"You know, honey, I'm Afraid Dad Might Have Alzeheimers...."
The last few days have been a whirlwind of awfulness.
Nuclear-level problems, some I have created for myself, some I have not. Either way, I'm a terrific mess. And then there isDad.
Pops. Pops went into the hospital last week, extremely weak and confused. He could barely talk. It was terrifying for us, I can't imagine how it was for him. The doctor quickly diagnosed him with "Low Sodium."
Salt. Who knew salt could reek so much havoc in the elderly. I most assuredly didn't. And most people I know didn't. In fact, I'll go ahead and Link More Info Here. Why not. The more you know, etc.
Anyway. Finally he was released this morning. And has seemed fine. Great, even. I've been the point person for our family and I excitedly text/email/called everyone and said he is 95% better. Yay, etc!
The End.
Except...it might be not be.
Tonight, Sunday, I was preparing for the upcoming week, typing happily on my computer, when my tearful, worried mother creaked opened the door.
You know honey, I'm afraid Dad might have Alzheimers. He just isn't the same. He still seems so confused.
I listened to her with the best poker face I could dredge up. Secretly I was dying inside.
I don't want to overreact to one statement. Afterall, my mom isn't a doctor. She can't diagnose him any more than I can. And everything I've read on low sodium is it takes a long time to recover from. Well, plus, my mom is a known worry wart. Every problem in life? Worse case scenario.
But my mom is his wife of over 50 years.
So maybe we don't need a doctor to give us the formal diagnosis.
You know, I'm quite teary right now. This just sucks. My mind keeps going to the first night in the hospital and my dad was laying quietly in his bed but looking distressed. I wanted to hug him but was afraid to. Grumpy, pushy nurses circled around him and my big, strong dad looked so very vulnerable. And small.
I finally put my hand on top of his and told him I loved him.
He smiled a little and nodded.
His face almost looked like the face of the man I call Dad.
Almost.
Now pardon me while I go bawl my eyes out...
Nuclear-level problems, some I have created for myself, some I have not. Either way, I'm a terrific mess. And then there isDad.
Pops. Pops went into the hospital last week, extremely weak and confused. He could barely talk. It was terrifying for us, I can't imagine how it was for him. The doctor quickly diagnosed him with "Low Sodium."
Salt. Who knew salt could reek so much havoc in the elderly. I most assuredly didn't. And most people I know didn't. In fact, I'll go ahead and Link More Info Here. Why not. The more you know, etc.
Anyway. Finally he was released this morning. And has seemed fine. Great, even. I've been the point person for our family and I excitedly text/email/called everyone and said he is 95% better. Yay, etc!
The End.
Except...it might be not be.
Tonight, Sunday, I was preparing for the upcoming week, typing happily on my computer, when my tearful, worried mother creaked opened the door.
You know honey, I'm afraid Dad might have Alzheimers. He just isn't the same. He still seems so confused.
I listened to her with the best poker face I could dredge up. Secretly I was dying inside.
I don't want to overreact to one statement. Afterall, my mom isn't a doctor. She can't diagnose him any more than I can. And everything I've read on low sodium is it takes a long time to recover from. Well, plus, my mom is a known worry wart. Every problem in life? Worse case scenario.
But my mom is his wife of over 50 years.
So maybe we don't need a doctor to give us the formal diagnosis.
You know, I'm quite teary right now. This just sucks. My mind keeps going to the first night in the hospital and my dad was laying quietly in his bed but looking distressed. I wanted to hug him but was afraid to. Grumpy, pushy nurses circled around him and my big, strong dad looked so very vulnerable. And small.
I finally put my hand on top of his and told him I loved him.
He smiled a little and nodded.
His face almost looked like the face of the man I call Dad.
Almost.
Now pardon me while I go bawl my eyes out...