Thought everyone would enjoy a quick video of Dad. One of Dad's nurses caught the footage on his cell phone for us to enjoy. If you can make it out, you can see the hemi walk in Dad's right hand, and some sort of strap that the therapist is using for safety around Dad's waist.
I'll provide another update soon, but I wanted to get this footage out as soon as possible.
Saturday, April 4, 2009
Thursday, April 2, 2009
Therapy for all
Dad, Mom, my younger brother and I met with the therapists today. A sort of "round table" discussion on Dad. Sort of.. because the table was actually rectangular, but you get the idea.
Leading off the discussion was Ruth, the nurse or assistant to Dad's doctor while at Jim Thorpe. She said that everything relating to his medical condition was good. She went through a variety of medications explaining why each was prescribed. It's kind of funny to think of Dad on Ritalin, but it's actually a common prescription for brain injury patients. Helping to concentrate, etc. They also have him on anti-seizure medication. While I'm unaware of Dad suffering from any seizures, it's fairly common for brain injuries.
In terms of the anti-seizure medication, it makes me think of that old joke. The one about the elephant repellent system. Guy goes on about how well it works, other guy says something about there not being any elephants in town, first guy remarks about how well it works.
Second up today was the physical therapist. Dad is walking better, although he clearly (as is to be expected) is suffering from muscle atrophy on his right side. He actually walked 200' with a hemi walker. I think it's a hemi walker. It's smaller than what you typically picture, and designed for someone using only one arm. So, the 200' is good, but Dad is still largely ignoring his right side without encouragement. They kept referring to it as motor planning, awareness, etc. With a little help, he can get out of his wheelchair. With a little more help, he can walk reasonably well, but not quite well enough to go unassisted.
The really good news at this point in the meeting was the consensus among all of the center employees that Dad would continue to progress for another 6 to 12 months. They couldn't say how far he would get, or what limitations would remain. But it was very good news to know that he hasn't reached those limitations yet.
The occupational therapist "Doni" was up next. She really emphasized the "re-directing" and the motor planning issues. Things as simple as brushing your teeth. She said that just earlier this week, he could brush really well, but got confused when he was told to rinse. He'd just start brushing again. I'd point out that he's really really stubborn, but this is related to the stroke. Either way, he's now rinsing without much confusion.
All-in-all his ability to take care of his own hygiene needs is improving better than expected. He's determined to do everything himself, however he'll always need some assistance, or at least special accomodations as it relates to showering, etc. We've all seen those shower seats, or something like them. He just needs a shower that's easy to get into, and then some safe way to sit down while he bathes.
Kimmie, the speech therapist followed occupational therapy. She said that his cognitive expression is suffering right now. Same stuff I've been saying, only more technical. He gets frustrated with his inability to put his feelings, wishes or thoughts into the right words. He is saying many more 'real' words than the jargon he was using at first. She encouraged him to focus on using one or two words to convey what he wanted to say. Oddly enough, he still insists on forming complete sentences.
I'll insert this as it's appropriate for the context, but my eldest daughter called shortly after the meeting came to an end. She does this everyday when getting home from school. I used the opportunity to put Dad on the phone. He talked to her only briefly, but I was surprised how much of it I could understand. What really made me smile was the bubbly voice on the phone when Dad handed it back to me, "DAD, I COULD UNDERSTAND EVERYTHING HE SAID TO ME!" Her enthusiasm was infectious, to say the least.
As a wrap-up, the case worker "Ruth" ran through their recommendations. They still recommend a 24-hour skilled nursing facility at this time. He's close, but still needs help with most daily functions. He shouldn't be left alone, for sure. If not a 24-hour facility, some sort of an adult daycare, or in home aides to assist with his daily needs.
Dad disagrees, and wants to go home immediately. The center is keeping him through the weekend, so we need a definitive plan by Monday. I don't really know for sure what we're going to do at this time. We plan to talk about it more the next few days. It was a good meeting, and certainly encouraging to the family, if not a little disappointing for Dad himself. He still wants to go home. Obviously, sooner than later.
Leading off the discussion was Ruth, the nurse or assistant to Dad's doctor while at Jim Thorpe. She said that everything relating to his medical condition was good. She went through a variety of medications explaining why each was prescribed. It's kind of funny to think of Dad on Ritalin, but it's actually a common prescription for brain injury patients. Helping to concentrate, etc. They also have him on anti-seizure medication. While I'm unaware of Dad suffering from any seizures, it's fairly common for brain injuries.
In terms of the anti-seizure medication, it makes me think of that old joke. The one about the elephant repellent system. Guy goes on about how well it works, other guy says something about there not being any elephants in town, first guy remarks about how well it works.
