Hope, Revisited

I learned something about diabetes yesterday.  I took my blood sugar in the morning and it was 297.  I've been using insulin and other medication and I was getting frustrated that my numbers weren't coming down, and I've been trying to eat right and watching my carbs and sugar intake (which of course is a real drag).  Well, yesterday I was watching Ashanti and we spent 2 and 1/2 hours in the pool, swimming, exercising and playing.  It was a lot of fun with my precious granddaughter.  When I finally came out of the pool, I took my blood sugar again and it showed 168.  I couldn't believe it.  I was down that many points in just a few hours, and it all had to do with exercising.  Wow - I didn't know that could happen, and I felt really good.  So now, I plan on being in the pool and swimming as many chances I can get.  Exercising on land is very hard for me to do, so swimming is perfect.  Shanti was my exercise instructor and we were having a blast by exercising at the same time and racing across the pool.  She, of course, won every time. To think I used to swim 100 lengths a night back when I was a teen, is incredulous to me now.  And that pool was an olympic size pool.  Boy, the things we did when we were young...

I can hardly wait until I have my surgery.  I'm more than ready to start feeling better, get this diabetes under control and start walking and doing things I haven't done in a long time.  We take so many things for granted that some folks are simply unable to do - whether they are paralyzed or disabled.  I am so thankful I have all my faculties, limbs and strength.  God has blessed us all in different ways, and I need to remember to thank Him for all His natural and supernatural blessings.

 How people believe we evolved from a big bang or some kind of matter, is totally beyond me.  I can't wrap my mind around that because it's so ludicrous.  There is a God, and He is One, to Whom I give all the worship and all the praise.  "He made us and not we ourselves," paraphrasing from the Bible.  I believe it's an arrogant and self-centered person who believes they are the master of their own lives.  I've talked with Atheists before, and although I care for the person, I totally disagree with their philosophy.  I need the Lord in my life, and as the old song goes that I used to sing, "I can't even walk without holding His hand."   I've said this before, and I say it again, I don't know how people go through life without the hope Jesus gives.  I would be a total mess, if I was even here by now.  But with hope I live my life and I wish I could convey this to all the people I know - I wish they could feel what I feel and know what I know, to show them what they are missing.  I believe we are all born with an empty place in our soul or heart that only the Spirit of God can fill.  We live our whole lives striving to fill that empty place, but until it's filled with God's Spirit, our attempts are futile and in vain.  I'm definitely not a good verbal communicator, and that's one reason I speak through this blog.  I pray I don't offend anyone because that isn't my intent.  If I could, I would open up my heart and soul so you could see what I'm talking about.  

Well, it is almost time for my daily swim and exercise class with Miss Ashanti.  Yesterday, I asked her, complaining, why do we have to exercise?  Her response was, "We just have to, grandma. Those are the rules."  I didn't get a chance to ask whose rules those are, because she was a stern taskmaster and kept me moving.  At least it feels good in the water.  I love the way the water lifts your weight and there is a feeling of being weightless.  Similar to the love and joy God gives - it makes you feel light, peaceful and complete...

That Deep, Dark Hole

My dad has now been moved to the nursing home my mom was in when I first moved down here.  He  shares a room with a man who is hard of hearing because his tv blares next to him.  A curtain stays closed between them, as my dad is not a social guy.  He just prefers to be left alone.

I'm really worried about him.  He has no emotional affect whatsoever.  I had to sign papers to have him admitted there and he just sat there and stared while the admissions officer explained each page to me which I had to sign.  His eyes just stare with no emotion and it's very weird to see.  I expounded in detail to him afterward how much the nursing home will cost (their co-pay) for how many days he is there and he had no response.  I did this three times and I made a point that I don't want my mom to be left without any money, because if it comes to that, the cost will take their assets until my dad is eligible for Medicaid.  I was kind, but firm and yet all he did was shake his head.  Absolutely no response, and that was always my dad's greatest fear.  He just gazes into space and only looks at you if you ask him something.  He either nods his head or gives you one word responses.

