It's a 2 room apartment...I ignore him. I put the rest of his stuff on the bed, so he can find everything he needs, and go into the living room. "Come on, Dad, so you can tell me what you need from the cabinets that you can't reach" and yes, you've got it! He ignores me. I get in front of him and say, "Get UP and COME OVER TO THE SINK AND FRIDGE". "You don't need to yell."
I give him the tour of his food that I bought, he tells me what he needs from upper cabinets, and I verify he is having dinner brought to him that night. The phone rings. Dad, just like his mother, is a phone addict. He RUNS over to the phone, practically carrying the walker.
I, however, get it first. It's his neighbor, Edna. I give him the phone, and use the opportunity to scoot because now I am going to be ignored.
I show up the next morning for his first post - op appointment in Fairfield. We did, of course, negotiate the pick up time as above. He is not ready. "I took a stool softener and now I have to go to the bathroom again." Why (I paid lots of quarters to our jar this week) are people over the age of 65 so very worried about their bowels? I get him into the car, and we head to the thruway.
A constant stream of chatter comes from the passenger side - comments about how he would go another route, and perhaps there will be traffic, and then "uh oh". "What, Dad?" "I didn't bring the card for my appointment." Really???? "No one will care". Then more chatter about how he forgot and why didn't I remind him...I just begin to hear the wawawawa of adult talk from Peanuts.
We get to the gigantic building in Fairfield - which he tells me is not where I know it is so I "listen" figuring we're just going to be late and we are. "There's lots of handicapped parking - go there". Well, the orthopedists own the freakin' building! Of course there should a whole lot of handicapped spots, but there isn't a space available so I let Dad out at the main entrance. "I'll wait here." "NO, go up, you are already a few minutes late". He has no idea what floor to go to which is why he wanted to wait. So he read the board and figured it out.
I found a space after driving around the lot twice and made it to the 2nd floor just in time to help with the form and push him along a little cause there is a back up in the line to the elevators. He's chatting up the woman at the desk (big surprise). He looks at the guy next to him, tells me he looks familiar. I laugh it off, because he always does that, wherever we go. Turns out Dad worked with the guy back in the 90's at Northeast Stihl...can't make this stuff up!!!!
We finally get into the inner sanctum, and Dad has to have an x-ray. He has to change his shorts. Nope, I did not help him. He did not ask ME for help. He asked the pretty assistant. Uh huh.
All is well, except Dad's leg is a little swollen. Turns out he is supposed to be taking blood thinners. Turns out he didn't put his feet up at all until bed time the night before (after having them up for more than 2 weeks ALL day except when getting therapy). Doesn't want to wear the pressure socks ("they cost too much" and "I can't take them off at night, or put them on. You'll have to help me every night").
Lots of unnecessary questions to the doc, including the "When can I drive" question...he freaks out when the doc says 6 weeks, because he thought doc meant 6 weeks from that day, not 6 weeks from surgery day.
I make him walk to where I parked the car (he has to walk every day at least 4 times per day, at least 10 minutes each time). Of course, where does he want to go after the appointment??? Another hour and a half long budgeted trip is now going to 3 hours.
Today? Well, today, I said to him that we need a plan so that I can organize my time and get my work done. "I feel bad that you have work to do and I'm taking you from it. Oh, and we have to go to CVS after the foot doctor so I can get the meds the doctor called in. and I need Cheerios, and no one walked with me yet, so I need you to do that, too".
Uh huh. I love my Dad. Tomorrow? Another 3 hour tour...this time to see Mom. I'm budgeting 4 hours this time.
So, Dad is home now. He left rehab on Tuesday. Of course, I picked him up. Did you really think otherwise? That was a negotiation:
Me: When do you get released?
Dad: Be here at 9 a.m.
Me: Usually it's between 10 and noon.
Dad: Well, you have to get my stuff ready.
Me: I'll be there at 11.
Dad: I think 10 is good.
Me: Pack up your own things by taking them out of the drawers and putting them on the table. Start at 10.
Dad: You should do that for me.
Me: They're clothes. You can lift them.
Dad: Be here at 10.
Me: I'll see you at 11.
At 11:15, of course nothing was on the table, and he got a wonderful CNA to do it for him. The Italian Leprechaun was the "king of the floor" after 2 weeks. I suggested he use his walker, he wanted to be wheeled out (after all, he's been wheeled around Disney several times - why not to the car?).
He forgot his walker, and Miss L had to go back and get it. We had to go and pick up his commode (toilet was too low in his apartment), so we took a detour on the way home to the medical supply spot. "Since we're already here on Stratford Avenue, let's go to the Diner" was the comment after I wrestled the commode into the back seat. This was the 90+ degree day. It was, as I say, HOT AS F**K.
