Repeating duplicated repetition

Each of my recent visits has left me with similar feelings to the last. Don't be surprised if this entry provides no new substantive information. That is, unless it leaves you feeling as confused as we are at this time.

Dad is still far from accepting his current stage of recovery. He still expresses sadness, anger and frustration at not being able to do the things he could just 3 weeks ago. However I can also see some sense of surrender to work within his current confines. I'm sure his outlook varies from hour to hour, visit to visit. Anyone going through this will calmly reassure you that all of this is normal, and part of the healing process.

The weekend started with a call from Mom, seeking some sort of help in convincing Dad to eat. He wouldn't talk with me over the phone, but later gave in and ate dinner. Whether it was a visit from my sister, or just more prodding from Mom, I don't really know. He was sad. Sad, and facing something we hadn't really thought of; the fact that his stomach has shrunk after 2 weeks of basic starvation. His appetite is significantly lessened, and added to that is the confusion of his constant state of napping interspersed through the day. He has admitted on several occasions that everything is blurring together making it difficult to distinguish one day from the next.

I offered to work with the staff and see if we couldn't bring up a larger television, or at least locate it closer to his bed. His vision doesn't allow him to see the small screen located on the wall opposite of his bed. I also suggested bringing up a white board in an effort for him to write something he was unable to speak aloud. He was enthusiastic at both suggestions. When I approached his nurse with the ideas, she agreed to the board, but declined on the television. I won't violate any rules of the facility, but my efforts on that area aren't over yet.

On the way to our Sunday visit, my daughter and I picked up a small white board and dry erase markers. She was very enthusiastic, as was I. We were disappointed to see Dad grimacing in pain when we arrived. We set the presents down so that we could get a better understanding of what was happening. I know that he has recently began to experience headaches. Being aware of what put him in this situation, the pain only increases his anxiety that perhaps something else is happening inside his head.

The staff explained that this wasn't unusual with head trauma cases. That the pain can vary in intensity all the way up to "severe migraine." That would certainly explain why he was on the verge of tears, and writhing in the bed. Over the course of our visit, the pain medication eased his headache for a while, only to return later. The standing orders are to send him to catscan Monday, should the pain persist through the evening. Not completely satisfied with that answer, we pursued hospital staff until we came across a kind occupational therapist willing to explore in more detail. After a quick check of his blood pressure, she assured us that were something more serious than a headache going on, we would know simply from a significant increase in the reading. Fortunately, his blood pressure was low. Unfortunately, he was still struggling to cope with the pain.

Not long after another dose of medication, dinner arrived. He initially refused, but the "frequent headache sufferers" in the family convinced him of the healing powers of a little food. He agreed, and I got to see his typical meal for the first time. Honestly, I was surprised at what I saw. It looked significantly like any other hospital meal you've ever seen. From previous entries, you may remember that everything he eats is the consistency of mashed potatoes. That's what was so confusing to me at first.

The meat 'thing' was in the shape of a salisbury steak. Now, I'm no big fan of salisbury steak, per se. But it did smell surprisingly good. The corn wasn't in the shape of corn exactly, but it was close enough to know what it was. Nothing significant about the mashed potatoes. The applesauce/apple puree was in a separate bowl, looking no different than you'd expect.

Mom fed him, but he turned up his nose at a couple of the offerings. At some point early in the meal, while she gently chided him to eat it anyway, I did ask if she'd tried it herself. This got a few chuckles from around the room and one of those "if looks could kill" from Mom. It wasn't long after, that I hopped up to the plate and tried a little bit of everything myself. I'll admit that I was a little apprehensive, but everything tasted no different than what you'd expect. The salisbury steak thing tasted like salisbury steak, the potatoes were potatoes and the corn was corn. Sort of. The corn was the worst insofar as it was dry and a little light on the flavor end of the spectrum. So, I don't blame him so much for not wanting more corn.

Finally, the whiteboard. This is becoming a point of contention among the family. While I personally take the stance that it won't hurt him to try and write some things down with his left hand, I've been told that if he can't form the word vocally, he won't be able to write it down either. I wasn't in the room when he actually tried, but I'm told by my daughter that he initially struggled to write much of anything meaningful. I pointed out to her how difficult it would be to write with your left hand (when you've been right-handed all your life) and she quickly pulled a pen and paper from her bag and proceeded to very quickly scribble out Dad. And this from somebody on my side. Anyway, we'll see how things go with the white board, I haven't given up, and as long as Dad is interested, will continue to encourage him to try.

So there it is for this weekend, and most likely for the future. Repeating efforts to sit up, to eat, to talk, and to write. Repeating efforts to communicate with his friends and family. Repeating efforts to live like a human being and the dignified man that we all know.