Dad has been moved out of Intermediate ICU again, this time we hope for good. It means a longer trip to dialysis, but hey, they have elevators. We still haven't heard further from the social worker about how long he's staying in the hospital nor where he's going next, but neither are we in any hurry.
Yesterday was another good day. He was singing to Margaret a lot. I got to talk to the speech pathologists, who seem to have figured out finally that it isn't a good idea to feed Dad when he's trying to sleep. And we talked to the dietitian. She said that Dad's albumin levels are low, and asked if he wanted to go on a supplement or get more food. He said, "More food!"
We also asked if there was any way his diet could be more varied, as he had gotten literally the same meal for lunch and dinner the previous day. She suggested that since he's on dialysis anyway, he probably didn't need to be on the renal diet anyway and went and checked with the nephrologist. She agreed, so his diet is a lot less restricted. We also asked if they could send the food closer to mealtimes instead of two hours before and she agreed. When supper arrived later his portions were doubled, and he pretty near demolished the whole thing. Huzzah!
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Relief (again)
Sometimes it's more pleasant being a broken record than other times. Yesterday was a good one. Dad came back from dialysis literally singing "I Feel Good." To say that this is unprecedented would be an understatement. There was no mention at all of dialysis being an ordeal, but necessary. He was cheerful, if tired, all day. (Tired after dialysis is normal. The previous day's tired before dialysis was what crossed us up.)
Granted, he waited two hours to tell the nurses that the dialysis people had told him he needed to be cleaned up, which is either a lapse in attention span or in self-care, but he did tell them. And though he didn't pay really close attention to the national championship game, he woke up enough to side with Malcolm in a minor argument we were having about our starting pitcher's rest days. (I capitulated immediately, of course.) On the whole a good day, and we're feeling much better about the idea of him leaving the hospital.
Granted, he waited two hours to tell the nurses that the dialysis people had told him he needed to be cleaned up, which is either a lapse in attention span or in self-care, but he did tell them. And though he didn't pay really close attention to the national championship game, he woke up enough to side with Malcolm in a minor argument we were having about our starting pitcher's rest days. (I capitulated immediately, of course.) On the whole a good day, and we're feeling much better about the idea of him leaving the hospital.
Tuesday, June 28, 2011
Roller coaster day
Yesterday the Palmetto Baptist social worker (or in any case Dad's social worker) Rachel called me saying that he is ready to move on to a nursing home for rehabilitation. The way she phrased it ("Medicare will pay for nursing home care") suggests that his Medicare coverage for hospital care is running out.
Sunday had been so great that we figured that we were past every crisis, and rehab could proceed smoothly. It wasn't so much that yesterday was awful. He was just so incredibly tired all day. The speech pathologist tried to feed him lunch but he was pretty much falling asleep chewing. He eventually choked on the food in his mouth and didn't want to eat anymore. She tried to get him working on tongue exercises, but he fell asleep doing that, too.
Cardell the nursing tech said that he had given Dad a bath and maybe that tuckered him out. Also it was day 7 of Dad's three times a week dialysis schedule. We were hoping that would be the best day (two days off of dialysis) but it didn't turn out that way. By evening, he ate his supper (with help from Malcolm) pretty normally, and he watched part of the ballgame. But generally he was still pretty sleepy.
A doctor had come around in the afternoon. He turned out to be the head of internal medicine for the hospital (Dr. Emmer); he suggested that they had been planning to move Dad out of the IICU today. However, since he wasn't doing too well, this idea was shelved, and Dr. Emmer said he would keep poking around trying to find an explanation for this puzzling exhaustion. I never heard anything else from him, however.
Sunday had been so great that we figured that we were past every crisis, and rehab could proceed smoothly. It wasn't so much that yesterday was awful. He was just so incredibly tired all day. The speech pathologist tried to feed him lunch but he was pretty much falling asleep chewing. He eventually choked on the food in his mouth and didn't want to eat anymore. She tried to get him working on tongue exercises, but he fell asleep doing that, too.
Cardell the nursing tech said that he had given Dad a bath and maybe that tuckered him out. Also it was day 7 of Dad's three times a week dialysis schedule. We were hoping that would be the best day (two days off of dialysis) but it didn't turn out that way. By evening, he ate his supper (with help from Malcolm) pretty normally, and he watched part of the ballgame. But generally he was still pretty sleepy.
A doctor had come around in the afternoon. He turned out to be the head of internal medicine for the hospital (Dr. Emmer); he suggested that they had been planning to move Dad out of the IICU today. However, since he wasn't doing too well, this idea was shelved, and Dr. Emmer said he would keep poking around trying to find an explanation for this puzzling exhaustion. I never heard anything else from him, however.
Monday, June 27, 2011
What my cat taught me
Amelia is a fraidy cat. She's afraid of everything and everybody. But at the old place, where the back door was a French one (or anyway looked like them), the outside kitties could come right up face to face with her. And Amelia showed them down every time. The bigger, meaner kitty never bothered to defend hearth and home; it fell to little, scaredy Amelia.
I guess I had learned it already. When things in my life went totally sideways previously and I had to act like a grownup, I didn't like it but I did so. And I remember about that time we had a snowfall and the periwinkles were blooming, and the periwinkles stood up among the snow. The young woman I was seeing about that time who called me Periwinkle thought it was just because of a funny word. But it was because of the days when a man without courage showed courage. Like the cat he would know later.
I guess I had learned it already. When things in my life went totally sideways previously and I had to act like a grownup, I didn't like it but I did so. And I remember about that time we had a snowfall and the periwinkles were blooming, and the periwinkles stood up among the snow. The young woman I was seeing about that time who called me Periwinkle thought it was just because of a funny word. But it was because of the days when a man without courage showed courage. Like the cat he would know later.
Sunday, June 26, 2011
"It's an ordeal, but it's necessary."
The above is my Dad's attitude, stated often, toward dialysis. I like and admire this attitude, and am proud of his fortitude. Yesterday's bout didn't quite take as much out of him as the previous ones did, but he was still fairly tuckered out. Still capable of feeding himself, making his own phone calls, etc., so that's pretty neat.
