Friday, March 13, 2009
Today went much better, even though I'm in the middle of an absolutely miserable allergy attack which has, so far, remained impervious to Claritin.
Today I got phone calls from Dad's speech therapist, occupational therapist, and doctor, so the nursing home's really on the ball about getting his therapy program rolling. The doctor enjoyed talking to Dad, and said that while he qualifies medically for hospice, they're going to try an aggressive rehab program first, to see if Dad can go home. Works for me! The doctor did say that Dad's lungs are "junky," which is a bit worrisome, since he just got out of the hospital to get rid of lung junk. They're going to do another BNP on Monday; I'm curious to see if that's improved.
I spent the morning and afternoon doing work stuff, and then swam for an hour. (Yay!) I went to see Dad around 5:00, when he's often, lately, been completely tuckered out from the day. But I found him sitting up in his wheelchair and very coherent, although he said that last night was the worst night's sleep of his life. His lunch tray was still on his bedside table, and it looked like he'd eaten a lot of it. I wheeled him down to the dining room for dinner, and he ate a lot there, too, and chatted with the two other people at his table.
I couldn't believe how much better he seemed today than yesterday! I'm much heartened, although -- based on experience -- I wouldn't be surprised to find him completely done in again tomorrow. But a decent day is good; we'll take it. (One day at a time, and so forth.)
I left at seven. The evening metamorphosis seemed to be underway: there were plaintive howls for help from the room across the hall, and the wheelchair brigade was collecting around the nursing station. But when I walked through the crowd, the residents in the wheelchairs smiled at me and said hello, instead of looking lost and terrified. (I hope I didn't sound uncompassionate in yesterday's post; I ached for all of them, but the scene was still chilling.)
I hope they don't become lost and terrified as the evening progresses. I hope Dad doesn't, either.