August 28 drizzling eyes

8/27/09

Dad is still sick – he’s congested and his voice is hoarse. Even worse, the germs have somehow gotten into his eyes, which are red and oozing pus. We’ll have to call the doctor tomorrow.

Being sick has made Dad’s mental abilities deteriorate – he responds pretty appropriately to questions and in conversation, but when he speaks spontaneously, he either leaves the sentences unfinished, or just talks gibberish. For instance, he asked me “when is your normal floor takeover??” And then there was the following exchange; Dad: “I was going to spend time making up, but I didn’t do it, did I?” Me: “Making up?” Dad: “Doing lost causes.”

When I asked how he felt, he said, “My eyes are still drizzling.” He keeps trying to improve the situation by washing his face – in fact, one of his clearest remarks of the evening was “I’m going to wash my face assiduously.”

I tried to engage him in conversation, but it was slow going, as though the words were having to slog through the glop in his head. “The cat is drinking,” I told him. “I wonder if she’s drinking cedar or something stronger?” he asked. “Cats don’t drink cider,” I told him. “They don’t?” he asked. “They only drink water,” I explained, leaving out the unusual instance of Lex, my lemonade-loving grey tabby. “That’s all they drink?” he asked. “Yes,” I replied.

“The cats like to knock over the garbage,” I told Dad. “They think it’s fun.” This made him laugh. “So you tip it over before they get a chance?” he asked, apparently thinking this was a logical solution. “No,” I told him, “I pick it up afterwards.”

“Why is he not sitting down?” he asked me suddenly, looking at thin air. “Why is who not sitting down?” I ask. “Did you see somebody?” “Yeah,” he answers, “but now I don’t see anybody.”

Oddly enough, when I put on Pete Seeger’s cd, Dad not only remembered him, but remembered going to see his concert way back in November and remembered that it was crowded! You never know what’s going to stick in that brain of his.