I was thinking last night that maybe I need to physically shake him and tell him to "snap out of it," but this is my dad we're talking about.  A man who always bred fear in those around him.  He was always an angry, ex-marine who tolerated very little.  But he also had another side that loved to laugh at funny tv shows, comedians and antics he found humorous.  He was a man with two faces and as I loved to hear him laugh, I always tried to be funny when I was young so he would laugh at me.  Now he neither has anger or humor - he just stares and his blue eyes look like faded glass. When I do catch him looking at me, it seems he looks right past me and doesn't grasp what I'm saying.  It's very disconcerting to say the least.

I want my dad to be my dad again - with anger and humor and all.  It seems like I've lost him and I talk to him to try to bring him back, to no avail.  I'm afraid to get right up in his face and try to push him back into reality, but I almost want to do just that.  He's deeply depressed in addition to what's going on in his mind, and I so want to reach him inside that place.  I know what depression is like - I've been there and it's a deep, dark hole that some people can't manage to crawl out from.  And of course, everyone experiences it differently.  But I would be amiss if I don't at least try to reach him in there and pull him out if I could.  After all, I am his daughter and he and my mom are the reasons I came down here.  I didn't always feel this way, but I love him for who he is and for what he's done for me.  The least I can do is try to help him in his time of need, just as he did for me so many times I've lost count...

My Church

When I said in my last post that Florida was a God-forsaken place, I forgot all about my church.  In fact, besides my kids and granddaughter living here, and of course my brother and parents, my church is absolutely awesome. I am thankful for that, even if it is in Florida.  That's what keeps me afloat when I start missing old friends and children who live far away; when I feel overwhelmed taking care of my parents; when I feel so much pain in my body that it hurts to move a muscle.  My church and my pastor are heaven-sent.  I know that sounds corny, but it's really true.  God knew I would need a strong pastor and strong church to help me through the hard times - we all do, in fact.  And He has blessed me with just that.

It's a small congregation, relatively speaking, but everyone is so friendly and kind, from the first moment I attended  there.  The building is clean and pretty and it has really good central air, which I am extra grateful for.  Even though, the only person there that sweats more than me, is my pastor.  He works up such a sweat preaching, that he's usually very wet when he's done and has to change shirts right after service.    I feel we have something in common, albeit our sweating, and we both use something to wipe our faces.  He uses a towel - I use a handkerchief.  It's embarrassing, really, but at least I'm in good company.

Pastor Dagan is a true man of God.  He lives what he preaches, and it's obvious to everyone.  I couldn't have asked for a better leader.  I truly love him for his example, even when he's stepping on my toes.  He doesn't actually literally step on my toes, of course - that's just a matter of speech.  And some of my friends would be surprised to know that I now sit on the front pew - mainly so I'm not distracted by anyone in front of me (as I get easily distracted) and also because I really want to be involved in the service.  I really enjoy sitting up there, except for the occasional spit from his mouth when he really gets revved up.

Pastor Dagan's wife is very sweet - a real southern gal from Louisiana, and they have 3 boys.  The church has several children in fact and is mixed with old people, young people and some in-between.  It also has black and Latino families as well as white.  I appreciate that very much.  Bro. Hightower said many, many years ago that there is something wrong when a church is all white or all black - it should be a mixture of all - and I totally agree.  The exception to that would be a church that caters to a group of people who don't speak English, like a Spanish church.  Otherwise, I believe all churches should be multi-cultural.  That's the way the world is, so why should the church be different?

So when I'm in church, I get to worship God and God blesses me in return and I forget about all my worries and problems for awhile.  It's a reprieve - a little island in the midst of a crazy world - that refreshes and renews my mind and heart.

Frankly, I don't know how people get along without it...

Doctors

I'm sure my parents were sore that I didn't marry a doctor, as a good Jewish girl should do.  And my brothers aren't doctors, so that leaves them plum out of luck in our family.  Doctors (and no offense to anyone) are not always what they're cracked up to be.  The best doctor I ever had is in Madison, Wisconsin and I miss her very much.  She was a caring, listening, informative doctor, and I haven't found one like her here in this God-forsaken state.  Well, it's really not God-forsaken, but it leaves a lot to be desired.  Besides the heat and humidity, mosquitoes and old people, the health care system here is atrocious.  Of course, this is all my tainted opinion, but I came from a place where I had excellent health care and an excellent doctor.