Brother Malcolm stayed over here yesterday afternoon for a nap and a shower. Amelia the cat didn't panic noticeably, possibly because Mal and I resemble one another (and our dad, not that that helps Amelia) strongly. I didn't ask if Amelia had pined for me as in the old days, but I'm pretty sure she didn't. She naps when I'm leaving and she naps when I come back; not a lot of scope for pining there. Hey, maybe even Amelia's growing up.
Brother Malcolm stayed over here yesterday afternoon for a nap and a shower. Amelia the cat didn't panic noticeably, possibly because Mal and I resemble one another (and our dad, not that that helps Amelia) strongly. I didn't ask if Amelia had pined for me as in the old days, but I'm pretty sure she didn't. She naps when I'm leaving and she naps when I come back; not a lot of scope for pining there. Hey, maybe even Amelia's growing up.
Saturday, June 25, 2011
Common sense breaks out
The physical therapists came around for Dad again yesterday and were all set to try to get him to stand again. Although I'm in favor of this idea all the way, I didn't want to have his rectal tube fall out again and have him have to go through another reinsertion. So I suggested rather neutrally that it would be neat if he could do exercises in bed that would simulate standing, and Tim, the head physical therapist, agreed and did them with him.
Tim was very impressed with the strength in Dad's legs, so we are very well pleased with that. Tim also told us a funny/sad story about a guy on the sixth floor recovering from a knee replacement who wouldn't participate in PT due to crankiness from not being allowed to drink. Since the PT was essential to his recovery and had to be done immediately, the doctor wrote him a prescription for six light beers a day. Not an ideal solution, but it got the job done.
Dad also got a visit from another specialist; I thought she introduced herself to me the other day as a speech pathologist, but regardless of title, she's the one who decides what he can safely swallow. She checked his ability to control his tongue and was also encouraging... but wants him to stay mostly on pureed foods. He doesn't seem to have any particular problem with this.
The rectal tube stayed clean for over 24 hours. I mentioned this to the techs (student nurses) and they mentioned it to the nurse. After I left, she came and checked and found him to be rather clogged up. Not to be too graphic, but (brother) Malcolm reported that the situation was uh, rectified. At the moment, Dad is in dialysis so we don't get to see him until this afternoon.
In general, his spirits continue to improve. He uses more and more of his hepcat catchphrases. Last night when I left, he went decidedly un-hepcat and told me "Good night, sweet prince." I told him same to you, most decidedly.
Tim was very impressed with the strength in Dad's legs, so we are very well pleased with that. Tim also told us a funny/sad story about a guy on the sixth floor recovering from a knee replacement who wouldn't participate in PT due to crankiness from not being allowed to drink. Since the PT was essential to his recovery and had to be done immediately, the doctor wrote him a prescription for six light beers a day. Not an ideal solution, but it got the job done.
Dad also got a visit from another specialist; I thought she introduced herself to me the other day as a speech pathologist, but regardless of title, she's the one who decides what he can safely swallow. She checked his ability to control his tongue and was also encouraging... but wants him to stay mostly on pureed foods. He doesn't seem to have any particular problem with this.
The rectal tube stayed clean for over 24 hours. I mentioned this to the techs (student nurses) and they mentioned it to the nurse. After I left, she came and checked and found him to be rather clogged up. Not to be too graphic, but (brother) Malcolm reported that the situation was uh, rectified. At the moment, Dad is in dialysis so we don't get to see him until this afternoon.
In general, his spirits continue to improve. He uses more and more of his hepcat catchphrases. Last night when I left, he went decidedly un-hepcat and told me "Good night, sweet prince." I told him same to you, most decidedly.
Friday, June 24, 2011
Mixed day
(Warning: WAY too much information)
Dad's dialysis wasn't until the afternoon, which allowed him to have breakfast (though he said he had to fight for it) and lunch. He also had physical therapy again and was able to stand (a plus) but lost the rectal tube (a minus). And then of course the transportation guys showed up for dialysis and wouldn't wait for him to have another tube inserted, or even for him to be cleaned up. So he had to be fouled for the next four hours (since that's how long dialysis takes).
Upon his return, he had to be cleaned and have the new tube inserted. Try to arrange your life such that you're never present for such an operation. Unfortunately, it took two tries and two nurses. But then he was able to eat supper. His spirits were quite good, especially under the circumstances. By the time I left, he was resting comfortably. On the whole, a good day. While we were very sorry about his profound discomfort, we were very happy that dialysis had no clammy aftermath like Tuesday. And while the physical therapy had unfortunate consequences, it was good to see him standing. So a mixed day, but positive on the whole.
Dad's dialysis wasn't until the afternoon, which allowed him to have breakfast (though he said he had to fight for it) and lunch. He also had physical therapy again and was able to stand (a plus) but lost the rectal tube (a minus). And then of course the transportation guys showed up for dialysis and wouldn't wait for him to have another tube inserted, or even for him to be cleaned up. So he had to be fouled for the next four hours (since that's how long dialysis takes).
Upon his return, he had to be cleaned and have the new tube inserted. Try to arrange your life such that you're never present for such an operation. Unfortunately, it took two tries and two nurses. But then he was able to eat supper. His spirits were quite good, especially under the circumstances. By the time I left, he was resting comfortably. On the whole, a good day. While we were very sorry about his profound discomfort, we were very happy that dialysis had no clammy aftermath like Tuesday. And while the physical therapy had unfortunate consequences, it was good to see him standing. So a mixed day, but positive on the whole.
Thursday, June 23, 2011
Long wait
Unfortunately, my wish that Dad's procedure would go by the schedule did not come true. He called Margaret in the early afternoon to tell her that they hadn't done anything and he still hadn't had anything to eat or drink. I got up there as fast as I could and raised heck as calmly as possible. The nurses were sympathetic, but said there was nothing that they could do, that there had been many add-ons to the schedule, and they were getting to him as soon as possible.
