3/18/10
It's been a busy week for Dad and Jaelynn, who have been navigating their way to various appointments by themselves while I've been busy with my own medical bullshit. On tuesday, they headed to the Quest lab for Dad's urine culture, and to the foot doctor. In the elevator, Dad was doing his usual blind groping to find out about his surroundings – unfortunately, he was feeling the Fed Ex guy's ass. Luckily, the guy was cool about it. At the lab, Dad startled the “audience” of waiting people by asking JaeLynn, loudly, if he could fuck her. “Dad! We're in the doctor's office!” she told him, but he was not deterred.
Jaelynn has become the latest target of Dad's affections – he asks her to get naked or to have sex with him at least once a day. The other day, he patted her and said, “you're a little plump, aren't you?” She takes it in stride and just laughs about the situation.
The other day Dad asked Jaelynn what she was doing. “I'm painting my toenails, Dad,” she said. “Can you do mine?” asked Dad. “No, only women – and some transwomen – and some gay men paint their nails,” she said. “Do mine,” Dad insisted, removing his shoe. Dad now has a layer of shiny, clear polish.
Today they went for Dad's follow up appointment at the Urologist. The inefection has cleared up, but the doctor did a sonogram and showed JaeLynn how much urine Dad is retaining. He told her that if the situation does not improve by the next visit, Dad may have to have surgery. I wish I had been there to get more details, but I was being x-rayed so much that I probably glow in the dark now.
We've been making a general effort to keep Dad busy – now that the weather's nice, Jaelynn sits with him outside, she's got him doing his leg exercises again, and today we had him playing with a shape sorter, feeling the blocks and the holes to figure out where to put them. The increased activity has definitely helped – he's sleeping through the night a lot more now, more likely to wake up in the morning, walking better, and overall in a better mood.
Thursday, March 18, 2010
Tuesday, March 9, 2010
3/9/10
3/9/10
Jaelynn and I took Dad to the ear doctor on friday. The appointment was in the afternoon, but Dad was asleep, and he was pissed about being woken up and dragged out of the house. All the way down the stairs and in the cab, he kept complaining “This is stupid! This is insane!” Finally, I realized that he thought it was the middle of the night rather than mid-afternoon. I left JaeLynn and Dad sitting in the waiting room while I filled out various forms, and when I turned back to them, Dad had taken Jaelynn's glasses and was wearing them himself! It was pretty funny.
In the exam room, the doctor quickly caught on that you have to address Dad LOUDLY, and he used his best loud voice to ask him how long he'd been having trouble hearing. “I don't have any trouble hearing,” said Dad, looking confused. At that point, the doctor decided to address his questions to me. After he examined Dad, he sent us down the hall to the audiologist. I had some doubts about whether Dad would be able to remember the instructions well enough to complete the hearing tests, but he did pretty well, and they were able to determine that he is pretty much completely deaf in his right ear (which we knew) and fairly deaf in his left ear (which was a surprise). I feel pretty bad that I let him get this deaf without bringing him to the doctor, but it's hard to figure out what part of his misunderstandings is his brain and what part is his ears. I'm looking forward to seeing how he does with his new, very expensive, hearing aid – it's supposed to be ready on the 22nd.
Saturday night, two of my now-grown former youth dropped by – one of them is a real estate agent who is showing a storefront near Dad's house. JD was there to spend the night with Dad, and he had brought along his girlfriend, Sam, so it was a full house and Dad, my party animal, seemed to be enjoying it. At one point, he asked how many people were there. “Five – plus you!” JD told him. “Fuck you?” he asked, causing everyone to laugh. Sam and I, who both saw the mischievous look on his face, are convinced that his remark was not a misunderstanding, but Dad having a little fun.
Last night started out to be a boring, gloomy evening – Dad headed to bed as soon as I arrived, and Marie said that she thought maybe we should start him on Ensure since he's not eating as much because he's always asleep. Luckily Brianna was feeling antsy at home, and decided to come visit us. I lured Dad out of bed with the promise of lemon sorbet, and he sat on the couch gloomily. “I feel really bad,” he said. “I feel ancient.”
Brianna had brought play-doh, thinking that maybe Dad's sleepiness is just boredom. I handed Dad a piece of play-doh, which he inspected, but didn't seem to know what to do with. “Can you make a ball?” I asked him. He couldn't figure it out, so I took it, made a rough ball, and gave it back to him. “I'm making it smooth,” he said turning it around and around in his hands. Once he had perfected the ball, I took it from him, and made something else. “It's a snake,” I said giving it back to him. He felt it carefully; “here's the head,” he said, before giving it back. Next I made two balls and handed them to him, “there are two now,” he said. Then the two became four, which Dad carefully counted. When we got to eight, he said, “I'm not going to drop any,” cupping them all precariously in one hand. I took another piece of play-doh and made a bowl, which I balanced in his other hand. Gingerly, he placed all eight balls in the bowl. We played with the play-doh for forty minutes, which is a really long time for someone with Dad's attention span.
Jaelynn and I took Dad to the ear doctor on friday. The appointment was in the afternoon, but Dad was asleep, and he was pissed about being woken up and dragged out of the house. All the way down the stairs and in the cab, he kept complaining “This is stupid! This is insane!” Finally, I realized that he thought it was the middle of the night rather than mid-afternoon. I left JaeLynn and Dad sitting in the waiting room while I filled out various forms, and when I turned back to them, Dad had taken Jaelynn's glasses and was wearing them himself! It was pretty funny.