Second up today was the physical therapist. Dad is walking better, although he clearly (as is to be expected) is suffering from muscle atrophy on his right side. He actually walked 200' with a hemi walker. I think it's a hemi walker. It's smaller than what you typically picture, and designed for someone using only one arm. So, the 200' is good, but Dad is still largely ignoring his right side without encouragement. They kept referring to it as motor planning, awareness, etc. With a little help, he can get out of his wheelchair. With a little more help, he can walk reasonably well, but not quite well enough to go unassisted.
The really good news at this point in the meeting was the consensus among all of the center employees that Dad would continue to progress for another 6 to 12 months. They couldn't say how far he would get, or what limitations would remain. But it was very good news to know that he hasn't reached those limitations yet.
The occupational therapist "Doni" was up next. She really emphasized the "re-directing" and the motor planning issues. Things as simple as brushing your teeth. She said that just earlier this week, he could brush really well, but got confused when he was told to rinse. He'd just start brushing again. I'd point out that he's really really stubborn, but this is related to the stroke. Either way, he's now rinsing without much confusion.
All-in-all his ability to take care of his own hygiene needs is improving better than expected. He's determined to do everything himself, however he'll always need some assistance, or at least special accomodations as it relates to showering, etc. We've all seen those shower seats, or something like them. He just needs a shower that's easy to get into, and then some safe way to sit down while he bathes.
Kimmie, the speech therapist followed occupational therapy. She said that his cognitive expression is suffering right now. Same stuff I've been saying, only more technical. He gets frustrated with his inability to put his feelings, wishes or thoughts into the right words. He is saying many more 'real' words than the jargon he was using at first. She encouraged him to focus on using one or two words to convey what he wanted to say. Oddly enough, he still insists on forming complete sentences.
I'll insert this as it's appropriate for the context, but my eldest daughter called shortly after the meeting came to an end. She does this everyday when getting home from school. I used the opportunity to put Dad on the phone. He talked to her only briefly, but I was surprised how much of it I could understand. What really made me smile was the bubbly voice on the phone when Dad handed it back to me, "DAD, I COULD UNDERSTAND EVERYTHING HE SAID TO ME!" Her enthusiasm was infectious, to say the least.
As a wrap-up, the case worker "Ruth" ran through their recommendations. They still recommend a 24-hour skilled nursing facility at this time. He's close, but still needs help with most daily functions. He shouldn't be left alone, for sure. If not a 24-hour facility, some sort of an adult daycare, or in home aides to assist with his daily needs.
Dad disagrees, and wants to go home immediately. The center is keeping him through the weekend, so we need a definitive plan by Monday. I don't really know for sure what we're going to do at this time. We plan to talk about it more the next few days. It was a good meeting, and certainly encouraging to the family, if not a little disappointing for Dad himself. He still wants to go home. Obviously, sooner than later.
Wednesday, April 1, 2009
Looking for inspiration
Another transition is closing in on us very quickly. The center has announced that Dad has reached the end of his rehabilitation with them. His last night will be Thursday, and we'll be moving him Friday.
You'd think that was good news. As Dad is still in need of almost constant care, it presents a rather substantial hurdle to taking him home. The center is recommending a 24-hour facility where he can continue to rehabilitate for another 100 days. 100 days is the magic number that the medicare system has placed on this phase of his recovery.
At this time, we're still weighing all of our options. We'd all like to bring Dad home now, but are trying to be realistic as we face our own limitations in providing the care he continues to need today. It looks like we're going to spend a little time with counseling staff from the center tomorrow. We need to ask more questions and get a realistic idea of what is and is not possible at this time.
Hang in there Dad. We're trying.
You'd think that was good news. As Dad is still in need of almost constant care, it presents a rather substantial hurdle to taking him home. The center is recommending a 24-hour facility where he can continue to rehabilitate for another 100 days. 100 days is the magic number that the medicare system has placed on this phase of his recovery.
At this time, we're still weighing all of our options. We'd all like to bring Dad home now, but are trying to be realistic as we face our own limitations in providing the care he continues to need today. It looks like we're going to spend a little time with counseling staff from the center tomorrow. We need to ask more questions and get a realistic idea of what is and is not possible at this time.
Hang in there Dad. We're trying.
Monday, March 30, 2009
Watching basketball
I got my game yesterday. I mentioned a little ways back how much I've enjoyed watching basketball with Dad. I got to do it again yesterday. Mom worked out that day pass I mentioned in an earlier post, and Dad got to come home for a little while.