ASAP turned out to be 4:30 in the afternoon. In the meantime, the physical therapists came. He had a good session. It was nothing more challenging than sitting up and stretching his legs repeatedly, but the head physical therapist was encouraged and encouraging. The happy news is that when they finally took him for the procedure, it went well, quickly and painlessly. True to her word, the nurse had his supper for him when he came back, and he ate it ALL. And he was comparatively cheerful and alert all evening.
Today of course is another dialysis day. As Tuesday's dialysis had a fairly worrying aftermath, we're nervous that the same might happen again today. But not too nervous.
Edited for typo.
ASAP turned out to be 4:30 in the afternoon. In the meantime, the physical therapists came. He had a good session. It was nothing more challenging than sitting up and stretching his legs repeatedly, but the head physical therapist was encouraged and encouraging. The happy news is that when they finally took him for the procedure, it went well, quickly and painlessly. True to her word, the nurse had his supper for him when he came back, and he ate it ALL. And he was comparatively cheerful and alert all evening.
Today of course is another dialysis day. As Tuesday's dialysis had a fairly worrying aftermath, we're nervous that the same might happen again today. But not too nervous.
Edited for typo.
Wednesday, June 22, 2011
False alarm
Yesterday was not particularly good. Dad had dialysis. Possibly because of that, possibly because of sitting up for a long time, and possibly because of the weather, he got very sweaty, even clammy. A nurse practitioner from the Heart Hospital (or Institute; I forget) came by, found him in this condition and also with an irregular heartbeat, and called out the Mounties. He had an EKG, and had his cardiac enzymes checked and his blood sugar checked twice. The NP was preparing us for what emergency procedure would need to be done if it turned out he was having another heart attack.
And it turned out to be nothing. Mal and I were not overly happy that we finally had to ask for the cardiac enzyme results, some hours later, but we were well pleased that they were normal. He was very tired indeed for the rest of the evening, mainly sleeping, but when the nurse woke him up to give him his pills, he was lucid and coherent. This morning, he had the permanent catheter installed (maybe "placed" is a nicer word) for dialysis and the temporary one removed. If there was any problem with this procedure, I have faith that somebody would have called. I'm looking forward to getting to the hospital and seeing that he came through with flying colors.
And it turned out to be nothing. Mal and I were not overly happy that we finally had to ask for the cardiac enzyme results, some hours later, but we were well pleased that they were normal. He was very tired indeed for the rest of the evening, mainly sleeping, but when the nurse woke him up to give him his pills, he was lucid and coherent. This morning, he had the permanent catheter installed (maybe "placed" is a nicer word) for dialysis and the temporary one removed. If there was any problem with this procedure, I have faith that somebody would have called. I'm looking forward to getting to the hospital and seeing that he came through with flying colors.
Tuesday, June 21, 2011
No news is good news
Dad continues to be stable. Unfortunately, he has dialysis again today. He seemed resigned when he mentioned it, but there was no sign that he hates it any the less. So I'm going to visit early to make sure to see him before he's carted off for four hours, and also late to try to watch the Gamecocks at the College World Series with him. It was so much fun on Father's Day and he was rather more alert. (Of course he hadn't had dialysis that day.)
I'll also make every effort to go by Drinking Liberally and see my favorite people. Hopefully they still remember me at least a bit. Looks like I picked the wrong year to quit drinking.
(I think there are people in the world who think that "No news is good news" means that all news is bad news. As far as I can figure, it just means what it says: if there isn't any news, you can go ahead and interpret that as good news. Anyway, that's how I meant it.)
I'll also make every effort to go by Drinking Liberally and see my favorite people. Hopefully they still remember me at least a bit. Looks like I picked the wrong year to quit drinking.
(I think there are people in the world who think that "No news is good news" means that all news is bad news. As far as I can figure, it just means what it says: if there isn't any news, you can go ahead and interpret that as good news. Anyway, that's how I meant it.)
Monday, June 20, 2011
Father's Day
We had fun. Everybody came to visit, but the visits were staggered so the room (and the honoree) was (were) never overwhelmed. James and Christina made a Major Announcement, Anne gave Dad a smart phone (showing great optimism about his condition), William came early and Frank came late. Anne also gave two red roses to Dad and Margaret from us all, which was very sweet.
Being an idiot, I had forgotten to soak my beans and so had to go home for a long time to cook. When I got back, we wound up with Malcolm, Margaret, Frank and me watching the College World Series with Dad. He was quite sleepy but woke up here and there and maintained an interest in the game and the world. It was rather a nice time all the way around. I left with the game still tied, as I start to zonk out around 9. Still, it was a very nice day; the happy ending to the game made it a little happier still.
Being an idiot, I had forgotten to soak my beans and so had to go home for a long time to cook. When I got back, we wound up with Malcolm, Margaret, Frank and me watching the College World Series with Dad. He was quite sleepy but woke up here and there and maintained an interest in the game and the world. It was rather a nice time all the way around. I left with the game still tied, as I start to zonk out around 9. Still, it was a very nice day; the happy ending to the game made it a little happier still.
Sunday, June 19, 2011
Hating this
Dad hates dialysis, calling it torture. Yesterday, he told each of us, one at a time as we showed up, that "They kept me out of my room until 4:24 pm." I don't know, I've never heard anyone say that dialysis is painful, just boring and tiring. Maybe there isn't a TV in the dialysis room. (They're now taking him to dialysis rather than bringing dialysis to him.)
But I hate that he hates it, and particularly hate that he said the part that he hates is "having to keep breathing." I'm sure he didn't mean anything as awful as that sounds; the probability is that they put him on the BiPAP machine again, or on some other kind of oxygen mask, during dialysis. We couldn't get any kind of clarification from him (as he was very tired), but of course we all assured him that we want him to keep breathing.
In general we are all frustrated, particularly at the low level of information we're receiving and from its inconsistency. Malcolm heard first that Dad would get a week's break from dialysis, then that it would only be a couple of days and then he would get it Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. We're seeing a lot less of the ward nurse and a lot more of the techs, who turn out to be student nurses. While everyone is very nice, it would be a lot less frustrating to know what in heck is going on.
