Jan. 25, 2010

1/25/10

Dad is wandering around the apartment feeling things, clearly looking for something. “Dad, what are you looking for?” I ask. “The man,” he says. “What man?” “The man who's singing.” “Dad, that's Pete Seeger and it's a record, he's not actually here.” “He was earlier,” insists Dad. “No, it's just you and me.” I explain.

“What are we going to do?” Dad asks, looking around. I wait for the inevitable – when Dad is trying to think of something to do, his mind always goes down the same track. “I know,” he says, “we were going to eat!” “We already ate, Dad,” I remind him. “We had dinner AND dessert.” “What about a, a, a . . . “ - he gets stuck a lot lately. “A snack?” I say, completing the sentence and bringing him a cookie.

Earlier today, Dad got freaked out. He had just gotten off the phone with Charlie, when he choked on his juice. Recovering from the choking, he noticed that he was blind. “What happened?” he wanted to know. “Something shattered, shattered, shattered,” he kept saying, getting more agitated until he got out of his seat and started randomly groping around the apartment. “I should jump in the river and drown,” he said, trying to open the closet doors. “I should get in bed and stay there until I die.” I managed to steer him out of the closet and back to the couch, and Kristen, his cat, sensing his distress, jumped into his lap. I put on some soothing pan flutes, and Kristen snuggled, and we managed to calm Dad down.

At least the urinary infection is over. I spoke to the doctor the other day and he says Dad's blood-work, including his blood counts and sugar, look “amazing for a man his age.”