October 9th The New Room

Dad was up and sitting at the table when I arrived at 7.  They had put the headset on and all I had to do was say "hello" and sit down.  After we settled in Chuck said he had been to PT before breakfast.  I repeated it to Dad and as soon as he heard the words "PT" he shivered at the thought.  Humor in tack - check.

He sipped on some orange juice, declined apple juice, and though he said he was not hungry, asked for some scrambled eggs.  While we were waiting, Chuck fell asleep and woke with a start.  "What scared him?", Dad asked.  "He's trying to fall asleep on us Dad".  "C'mon, Charlie, try and stay awake -  at least until breakfast gets here."

Two small bites of egg and we had to excuse ourselves back to the room.  Almost everything I saw go down came right back up again.  He took a little time, the process was exhausting, laid his head on the sink in frustration, then said "let's go sit out there."

We moved to the bedroom and just sat in silence for awhile.  He looked at me and said, "John, I'm starting to see things."

"What did you see?"

"A little girl, over by the dressor looking at all the things over there."

"Did you recognize her?"

"No, she had curly hair though.  I don't know if seeing things is a good or a bad thing."

As I sat there pondering his apparition the eraser board fell off the wall behind me with a thud!  Ah, a mischievious little girl at that...or just bad stickum on the eraser board.

We sat there for another thirty minutes or so, he did not say much.   He asked to lay down and we got him into bed.  Again, the jostling of moving from the chair to the bed almost made him throw up again.  He asked for the gray tray.  Thankfully, we did not need it.

Not three minutes later Nurse Julie came in with his meds.  I told her he threw up his ounce of orange juice and that I wasn't sure if he would do the same with the meds.  She blended it in applesauce and walked over to Dad.  Dad dutifully opened his mouth and took the pill-ladened applesauce, chewed and swallowed.  As we watched and waited for what he would do next, he gave the "hit me" sign.  Julie looked at me, "What does he want?"  "Another bite of applesauce", I said.  She went and got another little container, put a spoonful of applesauce on it, and he had his mouth open, waiting like a baby bird for a worm.  I wonder if they have applesauce in the lunch room?

I stayed another twenty minutes in case the applesauce came back up and he needed help.  There were a couple of times he had an anguished look on his face, but everything stayed down.

Is this a variation of the Stockholm Syndrome?  I find myself becoming attached to the people, both residents and staff, at Rosewood.