2/26/10
“I was raised in a fish factory,” says Dad, when I tell him I have brought some fresh salmon fillets for his dinner. He's referring to the fact that his hometown, Gloucester, Mass., is one of the country's busiest fishing ports. When he was thrown out of World War II because of his fragile knees, he wound up cutting fish on the docks in Gloucester. He always used to tell the story of a co-worker who went to scratch his itching ear, forgetting the blade in his hand. The severed ear was retrieved, and rushed to the hospital, where it was reattached. He never forgot the importance of a sharp knife and kept the knives in his kitchen sharpened to a lethal edge.
We brought Dad to see his long-term internist, Dr. Hammer, on wednesday, trying to get to the bottom of his sore arm. Jaelynn got him up early to bathe and get dressed, and he was pretty irritated with the whole process. Dr. Hammer wasn't worried about the arm – he said it seemed like a tendon injury and that we should just let it heal as long as it doesn't get worse. He gave him a general inspection, and discovered a broken tooth, so we have a dentist in our future, along with a dermatologist, and an audiologist . . . for someone as healthy as he is, Dad sees a lot of doctors.
“I think I will despair if this cat dies before I do,” says Dad, reaching down to pet Kristen, who is hanging around his legs. It's definitely a situation I worry about, since she's about as old as he is, in cat years. I don't know if we could get away with substituting another cat, though I have a good candidate – Iris is a middle-aged, sweet tuxedo lady who would love to be an only cat. A couple days ago, Dad and Charlie were on the phone, and Charlie, who used to have much-beloved siamese cats of his own, said something, and Dad responded, “I don't have a pussy!” which sent Kate S. into spiels of laughter.
Today's another snow day for the public schools. “You used to love snow days,” I tell Dad, remembering how pissed he was when he missed a precious snow day because he was on sabbatical in Honduras. “I still do!” he replies, emphatically.
Friday, February 26, 2010
Thursday, February 18, 2010
2/18/10
Anxiety Dream: Dad and Samantha are walking somewhere when he is hit by a car and killed. He keeps reincarnating in the form of various discombobulated people. Even though they bear no physical resemblance to him – some of them are women and some are various races – somehow I know that they are him and feel compelled to take care of them.
Dad has been having trouble with pain in his right arm since Friday. It's an on-and-off kind of pain that he describes as “Wham! And then nothing,” but it is so severe when it occurs that he screams in pain. Jaelynn went running into his room in panic several times tuesday night, and Kate S. was similarly freaked out when he screamed while getting up from the couch on wednesday. Since it wasn't getting better, she and I decided to take him to the ER for an x-ray yesterday, knowing that old bones are fragile. Dad complained all the way down the stairs, but when we got to the hospital he was pretty good, though in the waiting room he speculated that they were going to give him a dose of poison and kill him. It took a long time, but eventually the results came back – nothing broken – so we bundled Dad up in JaeLynn's coat over his own and brought him home.
Today Dad says, “I feel sort of snorty and bitchy. I don't feel good.” I wonder if he's catching a cold. Even though he's not feeling well, Dad's all hands tonight – I have to catch his hands and hold them to keep him from trying to feel my legs and breasts. Finally, my explanation about how daughters don't do that sinks in, and he backs off. “What should we do now?” he asks, apparently unable to think of anything else two people could possibly do. “Listen to music?” I suggest. He agrees and is shortly happily tapping away to his steel drums cd.
Dad has been having trouble with pain in his right arm since Friday. It's an on-and-off kind of pain that he describes as “Wham! And then nothing,” but it is so severe when it occurs that he screams in pain. Jaelynn went running into his room in panic several times tuesday night, and Kate S. was similarly freaked out when he screamed while getting up from the couch on wednesday. Since it wasn't getting better, she and I decided to take him to the ER for an x-ray yesterday, knowing that old bones are fragile. Dad complained all the way down the stairs, but when we got to the hospital he was pretty good, though in the waiting room he speculated that they were going to give him a dose of poison and kill him. It took a long time, but eventually the results came back – nothing broken – so we bundled Dad up in JaeLynn's coat over his own and brought him home.
Today Dad says, “I feel sort of snorty and bitchy. I don't feel good.” I wonder if he's catching a cold. Even though he's not feeling well, Dad's all hands tonight – I have to catch his hands and hold them to keep him from trying to feel my legs and breasts. Finally, my explanation about how daughters don't do that sinks in, and he backs off. “What should we do now?” he asks, apparently unable to think of anything else two people could possibly do. “Listen to music?” I suggest. He agrees and is shortly happily tapping away to his steel drums cd.
Monday, February 15, 2010
2/15/10
2/15/10
Today Dad seems to think we're shop-keepers. “Are you waiting for customers? When do they start coming in?” he asked me. When I explained that there wouldn't be any customers because today is President's Day, he said, “if anyone turns up, we say 'sorry, we're not in business today.'”
“My pants don't fit,” said Dad to Jaelynn last night. “I think I'm pregnant.”
Last week I accidentally gave Dad a stomach virus. Since I only vomited once, and I was on the train at the time, I figured it was an attack of motion sickness, and continued on my way to spend friday night with Dad. Saturday night, after Dad had gone to bed, Samantha heard a loud “Jesus Christ!” She ran to the bedroom to find Dad vomiting over the side of the bed. He was quite perplexed and kept asking her “why is this happening?” Luckily, he was better the next day.
Dad has a new nickname. It all started on Saturday, when I was on the phone with Kate S. “Dad's feeling perky,” I told her. “Did you say I feel like a turkey?” inquired Dad. “Not turkey, perky,” I said. Dad didn't get it. “PERKY, PERKY!!!” I yelled, but he still didn't get it. “Energetic!” “Energetic,” he repeated, and I thought he understood, but then he asked, “Quirky?” So now he's the Quirky Turkey.
Today Dad seems to think we're shop-keepers. “Are you waiting for customers? When do they start coming in?” he asked me. When I explained that there wouldn't be any customers because today is President's Day, he said, “if anyone turns up, we say 'sorry, we're not in business today.'”
“My pants don't fit,” said Dad to Jaelynn last night. “I think I'm pregnant.”
Last week I accidentally gave Dad a stomach virus. Since I only vomited once, and I was on the train at the time, I figured it was an attack of motion sickness, and continued on my way to spend friday night with Dad. Saturday night, after Dad had gone to bed, Samantha heard a loud “Jesus Christ!” She ran to the bedroom to find Dad vomiting over the side of the bed. He was quite perplexed and kept asking her “why is this happening?” Luckily, he was better the next day.
Dad has a new nickname. It all started on Saturday, when I was on the phone with Kate S. “Dad's feeling perky,” I told her. “Did you say I feel like a turkey?” inquired Dad. “Not turkey, perky,” I said. Dad didn't get it. “PERKY, PERKY!!!” I yelled, but he still didn't get it. “Energetic!” “Energetic,” he repeated, and I thought he understood, but then he asked, “Quirky?” So now he's the Quirky Turkey.
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