October 14th - Strength in Numbers

Dad hasn't seemed to move much since I saw him last night.  Tom and Bill have spoken with Dr. Memnon who believes time is short with Dad. 

We are all here now.  Jim came in last night.  Good thing.  If Dr. Memnon is right, the days will get tougher.  If Dad can take it, we can, right?  It's simple math.  We each have half of him in us.  There are five of us.  When we stand together, that is two and a half of him.  And we know he is strong.  Strength in numbers.  We can take it.  Simple math.

While sitting here Dad has shadowed a tennis swing, occasionally points around, or tries to grab at something.  He has not said much.  Remembering how he liked the foot rub from yesterday, I moved to the end of the bed to rub his right foot.  As I began he let out a moan that startled me and I paused to look at Dad's face.  He hugged himself and gave a mild wide-eyed wiggle - obviously the universal sign for "That feels good, don't stop".

I spent about five minutes on each foot and at one point he was waving at me then opening and closing his hand.  This time I think he was just signalling that he was in a world all his own.  I wondered if he could be comforted by familiar images and played the "Family" video for him on the iPad.  He gave out a couple of groans and sighs at the early photos and another when one of his Mom went by.  He mumbled, "That's good, John", and put his hand up to touch the screen.  I am not sure how much he actually saw or understood as he turned away and disappeared near the end.

Another 10-15 minutes went by and he woke with a start, "Oh no.  I don't know where I am."  I rubbed his shoulder and he was reassured.  He would ask me this once again later, when the headphones were on.

Chuck knocked on the door for a visit.  He rolled in, "How's my buddy doin'?"

"Not too good."

"Did you leave this?", holding up the card Catie had had us all sign.

"My sister dropped it by last night."

"Cain't see good enough to read it, but thanks"

"Want me to read it to you?"

"That would be nice."

I read him each comment, describing each of us who had signed it.  He said, "That really warms my heart."

I winked (Chuck has taught me the power of the wink) and said, "That surprises me 'cause we are a cold-hearted bunch."

"That's bull!", pausing for a second before saying, "I missed him at breakfast.  I wanted to see how he was doing.  Did he eat?"  Then he barked a "Hello, Buddy" down to Dad.

"I doubt he'll be seeing too many more breakfasts."

A sadness came over his face and he dropped his head, "That's too bad."  He went on, "Where ya takin' him?"

"Greenlawn."

"That's a nice place.  I'd like to be there - not as part of anything - just to say good-bye to my friend."

"That would be nice."

We talked a little more, then said our good-byes.  He yelled at Dad, "Take it easy Buddy".  Dad grunted back "okay".  He had not had his headphones on all morning.

Sonia brought in breakfast.  I asked Dad if he wanted apple juice.  "Yes".  Note to self: pour out half the container so it doesn't spill on the poor man's shirt.

A bit later he gave me the headphone sign and I put them on.  Mary Beth came in for eye drops.  She said she woke up at midnight and felt the desire to pray for Dad.  "I got down on my knees and started praying and I was crying too."  Dad grabbed her hand.

After she left, I asked Dad if he wanted water.  As I sat on the side of his bed helping him sip, he looked up and asked, "What time is it?"

"Nine"

"Did I go to breakfast?"

"No."

In a rather stern tone he said, "Why not?"  Huh?  Why not?  Really!?  I was back peddling now.  Hmmm.  What's a good answer? C'mon, John, think!  I got nothing.

"Sorry, Dad, I did not have the heart to wake you up.  They brought breakfast in for you, jello and oatmeal, but they took it back.  Do you want anything?"

"No", sounding disappointed, "That's okay."

Sometime around ten he needed to use the bathroom.  I peaked down the hall, but there wasn't an aide in sight.  I managed to get him to the porta-potty.  He was having a hard time getting up.  Finally, I was able to round up Mary Beth and we got him cleaned up and back on the bed.  He was near the foot of the bed and Mary Beth called Sonia and the two of them did this pull-slide-rollover routine until they got Dad back to the part of the bed he would be most comfortable.  It was far more strenuous than the Physical Therapy I had seen Dad do and he was out of breath and complaining he could not breathe.  Mary Beth came in and took his BP which to no one's surprise was high.  Then she took his O2 level.  It was 37 and she had a very concerned look on her face as she said, "We need to get him some oxygen."

She hustled, got the machine hooked up and on Dad in a few minutes.  By this time his breathing had improved but his levels were a roller coaster.  She came in about twenty minutes later and took his BP again, peeled the monitor off his wrist, looked at it and smiled.  Back in the normal range.

Bill had come in near the tail end of all this.  Tom and Mary followed.  It was time for me to go catch up on a few things.