He arrived an hour or so before the game, and got a quick trip around the house with help from my brother. He was anxious to show Dad all the work he had accomplished during Dad's stay in the hospitals. I heard Dad very clearly stating "wow." Quite a few of them, to be honest. He was clearly happy with what had transpired in his absence.
It didn't take long for him to tire, so Dad only caught the 2nd half of the game. I'm not sure that he didn't get the best nap he's had in a while, as he was able to sleep on his own bed. I'm not sure how often we checked on him during that brief time. You'd have thought someone had a newborn in the house. Regardless, it was good to sit next to him and exchange a rather clumsy high five during one point late in the game. Funny, now that I think about it. There wasn't nearly as much complaining during this loss as you would have witnessed earlier in the season.
My sister supplied us all with chocolate shakes from Wendy's. Since the frosty has become Dad's primary source of nutrition the last week or so, she felt like it seemed fitting that we all eat along with him. He seemed pleased by the sentiment.
I also witnessed him moving his right hand. The movement required intense focus, and it was little more than extending his fingers, and then subsequently squeezing them into his palm. But it was more than I've seen in the last 5 weeks. At this point, you'd have to describe any real motion on his right side in that same manner. It requires great focus and effort. I don't know what the future will bring along these lines. It's nice to imagine him fully mobile again, and able to use his hand as he used to. I don't know if that's realistic, but I'm hopeful for his sake that he'll go as far as he wants.
It was a good day. A nice afternoon spent relaxing with family, watching sports, and eating horribly fattening foods. The kids were running through the house, lots of joyful screaming and giggling. Everyone was relaxed, and Dad was happy. I'm told that he continued that frame of mind as he returned to the clinic. Hopefully with more motivation to rehabilitate and return for good.
He arrived an hour or so before the game, and got a quick trip around the house with help from my brother. He was anxious to show Dad all the work he had accomplished during Dad's stay in the hospitals. I heard Dad very clearly stating "wow." Quite a few of them, to be honest. He was clearly happy with what had transpired in his absence.
It didn't take long for him to tire, so Dad only caught the 2nd half of the game. I'm not sure that he didn't get the best nap he's had in a while, as he was able to sleep on his own bed. I'm not sure how often we checked on him during that brief time. You'd have thought someone had a newborn in the house. Regardless, it was good to sit next to him and exchange a rather clumsy high five during one point late in the game. Funny, now that I think about it. There wasn't nearly as much complaining during this loss as you would have witnessed earlier in the season.
My sister supplied us all with chocolate shakes from Wendy's. Since the frosty has become Dad's primary source of nutrition the last week or so, she felt like it seemed fitting that we all eat along with him. He seemed pleased by the sentiment.
I also witnessed him moving his right hand. The movement required intense focus, and it was little more than extending his fingers, and then subsequently squeezing them into his palm. But it was more than I've seen in the last 5 weeks. At this point, you'd have to describe any real motion on his right side in that same manner. It requires great focus and effort. I don't know what the future will bring along these lines. It's nice to imagine him fully mobile again, and able to use his hand as he used to. I don't know if that's realistic, but I'm hopeful for his sake that he'll go as far as he wants.
It was a good day. A nice afternoon spent relaxing with family, watching sports, and eating horribly fattening foods. The kids were running through the house, lots of joyful screaming and giggling. Everyone was relaxed, and Dad was happy. I'm told that he continued that frame of mind as he returned to the clinic. Hopefully with more motivation to rehabilitate and return for good.
Thursday, March 26, 2009
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.
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.
Wednesday, March 25, 2009
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.
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.
Sunday, March 22, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, March 19, 2009
Responding to loss
Dad was asleep when we arrived tonight. It was good to see him sleeping soundly, but also made me more aware of how vulnerable he looks. I hate to think about how much weight he must have lost. And it isn't like he had a lot to work with beforehand.
If you didn't know my father as a youngster, you might be surprised to know that he was once overweight. Like everything else in his life, when he made the decision to lose weight, he simply did. Nothing fancy, no miracle diets, just the internal will and determination to change who he was. To become what he wanted.
I was anxious to visit with him after the last visit. I'd heard of a good visit yesterday, and selfishly wanted to experience some of that myself. But I didn't want to wake him up just to suit my selfishness.
He woke up anyway, and through a drowsy gaze greeted us appropriately. We helped him become comfortable through adjustments in bed, shifting around the covers, and providing him with this crazy sponge thing that functions as a makeshift toothbrush/tongue scraper.
Eventually, he took my arm and began to try and communicate. He was desperate that I understand his wishes. It took some time, and a little help from my brother to fully comprehend.
He wants to go home.
...
Officially, there are 5 stages of grief as it relates to a significant loss in your life:
Denial and Isolation
Anger
Bargaining
Depression
Acceptance
...
