Where the worst is Dad dying, and the next to worst is him spending the rest of his days bedridden or wheelchair bound. I think it's what we're all afraid of, especially him. He's doing a good job of acting brave, and we are, too. He's only getting an hour a day of physical therapy. It being Baptist Hospital, they skip Sundays. (If it were Communist Hospital, he'd be doing corvee service digging a canal for physical therapy, so there's that.) I wish they would at least teach him exercises to do in bed. It seems like a waste just lying there; that is, a waste for him.
Yesterday, he said, "I don't think I've had any water." I answered as if it had been apropos of something, but it turned out he thought a nurse was there to give him insulin. You could call that hallucinating or you could call it dreaming and talking in his sleep. Either way it was more than a little disturbing. I don't want him having any more seizures, but if this is a side effect of Dilantin I'll be happier when he's off it.
It hasn't been two weeks yet since the operation, and he did have a seizure afterward. So maybe it's too soon to expect him to get his balance back and be up and walking by himself. I don't care how long it takes; I just want it to happen.
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