A little better

    I talked to the social worker at the nursing home. Anne had suggested that maybe Dad could take weekend passes, and Gail confirmed that this is a possibility. I stress again that we all want Dad and Margaret to be together, and if possible for it to be in her home. We just want to be sure that they're safe there. Anyway, Gail said that they were planning to get started on Dad's discharge plan. I suggested that they might want to expedite the process. She also noted that leaving Against Medical Advice would adversely affect his chances of continuing dialysis. So hopefully he'll get over that whole "I'm free and over 21" thing.

Second breakout attempt

    Dad is again (or still) saying that it's time to get out of the nursing home. I don't think my English skills are up to the task of conveying how I feel about this. On the one hand, the idea thrills me beyond words. I want so badly for him and Margaret to be able to live together and happily. On the other hand, they cannot grasp that two largely blind, mobility-impaired people are not going to be able to live independently, particularly as one of them has totally draining dialysis three times a week.
    I'm trying to persuade them first that they shouldn't be driving and that they can easily afford a ride service. (PS: They can.) Then that they need some kind of live-in help for meals, cleaning, etc. Or that maybe they'd both be happier in Assisted Living at this or another nursing home.
    It would be easy just to say, "Great! I get my life back!" and let them just get on with it. But then I'd be worrying about them 24 hours a day. I don't think they grasp that other people really care about them, and that their welfare matters to us. Anyway, I'm hoping to adjust Dad's thinking such that he'll at least agree to a transition period, which he most desperately needs. Not too hopeful, but not hopeless either. Remembering what he was like in July, say, makes it easy to feel good about the situation. He may be infuriatingly stubborn, but he's all there. And that's just awesome.

The need for escape

    Not to harp on the dreaming mind exclusively, but I do notice that sometimes when things are bad I get nightmares but sometimes I get instead particularly delightful dreams. (Probably not what you're thinking, however.) Last night I had what should have been an anxiety dream (going back to college) but instead it was a hoot. For some reason, I was going back to college in Vermont. Or somebody was. Like the subtitles incident, I was sort of in the dream and sort of watching it. Sometimes both at the same time. Go figure.
    The delightful part was driving up to what should have been dormitories and finding instead little Airstream trailers. Or rather, the delightful part was going into the Airstream trailer and finding a multi-story house in there. Obviously, I'm reading too much Harry Potter. I was, yet again, tickled in my sleep, and the mood lift carried over into the morning. I think your brain knows when you've had too much, when you need a vacation, and when you can't possibly have one, it gives you one anyway. Or maybe my subconscious just ran out of nightmares. Anyway, I was grateful.
    Earlier I had a dream where for some reason I was laying out all my possessions in front of a gas station. The peculiar thing about dreams is that nothing is peculiar in dreams. I guess this could also have been an anxiety nightmare, but everything was totally relaxed. I even checked their mail to see if there was anything for me.
    Meanwhile, more or less in real life, Dad and I watched "2001: A Space Odyssey" on TCM. It didn't make a lot more sense to me than when I was 6. But it shore was purty. Unfortunately, all the beepy noises brought a nurse's aide running. Soooo not the ideal movie to watch in a nursing home!

Now with subtitles

    Excuse me, what is this? ---> ` ? It's the key next to the 1 key, at least on this notebook. There's a single quotation mark on the same key as the double quotation mark, so that isn't it. It isn't an accent unless you combine it with a letter, which I forget how to do. The capitalized version is ~, which could also combine with a letter, at least in Spanish, but otherwise just means "approximately."
    Sorry, just got bewildered there. And this blog entry is sure to be another thin one. I had another delightful dream, but the delightful part was just an instant long. Because for a second there, my dream had subtitles. I couldn't really read them, but in the dream I knew they were subtitles. I was fairly tickled in the dream, too. I also had some kind of odd dream about being in a shop picking out a parrot. I don't know where in hell that would have come from either, though I guess it might have some tangential connection with rereading Harry Potter. Or my recent worry about my constant use of non-stick pans. (They'll kill your parrot if you aren't careful enough with them.)

Clods

    No, not dumb people; the kind that come off your shoes. My favorite actual trail near here (as against boardwalks and concrete paths) is in Congaree Creek Heritage Preserve across the river in Cayce. Somehow, I always forget to wipe my feet when I get home. Thus, I'm always following myself around with a dust pan sweeping up the clods, as they look like something the kitty would interpret as food. Which makes me a guess-what?

More stress we didn't need

    Yesterday at suppertime, I got a call from the nursing home. Dad had come back from dialysis with very low blood pressure (70 over 30). So they just sent him on to the emergency room. (He's transported to and from dialysis by ambulance, so the ambulance was already handy.)
    Next was the joy of trying to get any information out of the hospital. They literally put me on hold for 19 minutes. When I hung up and tried again, I got more cooperation, but not much. "He's seen a doctor, but nothing has been ordered," was about the best I got, but they did take my number at least.
    Eventually, a doctor called back to say that Dad is fine. They gave him some sandwiches and his blood pressure came back no problem. The problem was getting him back to Rice Home, or getting someone to answer the phone there so it could be arranged. I told her just to keep trying and felt awful giving such lame advice. Then I looked in my package from Rice Home and found that though I didn't have a number for any of the nursing stations, I did have one for the director. Tried it and got him, too. And he said the same thing I did: sometimes the nurses are busy with residents; you just have to keep trying.
    I would have liked to go over and keep Dad company, but I had given out both my cell phone and land line numbers and I was also trying to get in touch with Margaret and my siblings. So I figured I'd be more use here. I couldn't get Margaret, as she was out visiting. By the time she got back to me, everything was better. And a minute later, Rice Home called to say that Dad was on his way back. Color us relieved.
    It's a question I can't answer whether the nurse at Rice just overreacted and was over cautious in sending him to the ER. Or for that matter whether the dialysis clinic drew off too much fluid. I just hope this never happens again, but am happy for the happy ending.

A hundred percent

    The parade of good news continues. Dad will not be receiving occupational therapy anymore because he graded out at one hundred percent on all the skills that they have been working on. Huzzah! Now, I'm not sure he can yet open a simple bottle, so there is some question whether the skills they work on actually have much to do with daily life (which is what occupational therapy is for when you're 90). But what the hell-- Huzzah anyway! We had a long wait for any damn good news, and we deserve it. Yay!