24 hour care

That's the phrase that keeps repeating in my head today. The phrase passed on to my mother shortly after Dad arrived at the rehabilitation center. In other words, he won't leave there ready to re-enter his life at home. Looks like we have some tough decisions up ahead.

I talked to him about it candidly last night. Hoping that he could take in the larger picture relating to his recovery. Our own inability as a family to take care of his current needs in the home setting at this time, and the required daily sessions of therapy and rehabilitation. His time at the center is coming to an end. There is some question to precisely how much time is left, it could be a few days, maybe a week. What do we do after the rehab center? We're exploring options, but I don't know that any of those options will include bringing him home at this point in time.

Depression, denial and dignity. The 3 d's currently occupying most of Dad's life. I don't know that denial is a fair word, but it's tough to completely understand what he's thinking or how he feels. It's clear that he wants to leave the center, he made that perfectly clear once again last night. Perfectly clear. I think he views the center as the source of his frustration. The center, and his family. I know that he's feeling abandonment, when ironically, we're a bigger part of his life now than we have been in the last 20 years.

The plan for today includes tracking down his doctor and learning more about their treatment of his depression. I think I explained in an earlier post that depression is normal in aphasia cases. It can be temporary or permanent, but either way it slows down recovery. He's been receiving some level of medication, but I don't think it's working. The charge nurse recommended a visit by the psychologist last night. Mom is going to follow-up today on several fronts. First, she's going to contact the eye doctor that has been treating Dad for the last few years. You can imagine his concern about losing his vision in a world where so many other senses are currently failing him. She's also going to follow-up on the depression front, and see what they recommend. Maybe one or both of these avenues will provide him with more hope and a better chance at returning home soon.

...

I watched Dad eat some chocolate last night. No, not pureed or mashed or chopped up, or any of that stuff. Solid, sweetened chocolate. Apparently, this isn't the first solid food that he's had in the last day or two. Looks like we're approaching the day when I have to make good on my promise and bring in some real food. I'm sure there are still rules, and I'll abide by those. But I'm excited to feed him something a little more appetizing.