Husband Is Home
Wed., October 13, 11:41 AM
This is Husband’s eleventh day home – not even two weeks. I don’t know if I’m going to survive this.
It’s good to have him home, if only because I don’t have to drive to and from the nursing home. It was very good, as nursing homes go, so I didn’t push myself to drive when I didn’t feel up to it…but the construction made it a rough drive whenever I went by myself.
Son did a wonderful job rearranging and cleaning Husband’s room. We threw out so much stuff we should have hired a dumpster. I don’t think he missed the junk – he hasn’t said a word about the cigarettes. He has everything he needs – two walkers, a cane if he “graduates,” a comfortable bed. Son sorted his tools and his papers and his other hobby stuff and told him where everything is. No appreciation whatsoever.
After having had everything done for him for a month, he’s not too happy about taking care of himself. Fortunately, I have help, in the form of nurses, home care aides, physical and occupational therapists. And a social worker. There were more people in and out of my house in one week than we’ve had in the past year. So instead of taking a nap – which I needed desperately – it seemed as if I was always “on.” I’m the explainer, the interpreter, the keeper of the med history and the medications. And the one who yells when he doesn’t respond to questions. (Don’t say hearing aid; we’ve been that route. He owns one, but won’t wear it.)
There’s more food prep and more laundry now. And shopping. U.D. does what she can, but that’s not nearly enough. Whenever no one is here pushing him, Husband would rather stay in bed; the rule is, he’s supposed to get up and get dressed every morning. He’s also supposed to do his exercises alone when the therapist isn’t here, but he doesn’t. As I pointed out, the exercises aren’t going to make me any stronger.
I took him to a specialist last week for specific condition noted in the hospital. The doctor laid it out very bluntly, especially when Husband asked whether he couldn’t have an operation instead of taking water pills. “I don’t want to operate on you. Your lungs are shot. You’ll die!” I guess Husband stopped listening at that point. He doesn’t hear anything he doesn’t want to hear.
The visit to the doctor was an adventure in itself. When I was getting directions, the girl said “you know where the YPB is?” Somehow, I didn’t catch that she was using that for a landmark, not telling me it was in that building. Only after I borrowed a wheelchair and got upstairs with him did I realize I was in the wrong building. I spoke with the office on the phone; after all, I wasn’t going to be on time.
“Just half a block,” she said. I figured I could do half a block. Well, I had to wait at two different traffic lights; I’d say that’s more than half a block. I couldn’t find a wheelchair ramp, so I opened the front door to see a sign that said the ramp was in the back. So I helped Husband inside, told him to wait for me, and took the chair around the back.
Once I got it inside, I went through to the waiting room, and he was nowhere to be seen. The receptionist said, “are you looking for the man who asked for the bathroom?” Well, I could fill out the papers while we waited. And waited. The nurse asked me if I thought he was too confused to come out. No, he just takes a long time. Once he was finished, I set him in the waiting room, went back to get the chair and return it to the YPB. I redeemed my car and drove around the block (New Haven traffic rules) to get back to the doctor and bring the walker inside. Once more I had to ask for access to the back door so that he could get out – where he didn’t recognize the car I’ve been driving for twelve years. Somehow, I got him into the car, drove home, and got him into the Cheesebox. He knows how to do stairs – but he never wants to wait for the walker.
Incidentally, my friends, this isn’t senility. It’s laziness. He can answer all the questions they’d ask to tell whether he’s mentally incapacitated. But he’s quite likely to say, “ask my wife.”
I am exhausted!
Kitchenlogic pointed me to this quiz. I come up with the darnedest results. Belief,net had me as Unitarian (which I know I’m not), but I don’t believe this one is accurate either.
Take the quiz: "WHAT RELIGION BESTS SUIT YOU?"
New Aged/Wiccan
An it harm none, do as ye will. You are a fluffy bunny. You wouldn't harm a fly. Actually, you might demonstrate to SAVE the flies! Than again, you're probably busy casting love spells, using a psychic talent, being a Vegetarian or trying to save the Rainforests. Either way, you're harmless.