I'm no expert on anything emotional. The running joke around my house is "my husband with the cold dead black heart." So, I'm obviously at a loss to fully explain Dad's feelings or where he's at emotionally. It's clear that Dad is working through his loss at this time.
There is a paper on the wall that talks about patients with aphasia and how to interact with them. I don't remember everything on the list, but it all seemed fairly common sense:
Talk directly to them.
Loss of speech isn't a loss of intelligence.
Loss of speech isn't always an inability to understand.
Ask them questions that can be answered with a "yes" or "no."
I think I've heard the term before, but tonight was the first time I've seen "aphasia" applied to Dad.
Aphasia: loss of the ability to produce and/or comprehend language, due to injury to brain areas specialized for these functions, such as Broca's area, which governs language production, or Wernicke's area, which governs the interpretation of language.
I listened intently to everything that Dad had to say. I was honest about the need to stay at the center, and our inability to care for him at home at this time. I promised to talk with my mother and siblings about his care. I acknowledged that ultimately the decisions about his care were up to him.
I think what I witnessed tonight was Dad going through the stages of grief. I hope that what I witnessed tonight was Dad's unwillingness to accept his current situation, and the beginnings of him fully committing himself to rehabilitation.
If you didn't know my father as a youngster, you might be surprised to know that he was once overweight. Like everything else in his life, when he made the decision to lose weight, he simply did. Nothing fancy, no miracle diets, just the internal will and determination to change who he was. To become what he wanted.
I was anxious to visit with him after the last visit. I'd heard of a good visit yesterday, and selfishly wanted to experience some of that myself. But I didn't want to wake him up just to suit my selfishness.
He woke up anyway, and through a drowsy gaze greeted us appropriately. We helped him become comfortable through adjustments in bed, shifting around the covers, and providing him with this crazy sponge thing that functions as a makeshift toothbrush/tongue scraper.
Eventually, he took my arm and began to try and communicate. He was desperate that I understand his wishes. It took some time, and a little help from my brother to fully comprehend.
He wants to go home.
...
Officially, there are 5 stages of grief as it relates to a significant loss in your life:
Denial and Isolation
Anger
Bargaining
Depression
Acceptance
...
I'm no expert on anything emotional. The running joke around my house is "my husband with the cold dead black heart." So, I'm obviously at a loss to fully explain Dad's feelings or where he's at emotionally. It's clear that Dad is working through his loss at this time.
There is a paper on the wall that talks about patients with aphasia and how to interact with them. I don't remember everything on the list, but it all seemed fairly common sense:
Talk directly to them.
Loss of speech isn't a loss of intelligence.
Loss of speech isn't always an inability to understand.
Ask them questions that can be answered with a "yes" or "no."
I think I've heard the term before, but tonight was the first time I've seen "aphasia" applied to Dad.
Aphasia: loss of the ability to produce and/or comprehend language, due to injury to brain areas specialized for these functions, such as Broca's area, which governs language production, or Wernicke's area, which governs the interpretation of language.
I listened intently to everything that Dad had to say. I was honest about the need to stay at the center, and our inability to care for him at home at this time. I promised to talk with my mother and siblings about his care. I acknowledged that ultimately the decisions about his care were up to him.
I think what I witnessed tonight was Dad going through the stages of grief. I hope that what I witnessed tonight was Dad's unwillingness to accept his current situation, and the beginnings of him fully committing himself to rehabilitation.
Tuesday, March 17, 2009
Adding insult to injury
When we arrived to see Dad tonight he was extremely animated. I had heard good things about physical therapy and his reaction to my sister last night, so I was excited to see so his enthusiasm at my arrival. It appears, however, that I'm not a very perceptive person. What I perceived at enthusiasm at my appearance was actually a heightened sense of agitation.
It took a little while to figure out what was on his mind. He was making gestures in the direction of the sink, and I was only able to make out a few words from time to time. But he was clearly angry. I understood enough to discover that one of the staff from the center had upset him. I called in the nurse to discuss who had been in the room but this only seemed to make things worse. I requested a full list of who had been in to see Dad, and she could only plead ignorance with no real answer as to whom had been in to see him.
At this point, I bumped up the ladder a bit and asked for the charge nurse. I took her up on the suggestion to go to the desk, at which point I was face to face with the lady running the floor for the night. She had taken care of Dad previously, and followed me back to his room along with his nurse for the evening. And, this is when it became apparent that it was his nurse that had angered him.
Awkward.
She was obviously more stunned than the rest of us as he gestured angrily in her direction. I asked her to leave the room while we continued to discuss the situation with the charge nurse and Dad. I asked him if she had been physically abusive and he thankfully replied "no." I asked if she had been disrespectful or rude and he replied emphatically "yes."