Old people will just take anything.  I mean, they don't question the doctor, they take it all in stride, believing that he or she is all-knowing, and it drives me nuts.  I mean, you're paying this guy hundreds of thousands of dollars, or Medicare is, and he should at least sit down and discuss your healthcare options.  He or she should at least listen to you and ask if you have any questions.  This is where my belligerent personality kicks in and I get very annoyed when I see people shuffled around like a deck of cards.  And it's usually old people because for one reason or another, they're too tired or too depressed or just don't care any more.  But I care.  And I especially care when it happens to someone I love.

My dad has been in the hospital for over 5 weeks now.  His doctor, who I do not like, never talks to me or my mom.  He only talks to my dad or my brother - he's an old-school chauvinist.  Incredibly, I usually keep my mouth shut if he ever happens to pop into my dad's room.  He never looks at me or my mom and barely acknowledges my mom.  It's quite disturbing.  She's the wife, for pete's sake.  Well, he is about to go on a 2-month vacation and so is probably frantically trying to wrap up his cases before Thursday.  My dad called tonight and said to my mom, "They're transferring me to a nursing home tomorrow," and got off the phone quickly for some reason.  My mom called the nurse and asked if that was true because no one notified us of this.  The nurse said that his transfer is in the works, but it won't be tomorrow.

My dad tends to do that.  He called Danny one night and told him he was going to die.  Danny called me so I called my dad.  I said, "Dad, what's going on?"  He said, "I'm going to die tomorrow."  I said, "Dad, what are you talking about?"  He said, "They told me I was going to die tomorrow."  I said, "Who told you that, Dad?"  He said, "That dark skinned doctor, you know, the one from India.  He also said I have mastitis." I heard the nurse in the room say, "Robert, you're not going to die tomorrow, it's ok."  I asked to talk to the nurse and apparently one of the aides told my dad that Hospice was coming to visit the next day and he took that to mean he was dying tomorrow.  As far as the mastitis goes, I still have no idea what he was talking about.

So the doctor has decided there is nothing more they can do for him and they will be moving him to a nursing home.  We are assuming, although it hasn't been told to any of us, that the bubble in his stomach has dissipated by itself.  That's good news.  It would have been nice to be told that by the doctor.  Even when you ask the nurses what is going on, they will not tell you - they say only the doctor can tell you about such things.

My dad will be transferred to the same nursing home my mom was in when I first came down here.  So here we go again.  Maybe he will have a crazy roommate and it will motivate him to work with physical therapy to start walking again.  As of this date, he hasn't walked at all, except for one brief moment, and either lays in bed or sits in a chair all day, every day.  If he doesn't work with physical therapy, Medicare won't pay for his nursing home care and that won't be a good thing.  We will cross that bridge if and when we come to it, but I plan on telling him again that he has to cooperate at the nursing home to get walking so he can come home.

We can only hope for a crazy roommate who will push him out the door quicker, and that will also make for interesting visits for the rest of us.

Papa's Eyes

When I was 18, I went to the nursing home where my Papa (my father's dad) was living.  He was a very quiet and peaceful man - quite the opposite of my own dad. I loved my Papa very much.  It was really hard to watch him get so old and feeble, as it is now watching my dad.  I remember taking a walk around a circle of windows with my Papa, and he looked at me with clear, blue eyes that seemed to look beyond me, and yet he was talking to me.  He spoke very little, but he always loved to walk.  At one point, he stopped and looked into my eyes and told me to never cut my hair, no matter what anyone says.  I told him I wouldn't, but thought that was a strange thing for him to say.  His eyes were like a blue, milky glass as he looked at me and I will never forget that day. That was the last time I saw him alive.

I saw my dad today.  He had that same look in his eyes.  I noticed it right away and it made me think of my Papa.  His eyes are blue and milky, like he's ready to cry - but I've only seen my dad cry once in my life, and that was when my Papa died.  When I saw him cry, that made me cry harder.  It was too hard to bear all the sadness of that day, and so I turned it into anger.  I was angry at everyone - my cousins, my other relatives and the rabbi who performed the service.  He spoke about my Papa saying that "Louie loved everyone...." and I said under my breath that that was a lie. I don't know if anyone heard me, but my Papa was prejudice against blacks, and I knew that, so I was angry that the rabbi "lied."  I was just angry because someone I loved, died, and there was nothing I could do about it.

