I am pleased to report that my dad seemed to be doing okay, and actually looked a little better than the last time I saw him at the assisted living home. The color had returned to his skin a little, his eyes were a little bit clearer, and his voice sounded better. He seemed more responsive, too, and seemed to recognize me and gave me a big hug, which he actually initiated this time (something that hasn't happened in a very long time).
I found out that he had not fallen yesterday morning like I had thought, but the night before, right after they had put him to bed. And he did get back out of bed himself without any help before falling, according to the report from the workers at the assisted living home.
They're treating him for the UTI and sinusitis with antibiotics, and will also be testing his swallowing capability, as he has been having a bit of trouble swallowing for awhile now. He hasn't been eating as much over the past couple of months and has lost 35 pounds (and he wasn't overweight to begin with, or maybe by only about five pounds). They aren't sure if it's because his appetite is down or because he can't swallow well, or both.
The doctor that is seeing him while he's in the hospital also discontinued all his medications (apparently he has to use a different doctor while in the assisted living home, one that oversees the residents there), except for the antibiotics, and will be reintroducing them one at a time to try and get a better dosage, hoping it will help my dad be able to function better.
I do find it very interesting that after discontinuing his medications, he was more responsive and more "himself," and able to communicate better ("better" being a relative term, of course). It's hard to describe the difference I could see in his face and in his eyes, though. He was more "there," if that makes sense. The last time I saw him at the assisted living home, I looked into his eyes once and it was like he wasn't even there. It was his body, but the man, my dad, didn't seem to be there. It gave new meaning to the term, "blank stare." It was a chilling moment. But today, he was very much there. There were brief moments when his eyes were glazed over a bit, but the majority of the time, he was really there, and I can't tell you how relieved I was to see "him" again.
For those who might be reading this, I beg of you (and I'm not usually the begging type, mind you), if you are the praying type, please pray that the doctor who is currently under my dad's care will be able to figure out the best dosage for my dad's medications, so that the time he has left on this earth will be of the best quality possible. Thank you.
Sunday, June 17, 2012
Saturday, June 16, 2012
In the hospital again
On my last visit to see my dad in the assisted living home, which was Wednesday afternoon, a worker there told me that he had gotten up out of his wheelchair and taken two steps over to the dining room table. I was thrilled to hear that, as I'm sure it felt so good to my dad, and I was so thankful to the Good Lord for hearing my daughter's prayers as well as mine, that his legs and feet would be strengthened so he could walk again.
We had a pretty good visit, though my dad seemed to struggle to talk. I helped him eat his dinner, which was painstakingly slow. Meanwhile, my daughter provided good entertainment for a group of ladies who had finished their dinner and had wandered in the direction of my dad's table. While feeding my dad, he breathed in through his nose a couple of times, and I noticed that it sounded like he was quite stopped up. He didn't feel hot to the touch, though, so I figured it was just a cold.
As it turned out, however, it wound up being Sinusitis. This morning I received a text from my brother that my dad was in the hospital. While he was getting out of bed (whether he tried to do it alone or with help, I don't yet know), he fell and hit his head on the a/c unit in his room. They called my step mom and he was transported to the emergency room, where they determined he would be okay as far as his head injury, but then discovered his sinus infection, as well as another urinary tract infection, and he wound up being admitted.
Tomorrow, my husband and I plan to go visit him at the hospital after church. I'll update as soon as I can.
We had a pretty good visit, though my dad seemed to struggle to talk. I helped him eat his dinner, which was painstakingly slow. Meanwhile, my daughter provided good entertainment for a group of ladies who had finished their dinner and had wandered in the direction of my dad's table. While feeding my dad, he breathed in through his nose a couple of times, and I noticed that it sounded like he was quite stopped up. He didn't feel hot to the touch, though, so I figured it was just a cold.
As it turned out, however, it wound up being Sinusitis. This morning I received a text from my brother that my dad was in the hospital. While he was getting out of bed (whether he tried to do it alone or with help, I don't yet know), he fell and hit his head on the a/c unit in his room. They called my step mom and he was transported to the emergency room, where they determined he would be okay as far as his head injury, but then discovered his sinus infection, as well as another urinary tract infection, and he wound up being admitted.
