Dad fell a couple of weeks ago. Technically, he didn't fall so much as he "slid" out of bed, onto the floor. He couldn't get up and so Mom pulled the pull-cord and an aide showed up to help Dad up and to the washroom. And then it happened again...shortly afterwards. They called me as I happened to be on my way to their apartment. When I got there, Dad was in bed. I asked him to get up and out of bed so we could talk and he literally couldn't get out of bed. He couldn't sit up.
And so began our odyssey - first to the hospital and now to acute rehab/nursing home where Dad sits miserably. Sigh.
I've been in a terrible funk lately. Just kind of bummed out and unenthusiastic. I think what's happening with my Dad is what is dragging me down. He absolutely HATES where he is. I can't say I blame him. It's not pretty. There is a lot of activity, some of it generated by people who are either elderly and very uncomfortable or near death's door. It doesn't smell great, but I can't blame that on the facility. It's kind of icky. I wouldn't want to be there either, but that doesn't mean he's not getting great care. He is.
We're at this terrible precipice between Old Dad and New Dad. Old Dad (i.e. the guy who was funny, engaging, witty, smart) seems to be almost totally gone. New Dad has taken over. He's absolutely FLAT. No emotion, no enthusiasm, no interest. Complete and total apathy. Today I told him he looked unhappy. He said: "I am. I don't like it here." Imagine how I feel about that. I'm responsible for putting my Father in the last place on earth that he ever wanted to be.
And yet, let's be honest. It's where he should be. He can't get to the bathroom safely. He's fallen 3 times in the past week. He no longer cares about his personal appearance or hygiene. We're talking the beginning of the end. This is how he's going out and there's not a damn thing I can do about it.
Last summer, a big plate of cookies and an episode of NCIS made him happy as a clam. Today, I literally can't think of a damn thing to make him happy. Nothing.
So now we sit and wait. We wait for them to assess him and decide when he should be discharged and to where. I can't imagine that they will deem him appropriate to return to their apartment and, honestly, I think that idea scares the crap out of my Mom. She was already feeling overwhelmed by caring for him and now, she just feels like it's too much. I would too.
Then again, the tiny silver lining in all of this is that there is a new "lightness" about Mom. It's not like she's skipping down the halls happy that Dad is gone. But I sense she feels like a burden was lifted a bit. Somebody else is taking over the day-to-day Dad care. No small feat.
In the meantime, we visit. We try to be upbeat. We share news with Dad and try generating some kind of small talk. I told my brother that I try and stay for an hour, if possible. "It's a long hour, isn't it?," he aptly asks. Yes it is.
We could use a prayer or two. Happy Town is miles and miles away. Sigh.