Today of course we will put on our sparkly faces and do our level best to give him the best Father's Day possible under the circumstances. And we are certainly grateful that, much as he may hate dialysis, it seems to be doing him a lot of good. We will continue trying to make him see it.
But I hate that he hates it, and particularly hate that he said the part that he hates is "having to keep breathing." I'm sure he didn't mean anything as awful as that sounds; the probability is that they put him on the BiPAP machine again, or on some other kind of oxygen mask, during dialysis. We couldn't get any kind of clarification from him (as he was very tired), but of course we all assured him that we want him to keep breathing.
In general we are all frustrated, particularly at the low level of information we're receiving and from its inconsistency. Malcolm heard first that Dad would get a week's break from dialysis, then that it would only be a couple of days and then he would get it Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday. We're seeing a lot less of the ward nurse and a lot more of the techs, who turn out to be student nurses. While everyone is very nice, it would be a lot less frustrating to know what in heck is going on.
Today of course we will put on our sparkly faces and do our level best to give him the best Father's Day possible under the circumstances. And we are certainly grateful that, much as he may hate dialysis, it seems to be doing him a lot of good. We will continue trying to make him see it.
Saturday, June 18, 2011
Upswing
As the roller coaster rolls on, we like the up parts a lot more than the down parts. Dad is indeed back in Intermediate ICU. He's feeling better, eating better and enjoying many more visitors. He even got a bit of physical therapy yesterday. This mainly consisted of standing up, but it was a big improvement over the last three days. After all this, there's only so optimistic that you can be, but we're going to go ahead and be it, however guardedly.
This would have been my mother's 88th birthday. It's been almost 8 years since she died, but because of the senile dementia she had been gone long before that. A great one, and much missed always.
Palmetto Baptist sent a statement. It was clearly marked "Not a bill" in several places, thank goodness, so I didn't actually poop a chimney. It simply stated what Dad would owe if Medicare and his other providers decline to pay his charges. Let's just say that growing up is overrated; I can't recommend it.
This would have been my mother's 88th birthday. It's been almost 8 years since she died, but because of the senile dementia she had been gone long before that. A great one, and much missed always.
Palmetto Baptist sent a statement. It was clearly marked "Not a bill" in several places, thank goodness, so I didn't actually poop a chimney. It simply stated what Dad would owe if Medicare and his other providers decline to pay his charges. Let's just say that growing up is overrated; I can't recommend it.
Friday, June 17, 2011
Escape from ICU?
We're hoping Dad gets out of ICU today, or at least back to Intermediate ICU from regular again. This would also mean that he's done with dialysis. And that in turn would hopefully mean that the congestive heart failure is improved, or so I hope from the bottom of my soul.
As I've mentioned, the main difference between intermediate and regular ICU from our point of view is that visiting is quite restricted in the latter. As Anne's son (my nephew, Dad's grandson) James and his girlfriend Christina are now down to visit as well, we have even more people to fit in the two-at-a-time visiting window. So while we certainly want Dad to have intensive care as long as he needs it, we would be happy if he's moved today, both for better visiting opportunities and of course for the indication he's getting better again.
Yesterday afternoon's visit was a little sad, because Dad wanted to tell us something about James' visit, but couldn't get it out and eventually gave up. But by the evening, he was addressing me by name again, and was answering questions intelligently. He doesn't like it when we leave, and we're always sorry to go. Another reason to hope for Intermediate ICU.
As I've mentioned, the main difference between intermediate and regular ICU from our point of view is that visiting is quite restricted in the latter. As Anne's son (my nephew, Dad's grandson) James and his girlfriend Christina are now down to visit as well, we have even more people to fit in the two-at-a-time visiting window. So while we certainly want Dad to have intensive care as long as he needs it, we would be happy if he's moved today, both for better visiting opportunities and of course for the indication he's getting better again.
Yesterday afternoon's visit was a little sad, because Dad wanted to tell us something about James' visit, but couldn't get it out and eventually gave up. But by the evening, he was addressing me by name again, and was answering questions intelligently. He doesn't like it when we leave, and we're always sorry to go. Another reason to hope for Intermediate ICU.
Thursday, June 16, 2011
Stable
Dad's pretty stable, but every time I say so and thus digress to other topics, something terrible happens. So I'm going to be superstitious and not digress. Yesterday, they did dialysis. I got the impression that whatever they did the previous day was not in fact dialysis, but maybe I'm confused and they did it two days straight. Regardless, he's doing pretty well, considering. It was fun when he met me with his traditional greeting yesterday ("Greetings! Greetings"); further proof that, as I say nearly every day, he's still in there.
Wednesday, June 15, 2011
ICU again
Dad had another setback Monday night, this one in the respiratory area. They put him on the BiPAP machine, including a breathing mask that almost completely covers his face. He hates this very much, and had to wear it for almost 24 hours. Also, the doctors decided that he still was retaining too many fluids, so he needed dialysis. This required moving him back from Intermediate to regular ICU. (Also, I had to sign the consent forms. Pretty adult stuff for my permanent adolescent self.)
So while of course we're thrilled to see him under more intensive care, the more restrictive visiting conditions (6 am to 10 pm, only two of us at a time) are again frustrating. Also, they moved up the dialysis to "immediately," and the machine being so large in a room so small made it impossible for anyone to visit until it was done.
Thus, we had 5 people wanting to visit during a window cut down to 7:30 pm to 10. But it turned out well. Margaret's daughter Linda was with us in the waiting area and told us about when her dad was in a similar condition. The doctors wanted them to give up on him but they refused and he pulled through. And Linda got an extra year and a half with her dad and got to know him for the first time. Which was just exactly what we needed to hear.
When I got to see him again near 10, I was very happy that the BiPAP mask was off. Anne said that he had called it the most excruciating day of his life. That was all about the mask; the dialysis was no problem. So hopefully we can keep the mask off henceforward.
So while of course we're thrilled to see him under more intensive care, the more restrictive visiting conditions (6 am to 10 pm, only two of us at a time) are again frustrating. Also, they moved up the dialysis to "immediately," and the machine being so large in a room so small made it impossible for anyone to visit until it was done.