Tomorrow, my husband and I plan to go visit him at the hospital after church. I'll update as soon as I can.
Saturday, June 9, 2012
Memories
This past Monday was a decent visit with my dad. He was in a deep sleep in an easy chair when we first arrived, and since a worker there told me he had just fallen asleep, I didn't wake him right away. My daughter found a box of craft materials to play with, and I read a magazine. After awhile, maybe about twenty or thirty minutes, I finally woke him, which was--for the first time ever--very difficult to do. This time I wheeled him out of the Alzheimer's unit altogether and out the main front entrance. It's mainly just a parking lot with a sidewalk, but it's a change of scenery for my dad, and he can see more of the sky and wide open spaces from there.
Before it was time to say our goodbyes and leave, I spoke with a worker and asked some questions about my dad and found out that he was now sleeping though the night, which was such a relief to hear, and an answer to prayer.
At home a couple of days later, I decided to have a snack that I had not had in quite some time, which was canned fish steaks in mustard sauce, spread on crackers, and it brought back memories of good times with my dad (I have no idea if they are actually sardines or not, the can just says, "Fish steaks".) He was the one who introduced me to those fish steaks back when I was a kid and I wound up liking them, so he and I would eat them as a snack together quite often. Somehow, though, they didn't taste quite as good without my dad there to eat them with me.
Then I was reminded of the time he took me on a trip with him and we stopped at a Krispy Kreme doughnut shop where they made the doughnuts fresh for customers all day long. We sat in the car in the parking lot and ate some together. I remember how good they were and how much I appreciated my dad making sure he stopped at that very store (he traveled a lot so he knew where all the "good" places were). ;-) That must be why I like Krispy Kreme doughnuts so much to this day.
When I think of my dad and the condition he is in now, sitting in a wheelchair, so frail and weak and pale, it helps to conjure up those good memories, and to cherish them.
Wednesday, May 30, 2012
He stood up
Yesterday I took my daughter with me to visit my dad, and I wound up wheeling him outside into the courtyard area and stopped in the Gazebo. I was talking to my daughter, and when I looked back at my dad, he was nodding off. My daughter then surprised me by saying, "We need to pray for him." Keep in mind, we do pray for him every night when she does her bedtime prayers. But this time she wanted to pray for him right there on the spot. So we bowed our heads, and my five year old daughter prayed a sweet little prayer for him. So simple, yet so heartfelt. Then she asked if I wanted to pray, so I did. We prayed that he would be able to sleep better at night, and I prayed once again for God to heal him. When we finished, my daughter ran off to play in the grass.
A few seconds later, when my daughter came running back to the gazebo with a bunch of little flowers in her hand, my dad woke up with a start. He looked around like he wasn't sure what was going on. I told him we were outside, and pointed to my daughter and said, "There's your granddaughter," and said her name. She showed him the bunch of flowers, then took one out and gave it to him, saying, "Here ya go. One for you.." which he was suddenly able to take without any problem, then she turned and gave me a flower, saying, "And one for you." Then gave one to him again, then me, and back and forth until they were all gone.
Then my dad's facial expression changed, and he put his hands on either side of his wheelchair and moved his legs and feet in such a way that I figured out he wanted to get up. I moved the leg rests to where he could put his feet down, then I got on one side and my daughter got on the other, and we supported him while he very slowly stood all the way up. He very nearly stood on his own, but not quite. It was so close, though. Oh so close. I sat him back down, then I let him try two more times. He was very determined not to sit back down the third time, but since I could feel him beginning to lose his balance, I didn't want to chance him falling, and my very attentive daughter ran inside to get one of the workers to come and help, so I could get him all the way back into the wheelchair (he didn't want to sit back but wanted to stay on the edge).
I was amazed. That's the first time in several weeks he's been able to get up out of his wheelchair, even with help.
My brother told me that when he went to visit my dad the other day, that my dad seemed to be doing a little better, and that he was actually able to have a halfway decent conversation with him. It made me feel good to hear that. That part I didn't get to see while I was there, though he did seem more attentive than he had been, and was able to say a few words here and there in response to me, but I was thankful he was able to stand. That probably felt so good to my dad.