My dad has started eating and we all, including the doctors, thought he was really making headway, until today.  He sat with a glazed look on his face, with oxygen in his nose.  He knew we were there and when Danny explained his options, he seemed to completely understand.  His mind is now clear, but his body is not cooperating.  He's on medication for high blood pressure, insulin  for diabetes, gas pills for his stomach, nutrition bags and a myriad of other medications through his IV.

They did a cat scan yesterday and found the balloon of air in his stomach has gotten bigger - that's why he has so much pain in his stomach. Along with that, he also has some fluid in his lungs.  Apparently, his stomach is not "working" and so he has two options to try to squeeze the air out.  One option is having the tubes going back in his nose down to his stomach, trying to draw the air out.  The second option is to put a tube in his side, into his stomach, to draw the air out.  Either option could take weeks or even months.  And then, there is the possibility that it won't work at all.  So my dad has to make the decision which one to do.

The doctors don't know what else to do.  They've exhausted all their resources and my dad's doctor has consulted with all his colleagues.  He said that only time now will either release the air, or not.  So my dad has an even lengthier time of recovery.  It will either be in the hospital, where he's already been for 5 weeks, or in a nursing home.

What lousy choices he has.  And yet, I'm thankful because he's still alive to make these choices.

A Light in the Clouds

Jason drove down here and I was so happy to see him and my grandchildren, Jade and Donovan.   It's a short visit - he came to see my dad - but I don't care - I'm just thankful to see them.  Jade is 3 and Donovan is 5.  They are both very active and I was exhausted by the end of the day, but with a good exhaustion.

Tonight at the dinner table, my mom asked Jade for her plate so she could put more food on it and Jade looked at her with a scowl and said, "What do you say?"  My mom (who was very big on manners when we were coming up) said, "Oh, right, please can I have your plate?" and she proceeded to give her the plate.  I just about died laughing - she is hysterical.  Now Donovan points out every blemish on your body and says, "What's that? What's that? What's that?" until he's located every blemish and mark that he can see.  At the dinner table, they were a tag team asking my mom and I all kinds of questions:  "Where is black Papa -- no, I mean Papa Shortz?  What is this red thing on my plate?  When is daddy coming back?  Where are the alligators?  Where is the chicken on my plate?  Where are the potatoes?   What is this red thing on my plate?  Why do I have to eat this?  Are you tired?  Why is your eye like that?  It went on and on and on.  I tried to answer every one of their questions, but finally, I just said, "Ok, now put food in your mouth and finish your dinner."  Food didn't stop the questions - they spoke through the food!  I just had to laugh.  I don't remember my children asking me so many questions, but I'm sure they did.  I was a lot younger then and it definitely helps being young to raise kids.  I can't imagine how I did it now.

After dinner, I suggested they run around the table on the porch 15 times - and they did.  Donovan pooped out, but Jade kept a runnin'!  Donovan followed me around asking me questions as I tried to clean up the kitchen.  Jade was looking for a tissue because "my nose is leaking."  Thankfully, Jason came home a short time after that, and I sighed a big sigh of relief.

We all went out on the porch and the kids swam in the pool with the light on.  It's been raining so hard here, the pool is overflowing.  It was fun watching them enjoy the pool, as Jas enjoyed the motorized wheelchair my parents own.  We had fun tooling around the house in them, and I just couldn't get the hang of it.  It's harder than it looks.

It was a nice evening after a difficult day.  We went up to the hospital to see my dad about noon and he was where they x-ray and he didn't come back to his room until 3:30.  The kids were going crazy, as it was way too long to wait, but we all wanted to see him.  When we did see him, he didn't look good - they made him drink barium so they could do an upper GI and it took 3 hours because he couldn't get the stuff down.  I don't know how they thought he would be able to, as he hasn't eaten or drank anything in almost 4 weeks.  But I assume he did, because he was nauseated when he came back and wasn't in the mood to talk.  He smiled and said hi to Jas and saw the kids, but he was in pretty bad shape.  He just wanted to sleep.  He wanted to hold my mom's hand and sleep.  I have a really difficult time seeing that and not crying.  That's a tender gesture my dad is not known for.  But it's obvious he feels comfort holding her hand and knowing she's right there with him.  They've been married 63 years the 25th of this month, and my dad finally shows her how much he loves her.  And I'm thankful that he has.