At this point, I'll admit that it doesn't really surprise me. She has been his nurse for several days of his stay at the center and I've never been terribly impressed with her apparent lack of empathy with her patients or their families. This is the same nurse that was somewhat unmoved as Dad fought that horrible headache this past weekend. She was busily chatting away on a cell phone when I interrupted her to ask if it were time for more medication, or if we should be concerned. The same nurse that referred to hospital policy as a reason for not allowing a TV closer to his bed. Close enough that he could actually see it.
So in hindsight, I probably should have seen this coming. I'm just such a blasted pessimist all the time, assuming the worst in people, that I try not to go down that road. I'm trying to be a 'kinder, gentler' me as I race through my 40's.
Back to Dad.
The charge nurse put me on the phone with her supervisor. He apologized for not being at the center, and then went on to apologize more profusely for the poor care that Dad was receiving. He's going to look into things tomorrow and provide me with more information. If nothing else, I would imagine that everyone was put on notice as it relates to Dad. Hopefully, he'll get the care he deserves, and expects until which time that he leaves the center and we enter into the next stage of his recovery.
Speaking of which, I'm told that he stood up yesterday. Not having seen it, I am instantly filled with images of him before the stroke. Tall and proud, sure of step, full of confidence. I'm sure that it wasn't quite like that, but it's a good sign. So, I'll take it for now, along with his determination to be treated with the dignity and respect that he deserves.
It took a little while to figure out what was on his mind. He was making gestures in the direction of the sink, and I was only able to make out a few words from time to time. But he was clearly angry. I understood enough to discover that one of the staff from the center had upset him. I called in the nurse to discuss who had been in the room but this only seemed to make things worse. I requested a full list of who had been in to see Dad, and she could only plead ignorance with no real answer as to whom had been in to see him.
At this point, I bumped up the ladder a bit and asked for the charge nurse. I took her up on the suggestion to go to the desk, at which point I was face to face with the lady running the floor for the night. She had taken care of Dad previously, and followed me back to his room along with his nurse for the evening. And, this is when it became apparent that it was his nurse that had angered him.
Awkward.
She was obviously more stunned than the rest of us as he gestured angrily in her direction. I asked her to leave the room while we continued to discuss the situation with the charge nurse and Dad. I asked him if she had been physically abusive and he thankfully replied "no." I asked if she had been disrespectful or rude and he replied emphatically "yes."
At this point, I'll admit that it doesn't really surprise me. She has been his nurse for several days of his stay at the center and I've never been terribly impressed with her apparent lack of empathy with her patients or their families. This is the same nurse that was somewhat unmoved as Dad fought that horrible headache this past weekend. She was busily chatting away on a cell phone when I interrupted her to ask if it were time for more medication, or if we should be concerned. The same nurse that referred to hospital policy as a reason for not allowing a TV closer to his bed. Close enough that he could actually see it.
So in hindsight, I probably should have seen this coming. I'm just such a blasted pessimist all the time, assuming the worst in people, that I try not to go down that road. I'm trying to be a 'kinder, gentler' me as I race through my 40's.
Back to Dad.
The charge nurse put me on the phone with her supervisor. He apologized for not being at the center, and then went on to apologize more profusely for the poor care that Dad was receiving. He's going to look into things tomorrow and provide me with more information. If nothing else, I would imagine that everyone was put on notice as it relates to Dad. Hopefully, he'll get the care he deserves, and expects until which time that he leaves the center and we enter into the next stage of his recovery.
Speaking of which, I'm told that he stood up yesterday. Not having seen it, I am instantly filled with images of him before the stroke. Tall and proud, sure of step, full of confidence. I'm sure that it wasn't quite like that, but it's a good sign. So, I'll take it for now, along with his determination to be treated with the dignity and respect that he deserves.
Sunday, March 15, 2009
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.
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.
Thursday, March 12, 2009
Adversity
The focus of the next 3 weeks of rehabilitation, is simply to get Dad to the point where he can reliable move around in a wheelchair. Let that sink in for a minute. 4 weeks of rehabilitation to get into a wheelchair. Like most people I know, we hold out hope that Dad will beat the odds.
He ate breakfast and lunch but declined to eat dinner today. He got dinner anyway, via the PEG. I'm sure he was tired, but he's also at that point in recovery where he's full realizing what is ahead. His speech is coming along at a similar pace. He's getting better, but growing less patient with his inability to communicate effectively. It's clear that there are frustration and/or depression issues to be worked through. Certainly understandable.