Who knows what might happen next time. All I can do is trust the Good Lord with everything, no matter what happens. He is in control, and it's all in His very capable hands.
A few seconds later, when my daughter came running back to the gazebo with a bunch of little flowers in her hand, my dad woke up with a start. He looked around like he wasn't sure what was going on. I told him we were outside, and pointed to my daughter and said, "There's your granddaughter," and said her name. She showed him the bunch of flowers, then took one out and gave it to him, saying, "Here ya go. One for you.." which he was suddenly able to take without any problem, then she turned and gave me a flower, saying, "And one for you." Then gave one to him again, then me, and back and forth until they were all gone.
Then my dad's facial expression changed, and he put his hands on either side of his wheelchair and moved his legs and feet in such a way that I figured out he wanted to get up. I moved the leg rests to where he could put his feet down, then I got on one side and my daughter got on the other, and we supported him while he very slowly stood all the way up. He very nearly stood on his own, but not quite. It was so close, though. Oh so close. I sat him back down, then I let him try two more times. He was very determined not to sit back down the third time, but since I could feel him beginning to lose his balance, I didn't want to chance him falling, and my very attentive daughter ran inside to get one of the workers to come and help, so I could get him all the way back into the wheelchair (he didn't want to sit back but wanted to stay on the edge).
I was amazed. That's the first time in several weeks he's been able to get up out of his wheelchair, even with help.
My brother told me that when he went to visit my dad the other day, that my dad seemed to be doing a little better, and that he was actually able to have a halfway decent conversation with him. It made me feel good to hear that. That part I didn't get to see while I was there, though he did seem more attentive than he had been, and was able to say a few words here and there in response to me, but I was thankful he was able to stand. That probably felt so good to my dad.
Who knows what might happen next time. All I can do is trust the Good Lord with everything, no matter what happens. He is in control, and it's all in His very capable hands.
Thursday, May 17, 2012
Shame "off" you
I was listening to a preacher on the radio talk about how he had counseled so many people that dealt with their pain for a very long time before finally asking for help. He said, in so many words, that in this American society, it seems we have been taught in many different ways to feel shame about our pain; to hide it, internalize it, pretend it isn't there. The feeling we get from most of those around us is that showing our pain means we are weak somehow, that we don't have what it takes to deal with it and be stronger than our pain.
It's sad, really. Pain is a normal part of our human existence. Not that we should wallow in it endlessly, but one should feel free and unashamed to express one's pain, save a completely inappropriate situation for doing so (a business meeting, for example, though expressing the pain of boredom might be a much more appreciated freedom at that time). Our expression of it should, as well, be met with open arms, plenty of empathy, a listening ear, and a genuine acknowledgment of the pain, not a "hush-hush now, pain is not allowed, it will all be okay so don't worry" attitude. After all, if we hide it and don't talk about it, aren't we, by our inaction, wallowing in it endlessly on the inside? Because talking about it, getting it out in the open, helps us to deal with it. One can't "deal" with something that "isn't there," after all.
Of course, one has to be careful not to go to the other extreme and make the pain ALL one talks about, 24-7. That's a good way to alienate those around us. We all need a break from pain now and then to breathe, or at least let those around us breathe, and talk about something positive and uplifting, something that will give us hope again, even in the midst of our pain. Imagine a book where the entire story is about a woman who does nothing but cry, talk about how hurt she is, wail, sigh, yell, scream, talk about how unfair it is, then cry some more and she doesn't stop until the end of the twenty-chapter book. You might survive the first chapter, but after that you'll either put the book down and regret buying it, or keep reading and start pulling your hair out, one strand at a time.
I thought it was so interesting how that radio preacher ended his teaching. He told those in his congregation, "Now turn to three people and tell them, 'Shame off you.' "
It made me realize how much I internalize my own pain and feel shame when I want to express it. It has been quite painful watching what Alzheimer's disease has done to my dad, and yet, I have only allowed myself to talk about the actual pain of it on occasion. I tend to want to avoid pain, and I guess I have assumed other people feel the same way.