Thus, we had 5 people wanting to visit during a window cut down to 7:30 pm to 10. But it turned out well. Margaret's daughter Linda was with us in the waiting area and told us about when her dad was in a similar condition. The doctors wanted them to give up on him but they refused and he pulled through. And Linda got an extra year and a half with her dad and got to know him for the first time. Which was just exactly what we needed to hear.
When I got to see him again near 10, I was very happy that the BiPAP mask was off. Anne said that he had called it the most excruciating day of his life. That was all about the mask; the dialysis was no problem. So hopefully we can keep the mask off henceforward.
Tuesday, June 14, 2011
A-HEE-ya derived
While Dad seems stable, a digression: I've mentioned before my bewilderment at my cat Amelia's favorite word, A-HEE-ya, said (it seems to me) when she wants to play or, perish the thought, needs the vet. Lately it occurred to me that it sounds a lot like me saying "Come here." (I drawl a bit.) So though I don't know what she means when she says it, I think I know where it came from. Not earth-shattering, I'll be the first to admit, but at the moment "not earth-shattering" is my favorite.
Dad had a transfusion of two units of blood yesterday. He regarded it as a trial, for some reason, but endured it patiently. I left a quarter of the way through; it hadn't helped noticeably as of then. An Internal Medicine doctor (Emmer, as I recall) stopped by, and we told him as much of Dad's history as we know and relayed some of our concerns. He wasn't very enlightening, unfortunately, but at least he listened. He had asked Dad if he knew where he is and Dad answered, including the room number. I'm not sure I could have done that, and I go in and out at least once every day. Still in there!
Dad had a transfusion of two units of blood yesterday. He regarded it as a trial, for some reason, but endured it patiently. I left a quarter of the way through; it hadn't helped noticeably as of then. An Internal Medicine doctor (Emmer, as I recall) stopped by, and we told him as much of Dad's history as we know and relayed some of our concerns. He wasn't very enlightening, unfortunately, but at least he listened. He had asked Dad if he knew where he is and Dad answered, including the room number. I'm not sure I could have done that, and I go in and out at least once every day. Still in there!
Monday, June 13, 2011
Rollercoaster: Up again
Of course it may just be that when you've been hit over the head with a sledgehammer every day for a while, a blow in the teeth with a baseball bat seems restful by comparison. But things again were a bit better yesterday. Mostly, we were still getting one- or two-word communications. But we put the phone by Dad and he picked it up, called Dietary and ordered his supper, complete with giving his full name and birthdate. So if properly motivated, he can still communicate. We should have known. The previous day, when Anne offered to go get him baked darkmeat chicken from Lizard's Thicket, he said "fried darkmeat chicken." Dude knows what he wants!
All of us think that he's been sedated, and heavily. And given that he recently had a heart attack, none of us object to him being sedated. Considering the sudden change in his apparent mental state, we would in fact be thrilled to find that it was due to him having been sedated. (Anyway, relative to the alternatives.) but Anne and Malcolm can't get anyone to admit that he's been sedated in any way. Frustrating it is. But, again, every time we see indications he's still in there (like when he grabbed the remote and turned the volume on CNN up to 11), we're happy about it. And hope to see him more.
All of us think that he's been sedated, and heavily. And given that he recently had a heart attack, none of us object to him being sedated. Considering the sudden change in his apparent mental state, we would in fact be thrilled to find that it was due to him having been sedated. (Anyway, relative to the alternatives.) but Anne and Malcolm can't get anyone to admit that he's been sedated in any way. Frustrating it is. But, again, every time we see indications he's still in there (like when he grabbed the remote and turned the volume on CNN up to 11), we're happy about it. And hope to see him more.
Sunday, June 12, 2011
Not joyous tidings
So it has not been a good couple of days. Friday as of lunchtime, Dad was lucid, coherent and in command. He fed himself lunch, he picked up his drink for himself and he needed almost no help. He spoke in complete sentences. I left when Margaret arrived because my sister Anne and my brother Malcolm were both coming down from Boston (separately) and there are only two visitors at a time allowed in the ICU. But I assumed Dad would continue to do fine.
So when I heard he was being moved from the ICU back to the Intermediate ICU, I thought that this was the best sort of news. However, when I went to visit yesterday (Saturday) morning, things were not so rosy. He was no longer in charge, and could only speak in one-word bursts. "Tea!" we could cope with, but "Uncomfortable" not so much. We did the best we could, however. Malcolm and Anne between them shaved him, and fed him. Anne insists on bringing him outside food, including cookies. I wish she could just learn to say, "I love you, Dad," instead.
When Margaret arrived and asked how he was doing, he answered softly and we couldn't hear him. He said it over and over until finally I picked it up: "Halfway good." So he's still in there. We are sad, and we are worried, but we are still hopeful. We aren't hearing much about prognosis from the doctors; we aren't hearing much of anything from the doctors. But he's still in there fighting, so we are, too.
So when I heard he was being moved from the ICU back to the Intermediate ICU, I thought that this was the best sort of news. However, when I went to visit yesterday (Saturday) morning, things were not so rosy. He was no longer in charge, and could only speak in one-word bursts. "Tea!" we could cope with, but "Uncomfortable" not so much. We did the best we could, however. Malcolm and Anne between them shaved him, and fed him. Anne insists on bringing him outside food, including cookies. I wish she could just learn to say, "I love you, Dad," instead.
When Margaret arrived and asked how he was doing, he answered softly and we couldn't hear him. He said it over and over until finally I picked it up: "Halfway good." So he's still in there. We are sad, and we are worried, but we are still hopeful. We aren't hearing much about prognosis from the doctors; we aren't hearing much of anything from the doctors. But he's still in there fighting, so we are, too.
Saturday, June 11, 2011
Jesus Loves Me
(6/16 edit: Turns out Father's Day is 6/19. So sue me. Every day is Father's Day at this point so long as we're concerned.)
