Home Sweet Home Indeed

One week ago, after forty-nine days in the hospital, Dad came home. I think we all held our breath for a couple of days but everything seems to be falling into place. My mom has great help coming every day. Rose (my mother's brother's wife's sister-not kidding) spends most nights, and Armeda is coming during the day. I don't think they will need help forever, but I think it is making this whole process easier.
Dad is generally in good spirits, but annoyed that he can't be helpful. I have told him a million times that his job is getting better. He faithfully does his exercises but he wants to do more. I can't blame him. We are trying to find things that he can do so that his brain is occupied. It's a fine line to have him do enough that he's distracted but not so much that he's exhausted.
Dad is still trying to wrap his mind around learning to walk again. It seems unreal that you would have to relearn how to do something you have been doing most of your life. I've tried to explain that he has all kinds of new hardware in his legs, so it's going to feel different when he tries to walk(and that's not mentioning his muscle problems). The physical therapist had him stand up with his walker today. He had to have help getting to a standing position but he was able to do it twice.
When I talked to him tonight, he had gotten in bed and his dog was in bed with him. Since Dad has been home, his dog, Pepper, gets in bed every time Dad does. She snuggles right against him and curls up. Yes, the walking is going to be difficult, and yes, the road is going to be long, but man oh man is it good to have him home.

Cabin Fever ~ Hospital Edition

Because we live near the beach and so rarely see snow, my family was delighted when a couple of inches fell Sunday night and Monday morning.  I had spent the night with my dad at the Rehabilitation Hospital and loved watching the snowflakes falling with him.  While we enjoyed the beauty, it led to THREE days of school closings.  Just those three days were enough to make me appreciate my friends who live in colder climates, (I'm looking at you Sarah!) Three days were enough for all of us to experience a little cabin fever which made me think about the way I feel at the hospital.

I am so grateful for all of the people who have been helping to care for my father in the hospital, but I do not like to go there.  For a while I had to go because Dad was too weak to even push the call button for the nurse.  Now he is SO much better, but I still go to make sure I know what's going on and help him pass the time.  Plus now that he will be coming home next week we all have to be trained to help him move from his wheelchair to the bed and bathroom.  I will be so glad for him to be home for so many reasons not the least of which is I am so over the hospital. Over.  Done.
I'm tired of his room even though they have done everything they can to make us all comfortable.  I'm tired of all the noise even though I know it distracts Dad.  I'm tired of eating out every day and not being able to cook for my family.  I'm tired of leaving in the morning when everyone is asleep so I can be there when the doctors come by.  (But thank you to Dr. Warshauer for that reassuring and only slightly disturbing pep talk this morning, Dad loved it) I'm tired of trying to make sure we have help when we come home (a huge thank you to Vance for subtly nagging my mother for me)  I'm tired of existing in this loop between Dad's room and the therapy room (shout-outs here for Allen and Patrick who have helped Dad improve EVERY day) I am just tired of the hospital.
Last night Dad started worrying that he was never going to get home.  As much as I know it's irrational, I also understand it.  He's tired of the hospital, too.  We are all ready to go home.

Caring for your Parents ~The Post I Don't Want to Write

My friend Fadra of All Things Fadra started a meme that asks you to write for 5 minutes and don't edit, just write.  Since I've always been a little bit of a rebel I am writing on a Monday in hopes of getting through the post I don't want to write.  Please forgive me if this is rambling or non-sensical.

My dad is one of my best friends.  Weird, huh.  We live next door to my parents which is a little "Everybody Loves Raymond" but it works.  Actually it's our house, then a few acres with a barn and pasture, then their house.  We aren't right on top of each other, but we are close enough to help out in a crisis.  This fall we have found ourselves in a crisis.  My dad has terrible arthritis and extreme muscle tightness.  In an effort to help with some of his joints, he has had his right hip replaced and was scheduled to get his left hip replaced at the beginning of October.  Unfortunately, his right knee sort of crumbled underneath him so he switched from having his left hip replaced to having his right knee totally replaced.  Just information here, the knee is a much tougher recovery than the hip.  Someone with medical knowledge can tell us why, but the knee is MUCH tougher. 

