It's about time

Dad is out of the hospital, and out of that blasted gown that prohibits any kind of modesty. I understand that your health is priority one, but I really wonder how much of that recovery is inhibited when they strip away your pride and self-respect.

Mom went shopping yesterday and Dad landed some fancy new "comfy" clothes. I offered up my sweatpants, but we both realized that they would be woefully too short. And that's still a little irritating. Aren't you supposed to grow taller than your father? I surrendered that fantasy some time ago, and settled on reaching 6'0". At my peak (yes, I seem to be shrinking) I reached 5' 11 3/4". I believe that our creator has a sense of humor.

Back to Dad. I don't think it was really that clear to me until today, but the hospital really does force a sense of surrender. My youngest and I had taken to dropping in on him around 7:30. This was on the way to her school, so we could both visit Dad at the hospital, and still get her dropped off before the first bell. It just so happens that this seems to be around the time of shift change, so there is a flurry of activity.

But it was this one nursing assistant that really stuck with me. Determinedly focused on completing her duties, her patient, and his wishes or preferences were really a distant second thought. Her attempt to check his blood sugar accurately was hampered by her constant fumbling with the equipment and struggles to follow the precise steps of the morning routine. Dad complied with every request, and although she did talk to him, I noticed she never made eye contact. It was the cotton ball, dangling from his recently pricked finger after she finished and walked away, that I can't get out of my mind.

It was kind of like static. You've opened a present, or container and a piece of the plastic covering sticks to your hand. So you reach over with the other hand, and you successfully achieve it's release, only to find that it's now stuck to the other hand. This goes on for a little bit, while you look like some silly dog chasing it's tail. Dad's attempts to remove the cotton ball, stuck to his finger, by using only the fingers of that same hand. I can't take it very long before I reach over and help him with it.

...

I would encourage anyone that wants to visit him to feel comfortable doing so. I think he needs all of the positive energy that we can send his way. His schedule for the weekdays are rather full, between all of his therapy sessions and a few naps in between. Weekends are better, but he may be whisked away at any moment for more rehab. If you do want to stop by, his rehab is normally complete by 4:00 in the afternoon. I don't know how long it will take him to get into any kind of routine, but I'd assume that he'll be fairly sleepy by sometime in the evening.

We saw his room at the rehab center early this afternoon. His window is huge, and actually has a view that extends beyond the roof of an adjacent building. The room is spacious and feels much warmer and intended for comfort. Even on the way in, it felt good. We were greeted by smiling faces and warm greetings. This really does feel like a place for healing.

He was asleep when we arrived, and his right arm had fallen down between the mattress and the side rail. The process of releasing his arm from it's captive state woke him up. He immediately made me laugh. When I suggested that we slide him over so his arm didn't once again fall into the crevice, he sort of shrugged and indicated a general state of indifference on the whole issue.

He brightened up when he saw his grandaughters and tried diligently to talk to them. For the first time, I understood a few of the words. The words weren't an immediate response to a question, but the beginning of a sentence that was thought through. Words like "I" or "Well". Simple, but certainly something good to hear after the last two weeks of silence and frustration.

Unfortunately, our visit was cut short by the physical therapists. Okay, it's unfortunate that it was cut short, but I have no complaints. The fact that he's getting rehabilitation is wonderful, and the therapists were warm, kind and gentle with him. They made eye contact, and showed him the respect that he's earned through a lifetime of accomplishment and caring for those around him.