June 18th is Father's Day but would also have been my mother's 88th birthday. She died July 1, 2003 a few weeks past her 80th. She hadn't been able to talk for at least a year, nor to think clearly in quite a few. The last time she was at least partly lucid, we gave her a birthday party at the nursing home. She liked the red roses my sister Anne brought her and also the card Anne gave her depicting red roses, so we showed her both of them often. She didn't want to sing "Happy Birthday"; she wanted to sing "Jesus Loves Me." So we did. It was very sweet.
Back when she could still live at home, but was well on her way into her second childhood, she would watch "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood" because "he likes me just the way I am." Which is sad, and an indictment on us, but at least she was getting the message from somewhere. (Note to Mom if they have the Internet wherever you are: we liked you just the way you were, too.)
In what he hope is much more cheerful news, Dad has been moved from the ICU to the Intermediate ICU. He was mostly sleeping when I visited briefly this morning, but at least looked well. Anne and Malcolm, Jr. are down from Boston, so it's a relief to be free from the ICU's requirement that only two visitors at a time are allowed. We continue to hope for the best.
June 18th is Father's Day but would also have been my mother's 88th birthday. She died July 1, 2003 a few weeks past her 80th. She hadn't been able to talk for at least a year, nor to think clearly in quite a few. The last time she was at least partly lucid, we gave her a birthday party at the nursing home. She liked the red roses my sister Anne brought her and also the card Anne gave her depicting red roses, so we showed her both of them often. She didn't want to sing "Happy Birthday"; she wanted to sing "Jesus Loves Me." So we did. It was very sweet.
Back when she could still live at home, but was well on her way into her second childhood, she would watch "Mr. Rogers' Neighborhood" because "he likes me just the way I am." Which is sad, and an indictment on us, but at least she was getting the message from somewhere. (Note to Mom if they have the Internet wherever you are: we liked you just the way you were, too.)
In what he hope is much more cheerful news, Dad has been moved from the ICU to the Intermediate ICU. He was mostly sleeping when I visited briefly this morning, but at least looked well. Anne and Malcolm, Jr. are down from Boston, so it's a relief to be free from the ICU's requirement that only two visitors at a time are allowed. We continue to hope for the best.
Friday, June 10, 2011
Taxes and the other thing
I had to send in Dad's tax payments yesterday. I brought the materials to the hospital in hopes he'd be up to signing the checks, but he really seemed to be too shaky. I'm perfectly able to sign his checks since my name is on the accounts; however, it isn't physically on the checks. So a red flag goes up at the IRS, one of the things you least want to see. However, after the kind of last few weeks I've had, a beef with the IRS would probably be a relief by comparison.
Thursday, June 9, 2011
Broken record
Once again, things with my dad sound awful, but are actually pretty OK, if worrying. He's gone back to the regular ICU (from Intermediate), and it is more or less confirmed that he has had a heart attack, and possibly that he had had at least one before. He says he never had any significant chest pain, though of course the indigestion that he was feeling a couple of days ago (all that burping) might have been it.
They seem to have his condition pretty well in hand. The greater worry is his kidney function and his continuing heart function. He may have congestive heart failure, three of the scariest words in English, but something people live with for a long time. He's on restricted fluids as they try to help him get rid of the fluids already onboard. This makes for a frustrating time swallowing pills and food, but he's handling it all like a trouper. He was singing to Margaret quite a bit, which was very sweet. He's keeping his spirits up pretty well. And though he's still on oxygen, he doesn't have to wear the mask anymore, which is a plus.
Sister Anne is flying down today and brother Malcolm is driving down as soon as possible. It'll be great to have more people here, though they better get him back out of ICU soon; only two visitors allowed at a time, dangit!
They seem to have his condition pretty well in hand. The greater worry is his kidney function and his continuing heart function. He may have congestive heart failure, three of the scariest words in English, but something people live with for a long time. He's on restricted fluids as they try to help him get rid of the fluids already onboard. This makes for a frustrating time swallowing pills and food, but he's handling it all like a trouper. He was singing to Margaret quite a bit, which was very sweet. He's keeping his spirits up pretty well. And though he's still on oxygen, he doesn't have to wear the mask anymore, which is a plus.
Sister Anne is flying down today and brother Malcolm is driving down as soon as possible. It'll be great to have more people here, though they better get him back out of ICU soon; only two visitors allowed at a time, dangit!
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Yaqui
(The folks got a kick out of this all those years ago.)
In 1979, I was lucky enough to spend the summer on a study tour of France led by our French teacher (also owner of a travel agency) Mrs. Palyok. Part of the trip was a family stay for, I think, ten days. There was a group near Paris in Chevreuse, and our group in Mulhouse (in Alsace, near Germany). My family, the Madigniers spoke little English, which was the idea. The French families, I'm reasonably sure, were instructed to converse with us only in French. They were a sweet bunch, though.
Parallels with my real family were eerie. They were also Catholic, so they also had 118 children. (OK, we had 5 and they had 6, but still.) Our family had a new silver Impala with a red interior marred by seat covers, and they had a new silver Citroen with a red interior marred by seat covers. Both families consisted of one girl and the rest boys. (This is the point where I'm supposed to say that Mlle. Madignier was a raving beauty. It is to my deep regret that I am unable to do that.)
The big difference was that they had a dog, a dachshund called Yaqui. He was a good fellow. I remember Madame Madignier bringing him along when she showed me the Alsatian countryside. I think I still have the pictures somewhere. I wasn't much of a dog person back then, but I liked him a lot.
One night Madame Madignier served us a meat dish for supper. It was conspicuously delicious, and I asked what kind of meat it was. She said it was just meat, maybe a trifle evasively, and I thought, "Where's the dog?" And I completely lost it. I just dissolved into giggles, and there was no way in hell I could tell them what had caused it. I eventually just said that it was an American joke, and got myself calmed down.
(When I told my folks about this, they, especially my dad, said that I should have told the Madigniers what made me laugh, and maybe I should have. With the perspective of decades, it seems likeliest that the meat was horse. I don't know if there could have been any comfortable way out of that situation. Fortunately, even then I was pretty relaxed about people thinking I'm crazy.)
