Now... non-nightmare nightmares

    The subconscious fascinates me, and the only one I have to work with is my own. As a little kid I had a scary dream involving a gorilla, and in the dream my brother Frank told me not to be scared, that it was just a dream. Last night, my subconscious tried a new wrinkle. Horrifying stuff happened and I just shrugged and carried on. First I fell asleep reading Harry Potter. Since I was still holding the book (and my place), my hands were up and exposed. Thus they were freezing. This might have something to do with the fact that I dreamed about sliding down a snow-covered mountainside in what was more or less a gigantic shoebox. In real life, I would find this a little nerve-wracking. In the dream, I just went with the flow. If anything, I thought it was mondo cool.
    Later (with warmer hands), I dreamed that I was driving and everywhere I went, people just rammed into my car (with theirs) at high speed. And every time, I just got out and helped them out, including asking if they needed me to take anything they wouldn't want the police to see. (Hey, it was a dream. I assure you I wouldn't do anything like this in real life.) On the whole, it was very neat. The worst stuff kept happening, and I just wasn't bothered. THESE are nightmares I can live with.

Good weekend

    Saturday morning, I picked up Dad at the nursing home to take him to Margaret's for the weekend. I picked them up at noon or so for lunch with brother William at Lizard's Thicket. Then Margaret wanted Dad to have a haircut with her stylist (around the corner from where I live) so I gave them a ride there and back, too.
    Sunday, I was standing by, but they didn't need me. They went to Captain D's (fast food seafood) for a late lunch, then by the cemetery (also in my neighborhood) to see Margaret's son-in-law's grave. To be honest, I had no idea what to do with my first actual weekend in seven or eight months. But I really did need to be standing by.
    I picked up Dad about 5 and took him back in time for both supper and the Super Bowl at the nursing home. By all signs and portents, they had a wonderful weekend together. Dad used his walker and had no problem except for the continuing thing with shortness of breath and limited stamina. I think that's just connected to dialysis.
    A good weekend? A great weekend? I don't know, but I did skip all the way from the nursing home back to the car, which I don't remember ever doing before.

I hate conflict

    Yet I seem to have run into a lot, lately. I guess the goal is to improve my conflict resolution skills, which are already pretty good. However, there just seems to be no way to get a couple of nonagenarians to admit that they really can't live independently, and that attempting to try is going to cause infinite stress to all their children. One hopes they enjoy their weekend, but also realize this might be harder than they think.
    Coincidentally, I also hate conflict in fiction. This may be why the Great American Novel hasn't sprung from me yet. Or maybe it's the whole not having any talent thing, I don't know.:)

Doors

    Long long ago, I took a Junior Year Abroad at the University of Kent at Canterbury. (That was the name back then, though they've since dropped the "at Canterbury." It's still there as far as I know, however.) It was set up as a group of colleges, each with its own building, each consisting of classrooms, dormitories and common rooms. The ones I stayed in also had dining halls, though I don't think all of them did. In other words, being a very new university, they were playing at being Oxbridge. I don't think they got very near their mark, but the setup worked pretty well on its own terms.
    UKC was where I had what the network TV of the time would have called my "very special episode." The college I was living in at the time made you pass through a lot of portals, mainly double doors, to get anywhere. The girl I was going to see lived in the same college, but at the other end. So I had to cross the dining hall to get to her. And I remember all those double doors seeming to have some otherworldly significance. It was like (to be a lot more earthly) the opening credits for "Get Smart!" or "Mystery Science Theater 3000."
    Every door or set of doors I passed through seemed like its own decision, or the underlining of a decision. Today I got my dad out of the nursing home for his first weekend pass. There were only two doors we had to go through, but I got much the same sense, even just on the drive to come pick him up. Yaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaay!

Peace in our time

    The care plan meeting went well. Dad eventually agreed to go to Assisted Living for at least a few weeks. And he finally accepted that he wouldn't be driving himself to and from dialysis, that NObody can do this. And we made some progress in getting him to accept that it might be better if he give up driving entirely. I did have to throw Margaret under the bus a bit, by saying that she was the one who said that he shouldn't drive. But she smoothed that over by saying it wasn't a question of his skills but that he can't turn his neck. And she told me later when I tried to apologize to her that that was all right. It WAS the only way to shock him out of the idea of driving.
    He does get to go stay with Margaret all weekend, or anyway all Saturday and Sunday. They are perfectly happy with the idea that I can sign him out every non-dialysis day, so Margaret doesn't necessarily have to come visit any more. I'll start driving him to dialysis and back, too, once he gets to Assisted Living. So it'll be a heavier burden on me for a little while, but I can use some distraction about now.
    There is a solid health reason for him staying, apart from learning how to do dialysis without an ambulance. He's concerned about his shortness of breath, and wants to know if it could have anything to do with any of the medications he's taking. The head of nursing made a note to have the staff doctor see him about it. Hopefully, he can allay Dad's fears.
    So a good day. Yay!

Not the LEAST bit stressed out

    So today is the meeting to determine Dad's exit strategy. He really believes he'll be going to stay with Margaret for the weekend for the first time this weekend. I think this is extremely unlikely. On the other hand, we can sign him out for any number of hours either Saturday or Sunday (or both). So this weekend shouldn't be any big issue.
    And there's no big issue between us and the Rice Home. Everybody wants Dad to go home, be with Margaret and be well. The only big issue is that Dad thinks he can restart his life as it was before. And he could. To be more specific, the big issue is why he would want to. He didn't do such a great job with it for a number of years. His movements ground to a halt and his driving was scary and getting scarier. So somehow, we have to persuade him to take it easy on the driving, and not sweat a slow transition to life outside the nursing home.
    It occurs to me that Margaret no longer needs to come visit Dad. Instead I could just check him out on every non-dialysis day and bring him to her house for the afternoon. Which would also get me out of their hair. I love this plan!

Kitty ventriloquist

    Sometimes, the kitty wants to get between the sheets with me, as against lying on top of the bedspread on my legs like she normally does. Possibly because I'm lying on my side at this point with a pillow against my ear (which might mess up directional hearing) or possibly because I have a sleep mask on, I can never quite figure out where her voice is coming from, and generally reach towards the wrong place trying to pet her head. Fortunately, I haven't put any eyes out or done any other kind of damage. And I realize it isn't anything earth-shattering. I just think it's neat.