I don't know if it was the right thing to do, but I was honest with Dad about that first day. After the girls left the room, I talked to him about "the decision." That is, when the surgeon presented us with the option of surgery, knowing that he'd have a tough road ahead, but it would be his best option at survival. It was a tough story to tell him, and we both struggled to get through it.
We finished on a positive note, lots of kisses from grandaughters, a handshake and a promise to return this weekend. Thanks to all of you that continue to reach out through blog comments, phone calls and other well wishes. The messages are being conveyed to Dad, and it always makes him smile.
He ate breakfast and lunch but declined to eat dinner today. He got dinner anyway, via the PEG. I'm sure he was tired, but he's also at that point in recovery where he's full realizing what is ahead. His speech is coming along at a similar pace. He's getting better, but growing less patient with his inability to communicate effectively. It's clear that there are frustration and/or depression issues to be worked through. Certainly understandable.
I don't know if it was the right thing to do, but I was honest with Dad about that first day. After the girls left the room, I talked to him about "the decision." That is, when the surgeon presented us with the option of surgery, knowing that he'd have a tough road ahead, but it would be his best option at survival. It was a tough story to tell him, and we both struggled to get through it.
We finished on a positive note, lots of kisses from grandaughters, a handshake and a promise to return this weekend. Thanks to all of you that continue to reach out through blog comments, phone calls and other well wishes. The messages are being conveyed to Dad, and it always makes him smile.
Tuesday, March 10, 2009
Swallow
As defined by Merriam-Webster:
transitive verb
1 to take through the mouth and esophagus into the stomach
2 to envelop or take in as if by swallowing: absorb - "swallow the financial loss" "watch night swallow the valley"
3 to accept without question, protest, or resentment "swallow an insult" "a hard story to swallow"
4 take back retract "had to swallow my words"
5 to keep from expressing or showing: repress - swallowed my anger
6 to utter (as words) indistinctly
intransitive verb
1 to receive something into the body through the mouth and esophagus
2 to perform the action characteristic of swallowing something especially under emotional stress
Dad has done a lot of swallowing lately. I don't know that any of it has been easy. But the swallowing I'm excited about is related to food. He actually had his first "meal" today. I don't remember exactly what the staff told me, except that it was all sliced, diced, minced or otherwise mashed into the consistency of baby food. I know that the biggest worry related to him swallowing has been aspiration and/or choking. Puree the food so that choking is less likely. And thicken liquids to reduce the aspiration risk. I didn't try it personally, but I'm told he drank something the consistency of honey. Hopefully it all tasted good, Mom did comment that it smelled delicious.
The girls and I spent some time with him last night. He was asleep when we entered, but it didn't take long for our ensemble to rouse him from his slumber. Not intentionally, I think we might just be inherently noisy.
He responded well to our visit, but was obviously tired. We updated him on the last few days of our lives, including a rather unfortunate 'D' in 6th grade Spanish. We talked on about the progress on our new house, paying particular attention to the coloring of the kitchen tile and granite. I don't know if he feigned interest for our benefit, but he did seem to enjoy the talk. His voice is still quiet, and I understand only a few words. But it's still good to hear his voice, and see him work through this stage of rehabilitation.
He was alert and responsive enough to answer a few questions for me. While I understand that he can't move his right side, I didn't understand if that included sensation. I've been worried that he could be in pain, and unable to remedy the situation. In response to my question about feeling in his right arm, he simply shook his head 'no'.
I've been worried about his vision as well. Knowing that he had limited vision in his left eye due to the macular degeneration, I was worried that the stroke might have affected his right eye. Again, he responsed to my question, but this time when asked if he could see out of his right eye, he shook his head 'yes'.
We finished our visit and said our goodbyes as the staff came in to finish off his feeding for the day. This time, no swallowing. We were told previously, that the path to eating would be like everything else at this time in his recovery; one step at a time, accepting improvements as they come and providing support and encouragement as he continues down the path of recovery.
transitive verb
1 to take through the mouth and esophagus into the stomach
2 to envelop or take in as if by swallowing: absorb - "swallow the financial loss" "watch night swallow the valley"
3 to accept without question, protest, or resentment "swallow an insult" "a hard story to swallow"
4 take back retract "had to swallow my words"
5 to keep from expressing or showing: repress - swallowed my anger
6 to utter (as words) indistinctly
intransitive verb
1 to receive something into the body through the mouth and esophagus
2 to perform the action characteristic of swallowing something especially under emotional stress
Dad has done a lot of swallowing lately. I don't know that any of it has been easy. But the swallowing I'm excited about is related to food. He actually had his first "meal" today. I don't remember exactly what the staff told me, except that it was all sliced, diced, minced or otherwise mashed into the consistency of baby food. I know that the biggest worry related to him swallowing has been aspiration and/or choking. Puree the food so that choking is less likely. And thicken liquids to reduce the aspiration risk. I didn't try it personally, but I'm told he drank something the consistency of honey. Hopefully it all tasted good, Mom did comment that it smelled delicious.