In 1979, I was lucky enough to spend the summer on a study tour of France led by our French teacher (also owner of a travel agency) Mrs. Palyok. Part of the trip was a family stay for, I think, ten days. There was a group near Paris in Chevreuse, and our group in Mulhouse (in Alsace, near Germany). My family, the Madigniers spoke little English, which was the idea. The French families, I'm reasonably sure, were instructed to converse with us only in French. They were a sweet bunch, though.
Parallels with my real family were eerie. They were also Catholic, so they also had 118 children. (OK, we had 5 and they had 6, but still.) Our family had a new silver Impala with a red interior marred by seat covers, and they had a new silver Citroen with a red interior marred by seat covers. Both families consisted of one girl and the rest boys. (This is the point where I'm supposed to say that Mlle. Madignier was a raving beauty. It is to my deep regret that I am unable to do that.)
The big difference was that they had a dog, a dachshund called Yaqui. He was a good fellow. I remember Madame Madignier bringing him along when she showed me the Alsatian countryside. I think I still have the pictures somewhere. I wasn't much of a dog person back then, but I liked him a lot.
One night Madame Madignier served us a meat dish for supper. It was conspicuously delicious, and I asked what kind of meat it was. She said it was just meat, maybe a trifle evasively, and I thought, "Where's the dog?" And I completely lost it. I just dissolved into giggles, and there was no way in hell I could tell them what had caused it. I eventually just said that it was an American joke, and got myself calmed down.
(When I told my folks about this, they, especially my dad, said that I should have told the Madigniers what made me laugh, and maybe I should have. With the perspective of decades, it seems likeliest that the meat was horse. I don't know if there could have been any comfortable way out of that situation. Fortunately, even then I was pretty relaxed about people thinking I'm crazy.)
Tuesday, June 7, 2011
Dad's bad day
When I went to visit Dad yesterday afternoon, he was fairly cheerful and feeling all right except that his belly was uncomfortable and he couldn't stop burping. Eventually he started coughing a bit and breathing fast. The nurse came by to check his blood sugar but was concerned about his breathing, especially when she wanted to listen to it with a stethoscope and asked him to breathe deeply and he couldn't.
Then ensued a Marx Brothers stateroom scene: every medical professional in South Carolina piled into the room, mostly bringing equipment as well. Oxygen, chest X-rays, the whole deal. A deputy hospital administrator turned up as well. A cynic would say that somebody told them who Dr. Dantzler is. (Dr. Dantzler ran the Department of Health & Environmental Control for about 40 years.) But they're a good bunch up there and I really think they would have done this for anybody.
Regardless, brother William arrived and slightly later Dad's fiancee Margaret did. We were stuck out in the corridor. The administrator told us Dad was being moved to the Intermediate ICU because he needed a little more care than they could give on the 6th floor. However, the new room needed to be cleaned so it would be about a half hour. (Note to hospital administrators: don't give specific times, because when the half hour turns into an hour, anxiety proliferates.)
We were stuck in the ICU waiting area, a cell phone dead zone, for nearly an hour. I had already called our siblings in Boston and now couldn't get in touch, so was heading for the elevators to find somewhere I could phone out again when I met the same staffer who had led us down to the waiting area in the first place. She said Dad was in his new room, so we went. They weren't ready for us yet, so we got to hang out in another corridor. However, cell phone coverage returned, so I got to talk to all siblings not present.
When we got to see Dad finally, we were pleased that he looked good and was holding up as well as could be expected. His speech behind the oxygen mask was hard to understand, though, which was maybe a bit worrying. I ran home to eat a bit and to pick up some food for Margaret at Lizard's Thicket. When I got back, William left, presumably also for food. As on the previous two days, Dad had low blood sugar, so they gave him juice and then dextrose and got it back up. The staffers were all really great. I had missed the doctor, but apparently all he said was they didn't know what the problem was.
I left at about 10. My sister Anne (a doctor in Boston) was able to reach the nurse (Hillary) and got the story. The chest X-ray had shown something in both lungs, but they didn't know if it was pneumonia or something he'd inhaled or something else. Given the burping followed by coughing, one would think it would be the aspiration.(The fact that they aren't giving him antibiotics indicates that they don't much think that it's pneumonia.)
Regardless, a respiratory therapist came by why I was still there and gave him a bronchial dilator, and that apparently helped a lot. By the time Anne talked to Dad, she could actually hear him over the phone, whereas I hadn't been able to hear him putting my ear by his mouth. So things were much improved as of last night at bedtime. The respiratory therapist said they were going to do the dilator again every few hours. She suggested he might not need the oxygen anymore by morning. Anyway, continued improvements are expected, and I'm looking forward to seeing him as soon as I can get over there.
Then ensued a Marx Brothers stateroom scene: every medical professional in South Carolina piled into the room, mostly bringing equipment as well. Oxygen, chest X-rays, the whole deal. A deputy hospital administrator turned up as well. A cynic would say that somebody told them who Dr. Dantzler is. (Dr. Dantzler ran the Department of Health & Environmental Control for about 40 years.) But they're a good bunch up there and I really think they would have done this for anybody.
Regardless, brother William arrived and slightly later Dad's fiancee Margaret did. We were stuck out in the corridor. The administrator told us Dad was being moved to the Intermediate ICU because he needed a little more care than they could give on the 6th floor. However, the new room needed to be cleaned so it would be about a half hour. (Note to hospital administrators: don't give specific times, because when the half hour turns into an hour, anxiety proliferates.)
We were stuck in the ICU waiting area, a cell phone dead zone, for nearly an hour. I had already called our siblings in Boston and now couldn't get in touch, so was heading for the elevators to find somewhere I could phone out again when I met the same staffer who had led us down to the waiting area in the first place. She said Dad was in his new room, so we went. They weren't ready for us yet, so we got to hang out in another corridor. However, cell phone coverage returned, so I got to talk to all siblings not present.
When we got to see Dad finally, we were pleased that he looked good and was holding up as well as could be expected. His speech behind the oxygen mask was hard to understand, though, which was maybe a bit worrying. I ran home to eat a bit and to pick up some food for Margaret at Lizard's Thicket. When I got back, William left, presumably also for food. As on the previous two days, Dad had low blood sugar, so they gave him juice and then dextrose and got it back up. The staffers were all really great. I had missed the doctor, but apparently all he said was they didn't know what the problem was.