But I need to break out of that tendency and allow myself to express my pain more openly, without shame, especially in this Blog. After all, I started this Blog for two main reasons: 1) To have somewhere to express my thoughts and feelings about my Dad having Alzheimer's and everything that entails, and 2) To give others out there who might be dealing with something similar a Blog they can relate to, and be encouraged by some of the same things that I'm encouraged by.
On that note, I would like to share what happened this morning. Just before I woke up, I was dreaming about my dad. In the dream, he was better again to the point of being able to go home (his home) during the day, and would only have to be taken to the assisted living home at night, to sleep. After being home during the day for only a couple of days, the color returned in his skin again, he gained some weight back, was happier, could walk again, and was able to communicate better again. In the dream I was talking to someone (not sure who) about how happy I was that my dad was able to be home again during the day and how much better he was doing as a result. It seemed so real, I could literally feel the tears of joy welling up in my eyes. Then I woke up, and realized it wasn't real. And it made me so sad. It hurt. I hate seeing my dad have to live in an assisted living home 24-7 and the effect it has had on him--though I am thankful for the small blessings like a friend of his working there now.
When my husband woke up, I wanted to tell him, but there it was again--that "shame," of not wanting to share the pain. I could feel myself starting to cry, but I pushed it back down. I didn't want to get out of bed, and overslept some. I felt so tired, despite a good night's sleep. Later while pouring myself a quick bowl of cereal for breakfast and my husband was in the kitchen getting his own breakfast (he likes to make his own on work mornings so that I can focus on getting myself and my daughter ready to take her to school), I finally shared the dream with him. He gave me a quick (albeit genuine) arm rub and said, "I'm sorry," but then had to finish getting ready for work. I didn't let on just how much it hurt, and pushed back the tears again.
I can see it will take awhile to break the habit of not wanting to share my pain, of wanting to push it down and pretend it's not there. Even the Good Lord in Heaven wants us to share our pain with Him, even if He does know about it already. All you have to do is read the Book of Psalms in the Bible to realize that, not to mention others in the Bible who cried out to God in their pain.
And oh how thankful I am to God for the many ways He gives us comfort... through people, through His Word, through situations. We may not understand the "why," of it all (and it's okay to ask Him "why," by the way), but in His perfect wisdom He knows. We just have to rest in Him and remember that one day, the pain will all end, forever. Until then, let's not be afraid to share our pain. We'll get through it, together. ;-)
It's sad, really. Pain is a normal part of our human existence. Not that we should wallow in it endlessly, but one should feel free and unashamed to express one's pain, save a completely inappropriate situation for doing so (a business meeting, for example, though expressing the pain of boredom might be a much more appreciated freedom at that time). Our expression of it should, as well, be met with open arms, plenty of empathy, a listening ear, and a genuine acknowledgment of the pain, not a "hush-hush now, pain is not allowed, it will all be okay so don't worry" attitude. After all, if we hide it and don't talk about it, aren't we, by our inaction, wallowing in it endlessly on the inside? Because talking about it, getting it out in the open, helps us to deal with it. One can't "deal" with something that "isn't there," after all.
Of course, one has to be careful not to go to the other extreme and make the pain ALL one talks about, 24-7. That's a good way to alienate those around us. We all need a break from pain now and then to breathe, or at least let those around us breathe, and talk about something positive and uplifting, something that will give us hope again, even in the midst of our pain. Imagine a book where the entire story is about a woman who does nothing but cry, talk about how hurt she is, wail, sigh, yell, scream, talk about how unfair it is, then cry some more and she doesn't stop until the end of the twenty-chapter book. You might survive the first chapter, but after that you'll either put the book down and regret buying it, or keep reading and start pulling your hair out, one strand at a time.
I thought it was so interesting how that radio preacher ended his teaching. He told those in his congregation, "Now turn to three people and tell them, 'Shame off you.' "
It made me realize how much I internalize my own pain and feel shame when I want to express it. It has been quite painful watching what Alzheimer's disease has done to my dad, and yet, I have only allowed myself to talk about the actual pain of it on occasion. I tend to want to avoid pain, and I guess I have assumed other people feel the same way.
