I’ve been in a place where time crawls and every day unfurls
like the one before it.
My dad entered a nursing home.
How long he’ll remain there, I don’t know and neither do the
doctors, nurses, and aides caring for him.
My youngest sister asked why I haven’t blogged about our
dad’s trip to the hospital, hospital stay, and subsequent transfer to the
nursing home. “You can’t say we haven’t given you lots of material.”
I have an ambulance-load of material, but most of it isn’t
mine to share. Someday, bits will come
out, heavily fictionalized. Names, places, and events will change. Meanwhile,
the emotions unleashed by the experience: fear, frustration, gratitude, and
love have elbowed their way into my work in progress. Those emotions may be second cousins
to the ones I’ve experienced, but they demand to be acknowledged and included.
Here’s something I can share: When my brother, sisters, and
I get together, we may start out serious, but wisecracks can’t be denied for
long. The first time laughter broke out in my dad’s room at the nursing home,
it seemed inappropriate, but then I remembered jokes and teasing formed the
background music of our years at our family home. Laughter is an appropriate sound for my
dad to hear.
When it comes to teasing, I’m an easy target, and my sibs
don’t let me forget it. On day, my youngest sister drove to the nursing home
with me as a passenger. She bypassed a free parking space in the coveted
visitors-only strip close to the entrance and parked in the back lot, next to a
snowdrift. The day before, I’d counted myself lucky to snag a space in the
coveted strip. When I asked my sister why she didn’t take the close-in space,
she acted surprised by the question. “I save those spots for the old men and
women who are visiting friends or relatives.” That answer made me squirm over my
selfishness. “Ahh,” I said.
Two days later, I sailed past one of the empty
coveted spaces to park in the back, next to a patch of black ice. I, too, would
save the good spots for old people. My middle sister must have spotted me in
the lot’s far corner, and, once we were warm and cozy in my father’s room, she
asked why I’d parked so far from the entrance. I told her about our youngest
sister’s Act of Kindness. Middle sister laughed and laughed. “She (youngest
sister) parked in one of the good spots yesterday.” Punked.
Here’s something else
I can tell you: there are medical professionals doing outstanding jobs. At the
hospital, a speech therapist did a swallow evaluation on my dad because he’d lost
a lot of weight prior to his admission. She discovered everything he ate or
drank was going down the wrong pipe. (Excuse my technical language.) Her
discovery prolonged my dad’s life. Me, I discovered speech therapists do more
than correct sibilant s’s and stutters.
Nurse Harry (name changed) explains what’s going on in
language a layperson can understand and doesn’t sugarcoat anything. I’m of the
if-I-know-the-truth-I–can-deal-with-it school, so I appreciate that
approach. Nurse Elise (name changed)
appears distant and shares information on a need-to-know basis. Initially, her
manner ruffled me. When my father became disoriented, though, she swung into
action to make sure he was getting enough oxygen. Now I value the strengths
both nurses bring to their jobs.
I’ll share what I can in upcoming blog posts. As my youngest
sister said, I have lots of material.
Have you lost track of time during a friend or family
member’s stay in a hospital or nursing home?
Have you laughed about illness to keep from crying?
Have you laughed about illness to keep from crying?
How old does a person have to be to qualify for a
close-to-the-entrance parking space? (I ask because I’m hoping to make the cut.)
