All the news
On Friday, Barb The Home Care Nurse (she takes care of both Mother AND me at this point) called me from Mom and Dad's house to let me know that Mom was running a fever of 101.6. Their doctor's office was closed for the day (which is a whole 'NOTHER issue, that may or may not be expanded upon later), and Mother was so weak that she probably could not have walked herself to the car to go to the doctor's office anyway, so they called the ambulance and off she went to the ER.
They couldn't figure out what was wrong. After bloods and urines and x-rays, they couldn't find a thing. She was dehydrated (which seems to be a fairly normal state for diabetics, no matter how much one drinks), so it's possible that she's having a problem regulating her internal thermometer because she isn't drinking enough.
So they sent her home yesterday.
And when they got home, they found all of us, including my father's brother and his wife, in the living room, to perpetrate an intervention regarding getting them into a more managable living situation.
My father was PISSED.
And he was most especially pissed at ME, because I was the one who organized the whole thing.
Frankly, I wasn't the only one who was concerned. The whole family is concerned, including his brother, who told me that he initially considered writing him a long letter regarding these matters. But he was just as glad to put himself and his wife in the car and drive three hours from NJ to have this conversation. So the thing is...while I was the ringleader, I was ONLY the ringleader--EVERYONE was in agreement.
And my father said he would "think about it". Which usually means that it's filed under "no".
When we left, I put my arms around him and told him that I loved him. He said nothing, and wouldn't return the hug, even a little bit.
I wasn't surprised, but at the same time....devastating.
He didn't call me last night, which was not surprising. But he did call me this morning--to let me know that Mother's fever was back, that she was so weak she couldn't make it out of bed to use the bathroom with expected results, and that the ambulance had been called yet again, to get her back to the hospital.
And I could tell that he was furious at the idea of having to talk to ME to let me know. The traitor daughter. The person who had betrayed him.
This is just heartbreaking. Heartbreaking. To have to face this whole idea, for him, is to have to face the idea that he isn't who he thinks he is, and that his life isn't what he thought it was. It's having to face 81 when he doesn't FEEL 81. I get it. I totally get it.
But the idea of having some stranger decide FOR him what needs doing, rather than being denied the dignity of making those decisions for himself, is far more heartbreaking. And he doesn't understand that that could happen, without too much trouble at all--that he could transition from being a human being to a "case" without too much sweat at all.
So I'll be going over in just a little while to make sure that the bedclothes are changed and washed...and do what I can to reverse the idea that I hate them, and am only interested in "putting them away".
They couldn't figure out what was wrong. After bloods and urines and x-rays, they couldn't find a thing. She was dehydrated (which seems to be a fairly normal state for diabetics, no matter how much one drinks), so it's possible that she's having a problem regulating her internal thermometer because she isn't drinking enough.
So they sent her home yesterday.
And when they got home, they found all of us, including my father's brother and his wife, in the living room, to perpetrate an intervention regarding getting them into a more managable living situation.
My father was PISSED.
And he was most especially pissed at ME, because I was the one who organized the whole thing.
Frankly, I wasn't the only one who was concerned. The whole family is concerned, including his brother, who told me that he initially considered writing him a long letter regarding these matters. But he was just as glad to put himself and his wife in the car and drive three hours from NJ to have this conversation. So the thing is...while I was the ringleader, I was ONLY the ringleader--EVERYONE was in agreement.
And my father said he would "think about it". Which usually means that it's filed under "no".
When we left, I put my arms around him and told him that I loved him. He said nothing, and wouldn't return the hug, even a little bit.
I wasn't surprised, but at the same time....devastating.
He didn't call me last night, which was not surprising. But he did call me this morning--to let me know that Mother's fever was back, that she was so weak she couldn't make it out of bed to use the bathroom with expected results, and that the ambulance had been called yet again, to get her back to the hospital.
And I could tell that he was furious at the idea of having to talk to ME to let me know. The traitor daughter. The person who had betrayed him.
This is just heartbreaking. Heartbreaking. To have to face this whole idea, for him, is to have to face the idea that he isn't who he thinks he is, and that his life isn't what he thought it was. It's having to face 81 when he doesn't FEEL 81. I get it. I totally get it.
But the idea of having some stranger decide FOR him what needs doing, rather than being denied the dignity of making those decisions for himself, is far more heartbreaking. And he doesn't understand that that could happen, without too much trouble at all--that he could transition from being a human being to a "case" without too much sweat at all.
So I'll be going over in just a little while to make sure that the bedclothes are changed and washed...and do what I can to reverse the idea that I hate them, and am only interested in "putting them away".