Update from sunny (but colder than I'm used to anymore) Florida Hello Kids, here's your Auntie Valkyrie bringing you an update from the panhandle of Florida! Well, we got Dad sprung from the hospital sans yet another toe, bringing his total toe count down to 5 and 3/4. On both feet. As you may remember, he's diabetic and has been struggling with this for 30 years. . . and it seems to be gaining. Furthermore, his dementia/Alzheimer's is taking a stronger hold and I have no idea what he's talking about most of the time. But he's very emphatic, so I answer his questions the best I can. He's enjoying the hell out of all the attention he's getting. He'd due to log another 20 sessions in the hypobaric chamber to try and super-oxygenate those feet of his. We'll see. I've had to prepare and administer his injections of insulin today, and my mother has been very vocal that she does not want to do that, nor does she want to change the dressing on his foot, although I don't blame her one bit on the latter, as it looks decidedly grody. Mom, on the other hand, is her usual passive-aggressive self and has already managed to pick fights with Dad within minutes of his discharge. She is adamant about his doing more for himself, yet she stands over him and cuts his meat at the dinner table, and berates his as he struggles with how to use the lancet to check his blood glucose. He can't even see well enough to even try to draw the proper number of insulin units, and when I handed the syringe to him to stick himself, he squeezed the plunger and sent an insulin stream all over the table. Which I found funny, but of course, Mom went ballistic. Of course, I'm not here all the time. I'll leave on Saturday and I don't have to live with him 24/7 and drive him to every hypobaric appointment, his endless consultations with various doctors, and I don't have to put up with dieticians and diabetic specialists who declare that Dad has a poorly managed diet and uncontrolled diabetes, despite her best efforts. Mom has to remember every appointment and dosage of every pill and when that dosage has to be taken every single day after day after day. Because, truthfully, Dad has no idea and his mental faculties are such that he can't do it himself at all. On the other hand, Mom refuses my suggestions to get help, to bring in home-care nurses, to get Dad physical therapy . . . things that would make Dad a little more responsible and give Mom some time to herself, which is what all caretakers need. That is, however, her main complaint: that she's a caretaker, not a wife. I will not refute that. I don't know where I'm going with this. However, I have caught a cold from sitting in the hospital for eight hours each day of my stay -- and probably from the three hours I spent in the cold setting up outdoor Christmas decorations for Mom -- and I still have a "chore list" from Mom about nine jobs deep, but now I think I'm going to take some extra Nyquil and go the hell to bed. Ta, my chickybabies.
|