Some updating is in order
So Dad has come home from his surgical adventures. He's been here since Tuesday evening. He alternates between, "I feel good today, slept good" and "Oh my leg, oh my butt, I hurt". At times, these comments happen one after another.
First night was a trip. To another world...the world of old people in your house that can't do things for themselves. I do mean "can't". It just wasn't physically possible for Dad to do much that first night. Mom, as we know, has her own issues, but does follow directions when given 1 at a time.
Dad uses the walker around the house, the cane to go up the stairs. Jeremiah was here to fix him hotdogs when he got home so he had dinner. Mom was out having pizza with her brother-in-law and sister-in-law, as it was a Tuesday night. This was good. Dad got lots of attention until Mom came home with my aunt and uncle. They stayed a while and visited. Dad told them how good he felt, and how well he was doing with the pain and moving around.
Eventually, they had to leave, and I don't think they were in the car yet when Dad started the complaint list. No chair was good enough, he needed more pillows, where were his baseball cards, what was the plan for taking care of him, what was for dinner the next night (yes, he wanted a freakin' menu!!), what time did he have to get up. All of these comments and questions came to his mouth in about fifteen minutes.
Some of the questions were answered, some were ignored. Dad, never one to forget, continued to voice the unanswered questions. So I gave him those answers too!
"You get your baseball cards when you take care of your mail and the box of crap that you told me was important...Here's a freakin' pillow...I have to leave for work by 7:30 so you have to get up by ten of seven...Dinner is over twenty hours from now."
We made it through the first night. I have to say, my Dad has the whitest legs I ever saw, and I really had to be aware of when he was changing underwear so I could look away (MY EYES!). Every night I have been changing a dressing on Mom's leg where she had skin cancer, so I started to do that while he was changing. Dad, however, wanted my full attention. Mom recognized that, and started making faces at him - scrunched up with her tongue out!
We have gotten into a routine, and I haven't had to speak to him too harshly, but (always the "but") he has to be reminded that we are not his paid staff. Mom has no idea most of the time what is happening with him, however, she totally disses him most of the time.
One night, Dad got up to walk, and he had the walker. Mom was lounging on the couch with her feet about a foot out from the couch. Dad hit her feet with the walker a couple of times, and she gave him the scrunchy face. Dad then spoke loudly and abruptly to her, "MOVE YOUR FEET". She did, then I hear her under her breath, "What the F**K". She put her feet back where they were, he came back around, shoved at her feet again with the walker, and said, "MOVE YOUR FEET".
Dad has also lost the ability to look in the refrigerator and see what's in there. He had occupational therapy while in the hospital and can maneuver around the kitchen quite well. However, he called my sister-in-law while she was at lunch with Mom and told her there was no food for him for lunch. Dad doesn't understand texting. Carla texted me and told me what happened. Of course, she brought him a sandwich. I come home later, and check the drawer in the fridge where the lunchmeat IS ALWAYS KEPT. ALWAYS, AND FOREVER. Sure enough, there's the ham, there's the turkey, there's the cheese. Then I look in the bread drawer, where the BREAD is ALWAYS KEPT. Sure enough, there's the bread.
"Dad, why did you tell Carla there was no food here? There's lunchmeat, and bread. I told you that this morning."
"I didn't know. Carla brought me a sandwich."
On Saturday, Amy picked Mom up to take her to the Pumpkin Fest. Dad told Amy, unbeknownst to me until Amy told me, that there was no food here and asked if she could pick something up for him. What am I, starving him now??? Amy called me, and I told her if he was hungry there was leftover pizza from the night before (that HE ordered). Amy heated it up, and voila...DINNER.
The real issue, I've discovered, is that Dad doesn't like to eat leftovers. So tonight, I bought a chicken, all roasted, from Big Y. Brought it home, cut it up, zapped a can of carrots, and heated up the leftover homefries from hotdog night. "Dad, you will be having this chicken again tomorrow night, with the leftover carrots. I am going out." "Who is going to fix it for us?" Yes, he did go there.
Some of you may remember that I went through this back in May and June when he broke a bone in his shoulder. I'm not going to handle this the same way though. Leftovers or sandwiches...he can choose!