The girls and I spent some time with him last night. He was asleep when we entered, but it didn't take long for our ensemble to rouse him from his slumber. Not intentionally, I think we might just be inherently noisy.
He responded well to our visit, but was obviously tired. We updated him on the last few days of our lives, including a rather unfortunate 'D' in 6th grade Spanish. We talked on about the progress on our new house, paying particular attention to the coloring of the kitchen tile and granite. I don't know if he feigned interest for our benefit, but he did seem to enjoy the talk. His voice is still quiet, and I understand only a few words. But it's still good to hear his voice, and see him work through this stage of rehabilitation.
He was alert and responsive enough to answer a few questions for me. While I understand that he can't move his right side, I didn't understand if that included sensation. I've been worried that he could be in pain, and unable to remedy the situation. In response to my question about feeling in his right arm, he simply shook his head 'no'.
I've been worried about his vision as well. Knowing that he had limited vision in his left eye due to the macular degeneration, I was worried that the stroke might have affected his right eye. Again, he responsed to my question, but this time when asked if he could see out of his right eye, he shook his head 'yes'.
We finished our visit and said our goodbyes as the staff came in to finish off his feeding for the day. This time, no swallowing. We were told previously, that the path to eating would be like everything else at this time in his recovery; one step at a time, accepting improvements as they come and providing support and encouragement as he continues down the path of recovery.
Monday, March 9, 2009
A day off
Dad is a work-a-holic. This won't come as news to anybody that knows him well. It was something of a disagreement between us for the ~15 years that we worked side by side. Personally, I blame it on his German heritage.
Vacations, for example. My own children accuse me of having a short memory, but I'm pretty sure that I can count on one hand the number of "family" vacations that I remember from my own childhood. Dad isn't cheap, and certainly not afraid of being away from home. It was just the time away from projects that needed his attention that was the issue.
Roughly one year ago, my dear wife pointed out that my own children had experienced an underwhelming total of two family vacations in their first 10 years on this planet. That discussion was the beginning of what would become our 2008 family Disneyworld vacation. We extended an invitation to Mom and Dad, knowing that the odds weren't good that he'd concede. If you've looked at the pictures on this page, you already know that he gave in.
So, Dad took a day off. Actually, he took seven days off. Mind you, this wasn't without a good deal of resistance. But he made sure that I didn't see any of it (a little bird told me). Actually, now that I think of it, I believe his exact comments were something along the lines of "SEVEN DAYS, HOW ON EARTH CAN WE STAY THERE FOR SEVEN DAYS?!?!"
In spite of my enthusiastic pace in what some of my family mistook as an effort to walk them all into early graves, everyone stayed on for the full duration. Dad walked on through some sort of foot injury, and by virtue of compensating ended up with muscle spasms. He walked on through the back pain until late in the night on day two. That's when he and I found ourselves in a cab, driving to an all night clinic in Orlando. But not to fret, after a muscle relaxant and a good nights rest, Dad was ready to continue onward as we trekked through the world of Mickey.
We had been home for several weeks when Dad thanked me. He was laughing when he admitted to his reluctance. But acknowledged having more fun than he expected. I never expected thanks, I was just glad for his company. But I was touched.
I took a day off today. Not from work, but I did not make it to the rehab center tonight. I played soccer dad, I provided dinner to my children (thank you Subway), and I assisted with homework. Oh, and I think I now understand the inner workings of the 6th grade female social circle.
Dad wasn't alone. The rest of the family spent time with him, focused around this evening. Mom relayed a relaxed time together. She says that they talked at length. And while she understood very little of what he said, his tone and tempo seemed consistent with any normal conversation.
I can't say whether Dad hears his voice as we do, but I still have confidence that he's getting better. I believe that he's stopped taking days off, and is now focusing on his newest project.
Vacations, for example. My own children accuse me of having a short memory, but I'm pretty sure that I can count on one hand the number of "family" vacations that I remember from my own childhood. Dad isn't cheap, and certainly not afraid of being away from home. It was just the time away from projects that needed his attention that was the issue.
Roughly one year ago, my dear wife pointed out that my own children had experienced an underwhelming total of two family vacations in their first 10 years on this planet. That discussion was the beginning of what would become our 2008 family Disneyworld vacation. We extended an invitation to Mom and Dad, knowing that the odds weren't good that he'd concede. If you've looked at the pictures on this page, you already know that he gave in.