I left at about 10. My sister Anne (a doctor in Boston) was able to reach the nurse (Hillary) and got the story. The chest X-ray had shown something in both lungs, but they didn't know if it was pneumonia or something he'd inhaled or something else. Given the burping followed by coughing, one would think it would be the aspiration.(The fact that they aren't giving him antibiotics indicates that they don't much think that it's pneumonia.)
Regardless, a respiratory therapist came by why I was still there and gave him a bronchial dilator, and that apparently helped a lot. By the time Anne talked to Dad, she could actually hear him over the phone, whereas I hadn't been able to hear him putting my ear by his mouth. So things were much improved as of last night at bedtime. The respiratory therapist said they were going to do the dilator again every few hours. She suggested he might not need the oxygen anymore by morning. Anyway, continued improvements are expected, and I'm looking forward to seeing him as soon as I can get over there.
Monday, June 6, 2011
That's so cuuute!
I hear the above a lot when telling people that my 90-year-old dad has a 90-year-old girlfriend. Said in exactly the same tone as when a couple of seven-year-olds are caught kissing. Listen: old people are people, too. (So are seven-year-olds, come to think of it.) Life expectancy may not be stretching that much but death expectancy is going down, so you might well be a 90-year-old yourself someday. You'll probably want to maintain some kind of romance in your life. It's about all that's keeping my dad alive, which might explain my hypersensitivity.
I don't think people mean to be demeaning. I think they're trying to say something very positive, and it's such an unusual situation that they're caught flat-footed. Here's a tip: "That's so great!" sounds a lot nicer and a lot less condescending than "That's so cuuute!"
I don't think people mean to be demeaning. I think they're trying to say something very positive, and it's such an unusual situation that they're caught flat-footed. Here's a tip: "That's so great!" sounds a lot nicer and a lot less condescending than "That's so cuuute!"
Sunday, June 5, 2011
Hoping for the best, dreading the worst
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.
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.
Saturday, June 4, 2011
Powered by bitterness and envy
(An extrapolation)
Little lady, 75
Loving and hoping and waiting
in vain.
Nothing left but the gall and the cataracts.
Which is blinding her worse none can say.
It's funny how the ones who marry only
the Prince of Peace
can hate so much.
Little lady, 75
Loving and hoping and waiting
in vain.
Nothing left but the gall and the cataracts.
Which is blinding her worse none can say.
It's funny how the ones who marry only
the Prince of Peace
can hate so much.
Friday, June 3, 2011
5-7-5
(I am assured that the term for a 5-7-5 poem is senryu. Haiku is a specific type of senryu. As I recall, in the first two lines, you have to mention a season and in the third one you have to mention appropriate weather for the season. Or something like that. You could look it up.)
Living forever
alone is not as fun as
a short time coupled
Living forever
alone is not as fun as
a short time coupled
Thursday, June 2, 2011
Lazy S
The move to adulthood many decades late marches on. Dad wants me to work on his estimated taxes due this month. Of course, he's already done all the heavy lifting, so it shouldn't be any major difficulty. And he'll be cutting the check so as not to upset the IRS by having a strange name on it. (I'll bring the checkbook.) But it's still a strange sense of grownupness that I haven't faced before. I'll probably start shaving some day soon.:)
His condition gets better every day, especially as regards mental acuity. The only thing that concerns me a little is that he now speaks with a lazy S, which I don't recall him ever doing before. He's on several medications that he hadn't been taking before. Hopefully he'll be able to stop one or more of those. With luck, the speech patterns will clear up either with that or with the passage of time. But of course if he walks again and also has a lazy S, we'll live with it. It isn't much of an impediment; he is readily understandable.
His condition gets better every day, especially as regards mental acuity. The only thing that concerns me a little is that he now speaks with a lazy S, which I don't recall him ever doing before. He's on several medications that he hadn't been taking before. Hopefully he'll be able to stop one or more of those. With luck, the speech patterns will clear up either with that or with the passage of time. But of course if he walks again and also has a lazy S, we'll live with it. It isn't much of an impediment; he is readily understandable.
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Two steps forward
Two steps forward and one step back is still progress. (Also, not a Paula Abdul/ MC Skat Kat reference.) Dad had difficulties yesterday, as his blood pressure was too high in the morning for physical therapy. They gave him medication three different times (two different medications) to bring it down. I have raved in the past and will rave in the future that I'd strongly prefer it if American medicine would investigate causes rather than just issue a pill for every problem. However, in this instance, the medications did eventually at least partially lower his blood pressure.
So we were present for an attempt at physical therapy. Unfortunately, that didn't go so well. He could only stand up and uh, lost control of bodily functions. So no physical therapy went on yesterday. They probably should have thought that through a little better.
However, brother Malcolm Jr., who has spent far more time with Dad than the rest of us, says he's doing much, much better. Talking better, thinking more clearly, eating for himself and pulling himself up in the bed when he needs to. So progress is happening, if a little slower than we might wish. And he's moving to the rehab floor at Baptist today, as he wishes. He doesn't have to move to HealthSouth. Yay! (He doesn't have anything against HealthSouth; it's just that Margaret rehabbed at Baptist after her hip replacement and the rehab went well. We will hope for the same.)
So we were present for an attempt at physical therapy. Unfortunately, that didn't go so well. He could only stand up and uh, lost control of bodily functions. So no physical therapy went on yesterday. They probably should have thought that through a little better.
However, brother Malcolm Jr., who has spent far more time with Dad than the rest of us, says he's doing much, much better. Talking better, thinking more clearly, eating for himself and pulling himself up in the bed when he needs to. So progress is happening, if a little slower than we might wish. And he's moving to the rehab floor at Baptist today, as he wishes. He doesn't have to move to HealthSouth. Yay! (He doesn't have anything against HealthSouth; it's just that Margaret rehabbed at Baptist after her hip replacement and the rehab went well. We will hope for the same.)
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