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capri0mniWe did miss a crucial fork in the road, early on, and ended up on Interstate 50 West, inatead of 13 North, and we didn't realize it until it was several hours too late to double back. So we ended up taking the scenic route around Baltimore, and arriving a couple of hours later than we originally wanted to. I was also white-knuckling it for about 3/4 of the way, because I realized, several hours from home, that proof of my current car insurance was in a box with my insurance papers, instead of the glove compartment of my van, where it was supposed to be. But (Hermes be praised) we did not need them...
I'd called the reception desk at the nursing home on Wednesday, and told them I was coming, and asked about Dad's schedule on Friday (so I wouldn't arrive while he was in therapy, or something), and luckily. his neighbor came to visit, and was able to pass word on to him (I'd have thought that one of the nurses would've have told him, out of common courtesy, but I guess not). But Dad didn't believe him. So it was a total shock when Audrey and I showed up... Though he was glad to see us, obviously.
He's doing better, and can mostly speak, but the right side of his mouth is paralysed, and his right hand is still weak. He's thin, and his face is puffy from the steroids he's on (to reduce the inflamation in his brain) the ulcerated toe on his left foot looks really bad, and he has to wait for the nurses to come change his dressing, instead of being able to do it himself, like he does at home. But the staff there are friendly, and it seems like a nice place, despite being a bit drab from being under repairs at the moment. His room is small (I really don't think there is enough room to swing a cat in there), but his window looks out on several houses across the street where families with dogs live, so that's nice...
He's there until Thursday, he thinks, when his current round of radiation treatments are over, and then he thinks they'll send him home-- Thursday or Friday, he thinks-- no one's told him anything, directly, yet. I'll have to call his neighbor (who's his ride) today, and tell her. He'd like to keep living on the mountaintop for as long as he can, but doubts he'll be able to do it alone. So that's the immediate question for "What happens next." As soon as he gets home, his oncologist wants to continue the chemo treatments, for the lump in his lung, and his main concern is whether he'll have the stamina to drive himself to his appointments. And I worry about what's going to happen when winter comes, and that nearly half-mile long, narrow, steep, unpaved, driveway becomes impassable, and how he'll be able to get to his appointments at all, then. (She looks at the preceding paragraph. Can you tell she's in the middle of iNaNoWriMo?).
I expect he'll live at least until my 43rd birthday, two months from now, and even, perhaps, his 80th, three months from now. But I doubt we'll be able to celebrate either of those days together (he was about to come down for a belated-early, combined birthday celebration when he fell off that stepladder and broke his leg). And I have to brace myself against his dying before my 44th.
{Sigh} Had a dream, last night/this morning: Audrey and I were waiting in the hotel lobby for the elevator, and when the bell rang, Audrey went in to hold the door open for me. The elvator's car was very shallow -- less than a foot deep -- and I couldn't fit my chair inside it, even turned sideways. Then Audrey pushed on the back wall: it was only a flap of cardboard, spray painted with gold paint. Behind that cardboard was the real elevator car was behind that -- normal sized, but clearly in disrepair, with flaking floor tiles, and mold growing up the walls. Maintainace staff had clearly just covered it over with the false back to avoid really fixing anything. But we decided to risk it, anyway, since that was the elevator that came. Audrey pushed the button of the floor we wanted. And the elvator got stuck between floors. We tried the pressing the alarm button, but that didn't work, either -- total silence. I woke with both of us saying "Well, F@&+! it!" and wondering if banging on the walls of the elevator car would do any good...
I think the symbolism of that dream is fairly obvious...
I'd called the reception desk at the nursing home on Wednesday, and told them I was coming, and asked about Dad's schedule on Friday (so I wouldn't arrive while he was in therapy, or something), and luckily. his neighbor came to visit, and was able to pass word on to him (I'd have thought that one of the nurses would've have told him, out of common courtesy, but I guess not). But Dad didn't believe him. So it was a total shock when Audrey and I showed up... Though he was glad to see us, obviously.
He's doing better, and can mostly speak, but the right side of his mouth is paralysed, and his right hand is still weak. He's thin, and his face is puffy from the steroids he's on (to reduce the inflamation in his brain) the ulcerated toe on his left foot looks really bad, and he has to wait for the nurses to come change his dressing, instead of being able to do it himself, like he does at home. But the staff there are friendly, and it seems like a nice place, despite being a bit drab from being under repairs at the moment. His room is small (I really don't think there is enough room to swing a cat in there), but his window looks out on several houses across the street where families with dogs live, so that's nice...
He's there until Thursday, he thinks, when his current round of radiation treatments are over, and then he thinks they'll send him home-- Thursday or Friday, he thinks-- no one's told him anything, directly, yet. I'll have to call his neighbor (who's his ride) today, and tell her. He'd like to keep living on the mountaintop for as long as he can, but doubts he'll be able to do it alone. So that's the immediate question for "What happens next." As soon as he gets home, his oncologist wants to continue the chemo treatments, for the lump in his lung, and his main concern is whether he'll have the stamina to drive himself to his appointments. And I worry about what's going to happen when winter comes, and that nearly half-mile long, narrow, steep, unpaved, driveway becomes impassable, and how he'll be able to get to his appointments at all, then. (She looks at the preceding paragraph. Can you tell she's in the middle of iNaNoWriMo?).
I expect he'll live at least until my 43rd birthday, two months from now, and even, perhaps, his 80th, three months from now. But I doubt we'll be able to celebrate either of those days together (he was about to come down for a belated-early, combined birthday celebration when he fell off that stepladder and broke his leg). And I have to brace myself against his dying before my 44th.
{Sigh} Had a dream, last night/this morning: Audrey and I were waiting in the hotel lobby for the elevator, and when the bell rang, Audrey went in to hold the door open for me. The elvator's car was very shallow -- less than a foot deep -- and I couldn't fit my chair inside it, even turned sideways. Then Audrey pushed on the back wall: it was only a flap of cardboard, spray painted with gold paint. Behind that cardboard was the real elevator car was behind that -- normal sized, but clearly in disrepair, with flaking floor tiles, and mold growing up the walls. Maintainace staff had clearly just covered it over with the false back to avoid really fixing anything. But we decided to risk it, anyway, since that was the elevator that came. Audrey pushed the button of the floor we wanted. And the elvator got stuck between floors. We tried the pressing the alarm button, but that didn't work, either -- total silence. I woke with both of us saying "Well, F@&+! it!" and wondering if banging on the walls of the elevator car would do any good...
I think the symbolism of that dream is fairly obvious...
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