My Daddy and Me.
Ok, well, how do I start out here? My dad was 22 when I was born. I was the only child for four years, so I pretty much had my daddy to myself. I remember rolling on the floor with him, and using him as a pillow. I looked like my dad, so I felt a great bond with him. He was always laughing, and he was always joking that because he was left handed, he was the only one in his right mind. We used to go to the drive-in theater, with me dressed in my pajamas. I would pretend to be asleep so he would carry me to bed afterward. He was the thing I loved the most. My brother was born when I was four, my sister when I was eight. My parents divorced when I was fifteen, and my father never remarried. My brother left this world nine years ago, my sister is a single mom of four, and I am almost forty, my dad is now 62.
Dad had a stroke thirty five days ago. Cousin Rick was with him, and got him in an ambulance, and to the hospital where he had a second, more severe, stroke. I drove to Missouri to be with him, and for six days, I never left his side. The nurses and the doctors told us how lucky we were to still have him, and that is was a true miracle that he had survived. My left handed father is now paralyzed on his left side. He lost the use of his left side in the space of one hour, and they tell me he will never get it back. He has no left side recognition. If you ask him to move his left hand, he gets confused and tries to pick it up with his right. He has trouble swallowing and can not feel the left side of his mouth. This leads to aspiration of his foods and liquids, and a danger of pneumonia. His beautiful smile is gone, his voice weak. The doctors say the window for improvement has closed. He will be forever confined to a wheelchair. He remembers everything, but forgets to answer questions. He is still my Daddy, but he is not the same. He has lost so much more than the use of his body. He has lost his independence, his way of life and his laughter.
I was informed yesterday that Dad will never be able to be by himself again. For over a month, I was planning to take care of him. I knew it was going to be hard. I was prepared for it to be hard. I felt that as the oldest child, and the only one really able, it was supposed to be me. No, the situation was not ideal, but he is my Daddy. Yesterday, the team of doctors, therapists, social workers and administrators told me that that is not possible. He will require more help than I am able to give. More care than I can offer, more time than I can afford. I, as the oldest child have to make the excruciating decision to put my father in a nursing home.
Now down to the toughest things I have to face. He lives two states away, but wants to be near me. I will have to pull him away from the friends and family he has left, not that there are that many, but he has lived there all of his life, and I will be taking that away. He is destitute. Years of alcohol abuse has not only depleted his body of all of its natural defenses, it took his job, and all of his savings. He was on his last unemployment appeal when he had his stroke. His social security will start next month, but it is not nearly enough to cover the cost of the kind of care he will need. My husband and I are not in a position to help him, and I think you can figure out that my sister is not either. It will all fall to Medicaid, if he is eligible.
I do not know what to do. I feel as if my hands have been tied behind my back, and someone is stealing away my hope. I am at an all time low, and I know that my dad is. The doctors have put him on anti depressants, and since there is no hope of improvement, they are stopping his therapy, and telling me I must keep his hopes up so he doesn't give up on living. Thirty five days of immobility have already started to draw up his muscles, and tighten his fingers into claws. Yesterday as the experts doled out his "prognosis", I felt as if they were issuing his death sentence. I have no one to talk to about any of this. I just want to scream at someone.
Dad had a stroke thirty five days ago. Cousin Rick was with him, and got him in an ambulance, and to the hospital where he had a second, more severe, stroke. I drove to Missouri to be with him, and for six days, I never left his side. The nurses and the doctors told us how lucky we were to still have him, and that is was a true miracle that he had survived. My left handed father is now paralyzed on his left side. He lost the use of his left side in the space of one hour, and they tell me he will never get it back. He has no left side recognition. If you ask him to move his left hand, he gets confused and tries to pick it up with his right. He has trouble swallowing and can not feel the left side of his mouth. This leads to aspiration of his foods and liquids, and a danger of pneumonia. His beautiful smile is gone, his voice weak. The doctors say the window for improvement has closed. He will be forever confined to a wheelchair. He remembers everything, but forgets to answer questions. He is still my Daddy, but he is not the same. He has lost so much more than the use of his body. He has lost his independence, his way of life and his laughter.
I was informed yesterday that Dad will never be able to be by himself again. For over a month, I was planning to take care of him. I knew it was going to be hard. I was prepared for it to be hard. I felt that as the oldest child, and the only one really able, it was supposed to be me. No, the situation was not ideal, but he is my Daddy. Yesterday, the team of doctors, therapists, social workers and administrators told me that that is not possible. He will require more help than I am able to give. More care than I can offer, more time than I can afford. I, as the oldest child have to make the excruciating decision to put my father in a nursing home.
Now down to the toughest things I have to face. He lives two states away, but wants to be near me. I will have to pull him away from the friends and family he has left, not that there are that many, but he has lived there all of his life, and I will be taking that away. He is destitute. Years of alcohol abuse has not only depleted his body of all of its natural defenses, it took his job, and all of his savings. He was on his last unemployment appeal when he had his stroke. His social security will start next month, but it is not nearly enough to cover the cost of the kind of care he will need. My husband and I are not in a position to help him, and I think you can figure out that my sister is not either. It will all fall to Medicaid, if he is eligible.
I do not know what to do. I feel as if my hands have been tied behind my back, and someone is stealing away my hope. I am at an all time low, and I know that my dad is. The doctors have put him on anti depressants, and since there is no hope of improvement, they are stopping his therapy, and telling me I must keep his hopes up so he doesn't give up on living. Thirty five days of immobility have already started to draw up his muscles, and tighten his fingers into claws. Yesterday as the experts doled out his "prognosis", I felt as if they were issuing his death sentence. I have no one to talk to about any of this. I just want to scream at someone.