The surgery went just as expected, but post surgery is when life got really interesting.  I stayed with my dad in the hospital at night.  The anesthesia and pain medicine threw him for a loop.  He would wake up(sort of) and think he had to be someplace and start trying to get out of bed.  When I broke the bad news that he couldn't get out of bed and tried to get him settled back down he would become very agitated and anxious.  Then they tried to treat the anxiety which you would think would help him sleep but he just had weirder dreams and episodes.  He spent a few days at a nursing home/rehab facility until he fell and we discovered they had been medicating him even more.  We brought him home. 

He improved and was going to physical therapy at an amazing facility not too far from where we live.  About a week ago we went to see his psychiatrist (he was being treated for depression/anxiety) and that doctor told him that he was experiencing episodes of delirium and was susceptible to dementia.  Then proceeded to eliminate any drugs that might aleviate the anxiety dad was experiencing.  He told dad about a book that would help him.  I don't know if any of you have ever experienced a panic attack, but the last thing you want at that point and time is to read a book.  The next day we saw his orthopedic doctor who said he was progressing nicely, the knee looks great.  That night my mom told me that Dad had felt weak when he was walking across the room.  The next morning I was out at breakfast when my mom called and told me that Dad had fallen.  Fortunately he didn't hurt himself, but he is a tall guy and with his lack of flexibility he could not get up.  My husband and my brother and I had to get him up and back into his chair.  (my mom actually broke his fall, fortunately she was okay)
He swears that he didn't actually lose consciousness, but I am not so sure.  Later that afternoon he fell again.  (this time a very soft chair broke his fall~at least he's good at falling)

I wanted him to go to the hospital.  I admit that I was worried about him having a stroke or something along those lines.  He has a very intense fear and dislike of hospitals and I let him talk me out of it.  We made an appointment with his primary care doctor for the next morning and agreed that if he fell again the first call was going to be to 911.  My sister came in town the next day for the doctor's appointment.  The doctor was a little dismayed at the committee of people there for the appointment.  He agreed that Dad should be referred to a neurologist and ordered other basic radiology tests and blood tests to rule out things.  He made the mistake of saying that my dad had been dealing with "malaise and increasing frailty."  Friends, my dad is 73.  He is no spring chicken, but he should not be dealing with the health issues that he is, unless there is a cause beyond aging.

So that's where we are.  Waiting to see a neurologist on December 16th.  If you are a neurologist this is clearly a great market so please move here.  Have an appointment with a cardiologist after that.  I am torn between not wanting them to find anything, and wanting them to find something that is treatable.  I would love for him to have an answer beyond "you have the tightest muscles we've ever seen"  I know that tight muscles doesn't sound like a big deal, but his are ridiculously tight.  Some of his muscles in his legs feel like steel cables they are so tightly contracted.  Words have been tossed around that are scary.  Parkinson's is one that I have investigated and as scary as all these words are, they are at least treatable.  My mom has forbidden us from talking about Parkinson's until we go to the neurologist.  I worry so much about her too because she isn't getting the sleep she needs.  I spent last Wednesday night with him and we were awake a significant portion of the night.  (of course I was brilliant and went to the midnight opening of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows~ I was TOAST on Friday.)

He seems to be stronger.  Last night Mom brought him to my house for the first time since before his surgery.  I want him to be okay.  I want him to be as well as he can be.  Maybe he is having delirium and maybe there is a neurological problem.  I just want him to be okay.  If you are the praying kind, would you say one for him?  And I will selfishly ask for prayer for myself.  This is a new road and navigating it is not easy.  Would you pray that I will know the best way to help him and my mom?

that went way too fast but at least I got the basics out. phew. Thanks to Fadra for hosting!