So, Dad took a day off. Actually, he took seven days off. Mind you, this wasn't without a good deal of resistance. But he made sure that I didn't see any of it (a little bird told me). Actually, now that I think of it, I believe his exact comments were something along the lines of "SEVEN DAYS, HOW ON EARTH CAN WE STAY THERE FOR SEVEN DAYS?!?!"
In spite of my enthusiastic pace in what some of my family mistook as an effort to walk them all into early graves, everyone stayed on for the full duration. Dad walked on through some sort of foot injury, and by virtue of compensating ended up with muscle spasms. He walked on through the back pain until late in the night on day two. That's when he and I found ourselves in a cab, driving to an all night clinic in Orlando. But not to fret, after a muscle relaxant and a good nights rest, Dad was ready to continue onward as we trekked through the world of Mickey.
We had been home for several weeks when Dad thanked me. He was laughing when he admitted to his reluctance. But acknowledged having more fun than he expected. I never expected thanks, I was just glad for his company. But I was touched.
I took a day off today. Not from work, but I did not make it to the rehab center tonight. I played soccer dad, I provided dinner to my children (thank you Subway), and I assisted with homework. Oh, and I think I now understand the inner workings of the 6th grade female social circle.
Dad wasn't alone. The rest of the family spent time with him, focused around this evening. Mom relayed a relaxed time together. She says that they talked at length. And while she understood very little of what he said, his tone and tempo seemed consistent with any normal conversation.
I can't say whether Dad hears his voice as we do, but I still have confidence that he's getting better. I believe that he's stopped taking days off, and is now focusing on his newest project.
Sunday, March 8, 2009
Addidas or Nike?
Not a question we've faced before as it relates to Dad. But it looks like one of these fine manufacturers of comfortable clothing is going to be occupying the majority of his drawer space for the time being. Yesterday it was a snazzy new pair of sweatpants, but the choice for today is a much cooler pair of exercise shorts.
And so it is that the man who was seldom caught out of trousers or slacks, is now spending all of his time in Adidas exercise shorts. He does seem to be comfortable, and it's certainly better than the hospital gown. But we've already discussed this previously.
More interaction with the staff from the rehab facility today. And once again, they continue to impress. Professional, efficient and they continue to go out of their way to be polite and kind. Such a stark contrast to where we were the last two weeks.
I promised Dad that I'd bring him some food. I thought out some options, but I don't think I hit on his favorite. Don't get me wrong, he made several expressions of approval as I ran through the list of places that I know he frequents regularly. The deal is pretty simple; he gets back to swallowing real food, and I deliver on the meal. I hope I'm buying soon.
His voice is weaker than prior to the stroke Not that this is a surprise, or that I have any idea what it means. I'm not sure why, or how much stronger it will get. It's certainly understandable. I'm sure his energy level is low, and it could obviously be tied to the weakness on his right side. He's also getting better with syllables and sounds. He's a long way from delivering a speech or hosting a talk show, but he's closer to being understandable.
Oh, I almost forgot. He answered the phone today. I'm not sure how they coordinated it, but Mom called, and he answered. She just wanted to let him know that she'd be up soon. Now, maybe they worked it out in advance, but something so simple; something I certainly try to avoid around my own house, and something we all take for granted. But he answered the phone. Go figure.
And so it is that the man who was seldom caught out of trousers or slacks, is now spending all of his time in Adidas exercise shorts. He does seem to be comfortable, and it's certainly better than the hospital gown. But we've already discussed this previously.
More interaction with the staff from the rehab facility today. And once again, they continue to impress. Professional, efficient and they continue to go out of their way to be polite and kind. Such a stark contrast to where we were the last two weeks.
I promised Dad that I'd bring him some food. I thought out some options, but I don't think I hit on his favorite. Don't get me wrong, he made several expressions of approval as I ran through the list of places that I know he frequents regularly. The deal is pretty simple; he gets back to swallowing real food, and I deliver on the meal. I hope I'm buying soon.
His voice is weaker than prior to the stroke Not that this is a surprise, or that I have any idea what it means. I'm not sure why, or how much stronger it will get. It's certainly understandable. I'm sure his energy level is low, and it could obviously be tied to the weakness on his right side. He's also getting better with syllables and sounds. He's a long way from delivering a speech or hosting a talk show, but he's closer to being understandable.
Oh, I almost forgot. He answered the phone today. I'm not sure how they coordinated it, but Mom called, and he answered. She just wanted to let him know that she'd be up soon. Now, maybe they worked it out in advance, but something so simple; something I certainly try to avoid around my own house, and something we all take for granted. But he answered the phone. Go figure.
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