But I need to break out of that tendency and allow myself to express my pain more openly, without shame, especially in this Blog. After all, I started this Blog for two main reasons: 1) To have somewhere to express my thoughts and feelings about my Dad having Alzheimer's and everything that entails, and 2) To give others out there who might be dealing with something similar a Blog they can relate to, and be encouraged by some of the same things that I'm encouraged by.
On that note, I would like to share what happened this morning. Just before I woke up, I was dreaming about my dad. In the dream, he was better again to the point of being able to go home (his home) during the day, and would only have to be taken to the assisted living home at night, to sleep. After being home during the day for only a couple of days, the color returned in his skin again, he gained some weight back, was happier, could walk again, and was able to communicate better again. In the dream I was talking to someone (not sure who) about how happy I was that my dad was able to be home again during the day and how much better he was doing as a result. It seemed so real, I could literally feel the tears of joy welling up in my eyes. Then I woke up, and realized it wasn't real. And it made me so sad. It hurt. I hate seeing my dad have to live in an assisted living home 24-7 and the effect it has had on him--though I am thankful for the small blessings like a friend of his working there now.
When my husband woke up, I wanted to tell him, but there it was again--that "shame," of not wanting to share the pain. I could feel myself starting to cry, but I pushed it back down. I didn't want to get out of bed, and overslept some. I felt so tired, despite a good night's sleep. Later while pouring myself a quick bowl of cereal for breakfast and my husband was in the kitchen getting his own breakfast (he likes to make his own on work mornings so that I can focus on getting myself and my daughter ready to take her to school), I finally shared the dream with him. He gave me a quick (albeit genuine) arm rub and said, "I'm sorry," but then had to finish getting ready for work. I didn't let on just how much it hurt, and pushed back the tears again.
I can see it will take awhile to break the habit of not wanting to share my pain, of wanting to push it down and pretend it's not there. Even the Good Lord in Heaven wants us to share our pain with Him, even if He does know about it already. All you have to do is read the Book of Psalms in the Bible to realize that, not to mention others in the Bible who cried out to God in their pain.
And oh how thankful I am to God for the many ways He gives us comfort... through people, through His Word, through situations. We may not understand the "why," of it all (and it's okay to ask Him "why," by the way), but in His perfect wisdom He knows. We just have to rest in Him and remember that one day, the pain will all end, forever. Until then, let's not be afraid to share our pain. We'll get through it, together. ;-)
Sunday, May 13, 2012
Friday's visit - moments to cherish
When I walked into the Alzheimer's/Dementia unit at the assisted living home with my daughter Friday evening, we found my dad in the dining room along with the other residents, sitting in his wheelchair at a table, waiting for dinner to be served. Or at least sitting there waiting for whatever might come next. My daughter and I tried to greet him, but could not get him to make eye contact with us or acknowledge us in any way. He remained focused on the table in front of him, saying nothing, not moving a muscle in our direction as I hugged him and leaned down to look in his eyes. We sat down at his table, my daughter in the chair on his left, me directly across from him. Another resident was sitting to his right.
I watched him as he focused on the space right in front of him and began folding the edge of the tablecloth up onto the table. As he folded with his fingers, which didn't seem to cooperate with him, his arms looked almost robotic-like, jerking randomly. It was difficult to watch, as up until recently, he never had any problems moving his arms or hands. I marveled at how determined he was to do whatever it was he thought needed to be done to that tablecloth.
When the food was served, he began to eat with his fingers. The dinner menu that day was fried shrimp, shrimp sauce, green beans, french fries, and a roll. He didn't eat much before stopping. I noticed he didn't have utensils, so I asked for some to be brought. The worker told me he probably wouldn't use them, and she was right. He didn't. He continued to use his fingers.
My daughter, bless her heart, started feeding him food from his plate, one shrimp--or green bean--or french fry at a time, which he would take and eat, slowly. But it wasn't long before he stopped again and began refusing the food. Then the worker who is also a previous employee of my dad from years ago brought him a special nutritional "shake" that resembled vanilla ice cream and began feeding it to him. He took about three bites and then stopped.
It broke my heart to see how he has gone downhill in the past few weeks. He looked so much weaker, frailer, thinner. His shoulders now hunch over a little, which is something fairly new. He was never the type of man to hunch. And it concerned me that he didn't seem to be able to acknowledge us at all. Had he lost that much ground since the last time I saw him about two weeks ago?