Teeter Totter

I think that's how you spell it.  It's one of those contraptions at the park that I dreaded to get on when there was someone else at the other end sitting on the ground.  My experience was that the other kid gleefully jumped off just as I managed to climb on the high part, sending me plummeting to the dirt.  When the other kid was a good kid, we went up and down and up and down and it was fun.  It was always very tricky getting off that thing, though.  You had to level it in the middle, then each get off very carefully - quite a tightwire act of low proportions.  

That's how I feel today. My brother and mother were up at the hospital for most of the day today, meeting with Hospice and then eventually speaking with my dad's doctor and a neurologist.  My dad signed the papers in the morning to go into Hospice, and he was all ready to get transferred, and then the doctor stepped in and decided to put the IV lines back in my dad, giving him drugs and nutrition, so he can see if there is more he can do for him.  He now wants yet another doctor to look into why he has a balloon in his stomach, why he is puking and why he is nauseous.  Mind you, there have been doctors for his heart, his blood pressure, the surgeon who did the bowel obstruction, the surgeon who took the stones out, an internist, a neurologist and now he wants a gastro guy to examine him (shortened it because I have no clue how to spell it).  

I don't know what to think.  They  are keeping my dad alive on tubes, which he specifically did not want, but he says he wants to live if you ask him.  I'm totally confused and my mother is beyond confused.  She's exhausted physically and emotionally and I really feel bad for her.  She wanted this all to end in a neat little box, by going to Hospice and making him as comfortable as possible.  She thought that's what was going to happen and she wanted that to happen, but the doctor isn't quite sure.  The interesting thing is that just yesterday that same doctor told Danny and I that we needed to think about options, such as Hospice, since he didn't think my father was capable of making a decision for himself and they were just keeping him alive.  Now he doesn't know??  I could say a lot of mean, sarcastic things at this point about doctors, but maybe it's not their fault.  After all, they are just practicing...

So my family and I are all crammed up on this teeter-totter on one end, and the medical establishment sits on the other end and we just glare at each other, wondering who will jump off first.  My dad lies in the middle, oblivious to it all, peacefully sleeping and no doubt hallucinating from the cocktail of drugs he's getting.  I know that feeling well, and I'm glad he can at least enjoy his sleep under these circumstances.

Letting Go

I have decided to return to my Blog because I need a release and writing is a release for me. Again, if you choose not to receive these, please let me know and I will remove your name from my mailing list.  Thanks.

My father, who is 85 years old has been in the hospital for over 3 weeks.  He went in for a bowel obstruction and the surgery became more involved and intense, per the surgeon.  He has not eaten or drank anything during the whole time, and he lays in the bed most of the time sleeping and going in and out of reality.  When he is awake, he motions for things instead of talking, and when he does talk, he doesn't make sense.  His doctor talked a long time to my brother and I today and said that he didn't have any "spark" in his eyes - that he didn't think my dad really knows what is going on.  So the doctor said that it is up to my mom and my brothers and I to decide what to do with him now.  He said a nursing home would kill him.  He suggested Hospice.

So I am in the middle of something I never wanted to be in, and that is to help decide my fathers fate.  He has a living will and this is what it says.  But I am just not ready to let him go.  I can't help it.  I cry every time I think about it.

I'm not good at letting go; of arguments, of thoughts, of fears and of people. It's just not in my character - I can be a real bulldog at times, and  can make it all the worse.  I can't let go because I don't want to live in his house that he bought some 40 years ago, without him.  I won't hear the stock market and the Military Channel on tv anymore.  I won't hear the pitter-patter of the computer keys as he types away whatever it is that he does on the computer. I won't hear his critique of my cooking at dinner every night.  I won't be able to share my paintings with him and he always critiqued those with fair criticism.  And the thing I won't hear that I can't let go of, is his telling me, "Goodnight, Sis (or Sweety) when I told him good night in the evening.

My heart hurts.  It feels like someone punched me in the stomach and it aches so bad.  My dad and I finally bonded, for the first time in my life, the past 2 years I've been down here, and now I have to let him go.

And I can't.