In the exam room, the doctor quickly caught on that you have to address Dad LOUDLY, and he used his best loud voice to ask him how long he'd been having trouble hearing. “I don't have any trouble hearing,” said Dad, looking confused. At that point, the doctor decided to address his questions to me. After he examined Dad, he sent us down the hall to the audiologist. I had some doubts about whether Dad would be able to remember the instructions well enough to complete the hearing tests, but he did pretty well, and they were able to determine that he is pretty much completely deaf in his right ear (which we knew) and fairly deaf in his left ear (which was a surprise). I feel pretty bad that I let him get this deaf without bringing him to the doctor, but it's hard to figure out what part of his misunderstandings is his brain and what part is his ears. I'm looking forward to seeing how he does with his new, very expensive, hearing aid – it's supposed to be ready on the 22nd.
Saturday night, two of my now-grown former youth dropped by – one of them is a real estate agent who is showing a storefront near Dad's house. JD was there to spend the night with Dad, and he had brought along his girlfriend, Sam, so it was a full house and Dad, my party animal, seemed to be enjoying it. At one point, he asked how many people were there. “Five – plus you!” JD told him. “Fuck you?” he asked, causing everyone to laugh. Sam and I, who both saw the mischievous look on his face, are convinced that his remark was not a misunderstanding, but Dad having a little fun.
Last night started out to be a boring, gloomy evening – Dad headed to bed as soon as I arrived, and Marie said that she thought maybe we should start him on Ensure since he's not eating as much because he's always asleep. Luckily Brianna was feeling antsy at home, and decided to come visit us. I lured Dad out of bed with the promise of lemon sorbet, and he sat on the couch gloomily. “I feel really bad,” he said. “I feel ancient.”
Brianna had brought play-doh, thinking that maybe Dad's sleepiness is just boredom. I handed Dad a piece of play-doh, which he inspected, but didn't seem to know what to do with. “Can you make a ball?” I asked him. He couldn't figure it out, so I took it, made a rough ball, and gave it back to him. “I'm making it smooth,” he said turning it around and around in his hands. Once he had perfected the ball, I took it from him, and made something else. “It's a snake,” I said giving it back to him. He felt it carefully; “here's the head,” he said, before giving it back. Next I made two balls and handed them to him, “there are two now,” he said. Then the two became four, which Dad carefully counted. When we got to eight, he said, “I'm not going to drop any,” cupping them all precariously in one hand. I took another piece of play-doh and made a bowl, which I balanced in his other hand. Gingerly, he placed all eight balls in the bowl. We played with the play-doh for forty minutes, which is a really long time for someone with Dad's attention span.
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
3/3/10
3/3/10
We took Dad to the dentist yesterday. He was unhappy about going out and kept asking “is this necessary?” the whole way. When we got there, we shared an elevator with an older gay man, on his way to the same dentist, who kept chatting with Dad. When we got to the waiting room, apparently deciding that the waiting people were his audience, he announced, loudly “This is my favorite song!” and then sang a few bars of “Do-Do-Da-Do,” and ended with “etcetera, etcetera.” Everyone in the waiting room laughed. Then the gay man told Dad, “you are so lucky to have such a nice daughter caring for you.” Dad responded, indignantly, “I don't have a daughter!” Everyone, including the ladies behind the desk, froze, wondering what was going to happen next. I suppose they thought I might burst into tears or something, but I just told Dad, calmly, “I'm your daughter, right here!” and tapped him on the shoulder, at which point he said, “Oh, good!” and applauded.
Once they brought him into the dental office, the dentist pulled three of his front teeth on the bottom. It was hardly pulling, actually, he just kind of effortlessly plucked them out and sutured the hole. Aside from one “Shit!”, Dad didn't seem bothered by the process. We brought him home and he went straight to bed. We were all afraid that he would be in pain, but he woke up fine, though he was complaining to Jaelynn that someone stole his teeth.
Somehow the whole thing was harder for me than it was for him. It was like I couldn't stand losing any piece of dad, not even three rotten teeth, and all these feelings came rising up. I kept stuffing them down – couldn't cry in front of Dad, then JD showed up at my office having just been fired, then I had clients . . . finally, on the train on my way home, I opened a book, hid my face, and cried all the way home.
We took Dad to the dentist yesterday. He was unhappy about going out and kept asking “is this necessary?” the whole way. When we got there, we shared an elevator with an older gay man, on his way to the same dentist, who kept chatting with Dad. When we got to the waiting room, apparently deciding that the waiting people were his audience, he announced, loudly “This is my favorite song!” and then sang a few bars of “Do-Do-Da-Do,” and ended with “etcetera, etcetera.” Everyone in the waiting room laughed. Then the gay man told Dad, “you are so lucky to have such a nice daughter caring for you.” Dad responded, indignantly, “I don't have a daughter!” Everyone, including the ladies behind the desk, froze, wondering what was going to happen next. I suppose they thought I might burst into tears or something, but I just told Dad, calmly, “I'm your daughter, right here!” and tapped him on the shoulder, at which point he said, “Oh, good!” and applauded.
Once they brought him into the dental office, the dentist pulled three of his front teeth on the bottom. It was hardly pulling, actually, he just kind of effortlessly plucked them out and sutured the hole. Aside from one “Shit!”, Dad didn't seem bothered by the process. We brought him home and he went straight to bed. We were all afraid that he would be in pain, but he woke up fine, though he was complaining to Jaelynn that someone stole his teeth.
Somehow the whole thing was harder for me than it was for him. It was like I couldn't stand losing any piece of dad, not even three rotten teeth, and all these feelings came rising up. I kept stuffing them down – couldn't cry in front of Dad, then JD showed up at my office having just been fired, then I had clients . . . finally, on the train on my way home, I opened a book, hid my face, and cried all the way home.
Friday, February 26, 2010
2/26/10
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.
“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.
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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