"Stairs OK?"
"Yeah, I can go up them, no problem." That should have been my clue - up?
So, yes, we go to Joe's, he gets a dog with homefries, and all I can stomach is a seltzer with lemon. What should have been an hour trip home is now ending its second hour...
He has no money, so I pay, of course. He takes his time going down the stairs, and gets to the last step. "This one is pretty big, I didn't really practice going down." WHAT? If you went up, didn't you have to go down??? Being the good daughter for the day, I just said to "Take your time".
We get to his house, and he practically runs in holding on to the walker. I drag all his stuff in, and he is already sitting in his chair. I turn on the air conditioner (H.A.F.!!!) and he says it isn't that hot. I ignore him. "Get me my mail while I'm sitting here." No "please", "when you get a chance"...I ignore him, and set up the commode over his toilet because all I want to do now is go home. "Judi, where are you?" It's a 2 room apartment...I ignore him. I put the rest of his stuff on the bed, so he can find everything he needs, and go into the living room. "Come on, Dad, so you can tell me what you need from the cabinets that you can't reach" and yes, you've got it! He ignores me. I get in front of him and say, "Get UP and COME OVER TO THE SINK AND FRIDGE". "You don't need to yell."
I give him the tour of his food that I bought, he tells me what he needs from upper cabinets, and I verify he is having dinner brought to him that night. The phone rings. Dad, just like his mother, is a phone addict. He RUNS over to the phone, practically carrying the walker.
I, however, get it first. It's his neighbor, Edna. I give him the phone, and use the opportunity to scoot because now I am going to be ignored.
I show up the next morning for his first post - op appointment in Fairfield. We did, of course, negotiate the pick up time as above. He is not ready. "I took a stool softener and now I have to go to the bathroom again." Why (I paid lots of quarters to our jar this week) are people over the age of 65 so very worried about their bowels? I get him into the car, and we head to the thruway.
A constant stream of chatter comes from the passenger side - comments about how he would go another route, and perhaps there will be traffic, and then "uh oh". "What, Dad?" "I didn't bring the card for my appointment." Really???? "No one will care". Then more chatter about how he forgot and why didn't I remind him...I just begin to hear the wawawawa of adult talk from Peanuts.
We get to the gigantic building in Fairfield - which he tells me is not where I know it is so I "listen" figuring we're just going to be late and we are. "There's lots of handicapped parking - go there". Well, the orthopedists own the freakin' building! Of course there should a whole lot of handicapped spots, but there isn't a space available so I let Dad out at the main entrance. "I'll wait here." "NO, go up, you are already a few minutes late". He has no idea what floor to go to which is why he wanted to wait. So he read the board and figured it out.
I found a space after driving around the lot twice and made it to the 2nd floor just in time to help with the form and push him along a little cause there is a back up in the line to the elevators. He's chatting up the woman at the desk (big surprise). He looks at the guy next to him, tells me he looks familiar. I laugh it off, because he always does that, wherever we go. Turns out Dad worked with the guy back in the 90's at Northeast Stihl...can't make this stuff up!!!!
We finally get into the inner sanctum, and Dad has to have an x-ray. He has to change his shorts. Nope, I did not help him. He did not ask ME for help. He asked the pretty assistant. Uh huh.
All is well, except Dad's leg is a little swollen. Turns out he is supposed to be taking blood thinners. Turns out he didn't put his feet up at all until bed time the night before (after having them up for more than 2 weeks ALL day except when getting therapy). Doesn't want to wear the pressure socks ("they cost too much" and "I can't take them off at night, or put them on. You'll have to help me every night").
Lots of unnecessary questions to the doc, including the "When can I drive" question...he freaks out when the doc says 6 weeks, because he thought doc meant 6 weeks from that day, not 6 weeks from surgery day.
I make him walk to where I parked the car (he has to walk every day at least 4 times per day, at least 10 minutes each time). Of course, where does he want to go after the appointment??? Another hour and a half long budgeted trip is now going to 3 hours.
Today? Well, today, I said to him that we need a plan so that I can organize my time and get my work done. "I feel bad that you have work to do and I'm taking you from it. Oh, and we have to go to CVS after the foot doctor so I can get the meds the doctor called in. and I need Cheerios, and no one walked with me yet, so I need you to do that, too".
Uh huh. I love my Dad. Tomorrow? Another 3 hour tour...this time to see Mom. I'm budgeting 4 hours this time.
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