It just so happens that I'm not working during the day right now, because I couldn't work the required new schedule. So Dad is thinking, I'm sure, that I will be at his beck and call. I have to get that message sent right away, starting tomorrow!
First night was a trip. To another world...the world of old people in your house that can't do things for themselves. I do mean "can't". It just wasn't physically possible for Dad to do much that first night. Mom, as we know, has her own issues, but does follow directions when given 1 at a time.
Dad uses the walker around the house, the cane to go up the stairs. Jeremiah was here to fix him hotdogs when he got home so he had dinner. Mom was out having pizza with her brother-in-law and sister-in-law, as it was a Tuesday night. This was good. Dad got lots of attention until Mom came home with my aunt and uncle. They stayed a while and visited. Dad told them how good he felt, and how well he was doing with the pain and moving around.
Eventually, they had to leave, and I don't think they were in the car yet when Dad started the complaint list. No chair was good enough, he needed more pillows, where were his baseball cards, what was the plan for taking care of him, what was for dinner the next night (yes, he wanted a freakin' menu!!), what time did he have to get up. All of these comments and questions came to his mouth in about fifteen minutes.
Some of the questions were answered, some were ignored. Dad, never one to forget, continued to voice the unanswered questions. So I gave him those answers too!
"You get your baseball cards when you take care of your mail and the box of crap that you told me was important...Here's a freakin' pillow...I have to leave for work by 7:30 so you have to get up by ten of seven...Dinner is over twenty hours from now."
We made it through the first night. I have to say, my Dad has the whitest legs I ever saw, and I really had to be aware of when he was changing underwear so I could look away (MY EYES!). Every night I have been changing a dressing on Mom's leg where she had skin cancer, so I started to do that while he was changing. Dad, however, wanted my full attention. Mom recognized that, and started making faces at him - scrunched up with her tongue out!
We have gotten into a routine, and I haven't had to speak to him too harshly, but (always the "but") he has to be reminded that we are not his paid staff. Mom has no idea most of the time what is happening with him, however, she totally disses him most of the time.
One night, Dad got up to walk, and he had the walker. Mom was lounging on the couch with her feet about a foot out from the couch. Dad hit her feet with the walker a couple of times, and she gave him the scrunchy face. Dad then spoke loudly and abruptly to her, "MOVE YOUR FEET". She did, then I hear her under her breath, "What the F**K". She put her feet back where they were, he came back around, shoved at her feet again with the walker, and said, "MOVE YOUR FEET".
Dad has also lost the ability to look in the refrigerator and see what's in there. He had occupational therapy while in the hospital and can maneuver around the kitchen quite well. However, he called my sister-in-law while she was at lunch with Mom and told her there was no food for him for lunch. Dad doesn't understand texting. Carla texted me and told me what happened. Of course, she brought him a sandwich. I come home later, and check the drawer in the fridge where the lunchmeat IS ALWAYS KEPT. ALWAYS, AND FOREVER. Sure enough, there's the ham, there's the turkey, there's the cheese. Then I look in the bread drawer, where the BREAD is ALWAYS KEPT. Sure enough, there's the bread.
"Dad, why did you tell Carla there was no food here? There's lunchmeat, and bread. I told you that this morning."
"I didn't know. Carla brought me a sandwich."
On Saturday, Amy picked Mom up to take her to the Pumpkin Fest. Dad told Amy, unbeknownst to me until Amy told me, that there was no food here and asked if she could pick something up for him. What am I, starving him now??? Amy called me, and I told her if he was hungry there was leftover pizza from the night before (that HE ordered). Amy heated it up, and voila...DINNER.
The real issue, I've discovered, is that Dad doesn't like to eat leftovers. So tonight, I bought a chicken, all roasted, from Big Y. Brought it home, cut it up, zapped a can of carrots, and heated up the leftover homefries from hotdog night. "Dad, you will be having this chicken again tomorrow night, with the leftover carrots. I am going out." "Who is going to fix it for us?" Yes, he did go there.
Some of you may remember that I went through this back in May and June when he broke a bone in his shoulder. I'm not going to handle this the same way though. Leftovers or sandwiches...he can choose!
It just so happens that I'm not working during the day right now, because I couldn't work the required new schedule. So Dad is thinking, I'm sure, that I will be at his beck and call. I have to get that message sent right away, starting tomorrow!
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