December 1, 2007

This morning, I brushed the dog hair off a box labeled "Parents' Christmas Decorations" and threw it into the trunk I'd just emptied out. The night before, I'd filled it at the nursing home with boxes of endless old newspapers and magazines, mixed with packages of hot chocolate mix, pepper packets and several wooden airplane model kits in clear plastic bags. My dad doesn't build anything anymore. In his day, actually since the early '40s, he'd built the most intricate model planes imaginable, from scratch. In fact, he'd been featured within the pages of earlier editions of the same magazines I was throwing into my trash bin. Ever since the "Great Fall", when he injured himself and was diagnosed with multiple health issues, the model building was reduced to little toys. Soon after moving him to the nursing home, he began having trouble fitting the simplest parts together. He used to be one of the most organized people I've ever known, but those days weren't exactly reflected in this mess of Nestle's Hot Cocoa envelopes and old mail. It's been a harder fall than anyone expected, least of all, him.

Pam has been suffering from Dementia for some time. One of the ways she has demonstrated it at the nursing home, is to refuse showers. She points her little bony finger and scolds in the most authoritative tone, that she's already taken one at 5 a.m. just like she always does. Of course, the truth is, that nobody at that facility would be giving showers at that hour. They're probably hoping that the residents are fast asleep, so that they can finish out their shifts with as little effort as possible. One way that the staff has finagled the showering, is to appeal to her vanity. They promise to put her hair in rollers and then, they style it for her. Most of the time, this has worked very well. But for the past few weeks, she's been unusually compliant, and takes showers upon the first request.

Upon arriving with the Christmas decorations today, I was told that Dad refused to bathe, saying he'd just had a shower the day before. He had not, of course. In fact, it had been three days ago. What were they going to do, I wondered, bribe him by offering to curl his hair?

I sidled up to him on the bed, looked him in the eye and lied. I said that if he started refusing care, that Medi-Cal would no longer cover them and that I could not pay. He wasn't happy, but decided to take a shower.

He complained about pain in his leg, so I asked the nurse to give him some Tylenol. She told me she'd have to crush it and put it into some applesauce, because someone (I think she said Bruce) caught him spitting his pills back into the little cup instead of swallowing them.

He didn't touch his lunch. After he was bathed and back in his bed, he apologized to me for being "so much trouble." I told him I love him, and that he's no trouble at all.

Oh, there's going to be so much more trouble...