But then I was reassured when, the longer we sat with him, the more responsive he started to become. He finally began responding to our worker friend, using words we could clearly understand, even if it was only a few words. He even looked up at my daughter a time or two, and smiled a little at her, the kind of knowing smile that made me think he might know who she was.
Then as we were leaving and saying our goodbyes, I breathed a sigh of relief to myself when he responded to me, too, not only with words, but with body language as well, and looked up in my direction. Funny how you become so hyper-sensitive to body language when the spoken word is no longer your primary source of communication. I cherished that moment, those few simple words he said to me--"Okay," and "Bye," and "Love you, too." The sound of his voice was like music in my ears, and I grabbed that moment and held on to it tightly. Almost as tightly as I hugged him.
I watched him as he focused on the space right in front of him and began folding the edge of the tablecloth up onto the table. As he folded with his fingers, which didn't seem to cooperate with him, his arms looked almost robotic-like, jerking randomly. It was difficult to watch, as up until recently, he never had any problems moving his arms or hands. I marveled at how determined he was to do whatever it was he thought needed to be done to that tablecloth.
When the food was served, he began to eat with his fingers. The dinner menu that day was fried shrimp, shrimp sauce, green beans, french fries, and a roll. He didn't eat much before stopping. I noticed he didn't have utensils, so I asked for some to be brought. The worker told me he probably wouldn't use them, and she was right. He didn't. He continued to use his fingers.
My daughter, bless her heart, started feeding him food from his plate, one shrimp--or green bean--or french fry at a time, which he would take and eat, slowly. But it wasn't long before he stopped again and began refusing the food. Then the worker who is also a previous employee of my dad from years ago brought him a special nutritional "shake" that resembled vanilla ice cream and began feeding it to him. He took about three bites and then stopped.
It broke my heart to see how he has gone downhill in the past few weeks. He looked so much weaker, frailer, thinner. His shoulders now hunch over a little, which is something fairly new. He was never the type of man to hunch. And it concerned me that he didn't seem to be able to acknowledge us at all. Had he lost that much ground since the last time I saw him about two weeks ago?
But then I was reassured when, the longer we sat with him, the more responsive he started to become. He finally began responding to our worker friend, using words we could clearly understand, even if it was only a few words. He even looked up at my daughter a time or two, and smiled a little at her, the kind of knowing smile that made me think he might know who she was.
Then as we were leaving and saying our goodbyes, I breathed a sigh of relief to myself when he responded to me, too, not only with words, but with body language as well, and looked up in my direction. Funny how you become so hyper-sensitive to body language when the spoken word is no longer your primary source of communication. I cherished that moment, those few simple words he said to me--"Okay," and "Bye," and "Love you, too." The sound of his voice was like music in my ears, and I grabbed that moment and held on to it tightly. Almost as tightly as I hugged him.
Thursday, May 10, 2012
Small Update
I haven't been able to visit my dad for the past couple of weeks due to my daughter having a recurrence of strep throat (I was waiting to make sure I didn't get it so that I didn't expose my dad to it), but got an update from my step mom.
Apparently he is slowly losing ground, and it looks like he will have to keep using the wheelchair. We had hoped the issue with weakness in his legs and/or feet was only temporary, like it has been before, but it doesn't appear to be this time.
One of his doctors has also tried adjusting his medications (again) to help balance things out more so that he's not as sluggish, but every time he does, my dad becomes difficult and agitated again.
I would appreciate the prayers of anyone who might be reading this. I'm planning to go visit him again Friday afternoon.
I have more to share, but will save it for another time.
Apparently he is slowly losing ground, and it looks like he will have to keep using the wheelchair. We had hoped the issue with weakness in his legs and/or feet was only temporary, like it has been before, but it doesn't appear to be this time.
One of his doctors has also tried adjusting his medications (again) to help balance things out more so that he's not as sluggish, but every time he does, my dad becomes difficult and agitated again.
I would appreciate the prayers of anyone who might be reading this. I'm planning to go visit him again Friday afternoon.
I have more to share, but will save it for another time.
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