Stabbed in the eye with a fork

That popular phrase comes to mind when thinking of Dad this morning. Even though we knew he was concerned about losing his vision to macular degeneration, I think we might have underestimated his passion. He was so greatly relieved to learn that he was going to the eye doctor this morning, that he has been described as renewed and invigorated.

Mom and my brother picked him up this morning, and escorted him to the eye clinic, where I'm sure he'll undergo another of the injections that he's received monthly for the last few years. The same injections that he credits with saving his vision. They aren't a cure, but have been an effective treatment for retaining what vision he has left. To put things in perspective, Dad has been such an involved and beloved patient of the clinic, that his eye doctor came to the hospital and visited Dad while he was still in the ICU.

I didn't really go into detail, but those injections are given to him in his eye. Yes, you heard me right. Dad looks forward to going to the clinic for an injection IN HIS EYE. In all fairness, I'm sure he'd speak up here and tell us that the treatment is better than losing his vision.

Dad received another visit from the clinic psychiatrist, as well as an evaluation from the therapists. I haven't heard anything from the psychiatrist, but the therapists have seen enough of an improvement over the last week that they have agreed to keep him in the center for another week. That's certainly good news as it relates to Dad making more progress in such a positive environment.

Finally, Dad has also received a "day pass" to visit his house this Sunday. It's a good opportunity for him to feel alive again, and to see the progress made on his home remodel over the last 5-6 weeks. I'm told that he was thrilled with the news. I'm sure in some small way it serves to validate what we've been trying to get through to him: that message of rehabilitation and recovery and a chance to one day come home.

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.

Change of pace

Dad can lift his right leg. I did a double take the first time he did it, I honestly thought my eyes were playing tricks on me. It started when his oldest brother stopped by for a quick visit. He was tell Dad about his own stroke, and subsequent full recovery. You could tell that it took a great deal of concentration and focus, but sure enough, he was able to lift it around one foot off the bed.

The whole visit was better Saturday. Actually, the whole weekend seems to have been better than the preceding weekdays. Don't get me wrong, he's a far cry from being captain happy, but he seems to be in a better place than before.

We arrived shortly after 2 pm today, and Dad was sitting up in bed in obvious discomfort. He was slumping over, and struggling to explain the source of his distress. He alternated between grabbing his forehead and his chest. I won't go through the litany of disorders that ran through my mind, I'm sure similar things are going through yours as well. Frustrated, I called for backup: Mom and his nurse.

The nurse did a quick vitals check, and put the worst of my fears at rest. After more questions, Dad agreed rather emphatically to a drink of water. And then another. Following that was a third and fourth container of lemon flavored water, the consistency of honey. So, there you go, he was thirsty. Beyond thirsty actually, it looks like he was dehydrated.

After the first pudding cup sized glass of water, Dad felt well enough to move from the bed to the wheelchair. And it was from the wheelchair that he stayed as more guests arrived. It wasn't long before we had a room full.

Dad seemed to enjoy the company, I think it lifted his spirits. Eventually he conceded to being tired, so we helped him back to the bed and left shortly afterwards. As sad as it was leaving, it was good to see him happy and surrounded by laughter.