[OK, so that's a bit of a dramatic title. Still, when I think about it, almost everything about my life has changed in the last five years.
1. Work:]
PART 2:
March 2008 - as mentioned previously, my mother was in hospital recovering from a hip fracture operation. Until now, my father had been OK to take public transportation, and he probably knew the way to the hospital with his eyes closed, so often did he do the trip the previous year. This time, as soon as I felt it would be OK for him to visit his wife, we agreed that he would come on his own and meet me at the hospital. We spoke on the phone after his breakfast and he said he would be leaving shortly to take the bus. I waited and waited - and started worrying when he didn't show up. I called the residence's reception to see if they had seen him leave the residence and was told that, yes, he had left at such and such a time. I called a half-hour later, and again a half-hour later; this time, I'm told he came back -- but escorted by the transit police! From what the receptionist said she saw from her desk, he was having a nice chat with the officers, but they didn't come in to explain why they had driven him home. I never did find out what had happened, except that he still had his bus ticket. From someone who knew the public transit system better than I did, and figured out routes to get from point A to point B, he now was unable to even get on a bus or to the metro station? Scary! Still, it was a relief knowing he was back home safe and sound.
Which now meant that I would have to escort him to/from the hospital so my parents could see each other. While I tried to bring my dad to visit her in hospital as often as was feasible, it gradually became clear that he was stressing her out during mealtimes. He would stand over her (already a threatening position to a sitting person), and make sure she ate her meal. He was concerned she wasn't eating enough, and wouldn't regain her strength to walk and be independent again. With his actions, he was actually making her lose her appetite! Once I became aware of this, I arranged his visits in such a way that he would arrive after lunch and leave before supper.
I spent whatever few spare hours I had with my father, so he would not feel too neglected. I also had to look after his affairs, as he no longer understood his credit card statements (I had a nice mess to clean up with Amex; once that was done, I cancelled the card), nor his bank accounts. For someone who had always had a mathematician's grasp for numbers, it must have been heart-rending to admit this. He was also putting cheese in the freezer, butter in the cupboard, sugar in the fridge, packing and repacking boxes (probably because he saw others moving in or out, and felt his turn was coming soon...).
I think this was the worst time for him: aware of losing some cognitive abilities, trying to camouflage these losses, and doing things he could not explain.
In the meantime, the physiotherapist (PT) was convinced my mother -- 81 years old, with a history of osteoporosis, lymphoma, Parkinson's dementia - wouldn't walk again.
Honestly, I was ready to accept that prognosis. I wasn't even sure she would be able to go back to the residence, given her physical and mental condition. Still, if I knew anything about my mother, it's that she does things in her own time and that she's headstrong. I now believe that her body was being healed inwardly by her mind, and once her mind declared that her body was ready, she began to sit up, then to stand up, then to take a few tottering steps. Finally, the PT agreed to work with her to strengthen her muscles. I later told the PT that my mother "marches" to her own schedule, and that there's no point in trying to rush it. Nevertheless, I knew it would take months of pain, sweat and tears on my mother's part to walk again - but I was convinced she would succeed.
(Spoiler: this same PT, who last saw my mother confined to a wheelchair in March 2008, was astonished to see her walking solidly with a walker in November 2009. We stopped to chat and she then confessed to me that, at the time, she had thought I was nuts trying to "make" my mother walk).
End of March: my mother was discharged and fitted for a special wheelchair (even the wheelchair technicians were convinced my mother wouldn't walk again!). I bring her home, to her room. She was weak and sometimes confused. I decided I would spend the next four nights sleeping in her room to make sure she doesn't fall out of bed, or tries to get up on her own to go to the bathroom, since she's still not able to stand solidly on her feet. My father was in a separate room down the hall. The first few days were OK, with everyone adjusting to my mother's situation and my instructions. I monitored both parents to ensure things ran smoothly.
In the meantime, my sister, (who lives in Switzerland) had made arrangements for a leave-of-absence from work in order to spend three months here to help me out. Thank goodness she did because I don't know if I would have survived the next couple of months. She also wanted to give me an opportunity to be free enough to work full time on/at my business, something that had not been possible until now.
April: to ensure my mother's safety during night, I hired a couple of 'night sitters' who took turns watching over her. I was also referred to a private physiotherapist, who has the most wonderful approach with elderly people, and made the exercise sessions something my mother actually looked forward to. And my father? More and more, he would question why he had a double bed but was sleeping alone in it. More and more, a tussle would occur after supper, in which my wheelchair-bound mother was in the middle, my dad on one side trying to grab the handles, and the wheelchair, away from an attendant on the other side. A real tug of war! Again I had to intercede to come up with a system whereby my father would be distracted so my mother could be brought to her room safely and made ready for bed. But my father, a war veteran and concentration camp survivor, had learned to fight for what was his, and his wife was his!!! She could be with him most of the day, or if not, he would know where to find her. As long as he felt her presence, he was OK.
But evenings... she would "disappear" and he would search for her. Checking the rooms one by one until he found hers (he had her room number on a piece of paper, but often had to ask what 219A meant). The night sitters started to become a bit nervous, until I told them it was OK to lock the door. But they only started at 11 p.m., so until then, anything could happen. For instance, one night, my dad made a makeshift bed beside my mother's bed. For her safety (and the night sitter), we moved her to his bed and left him sleeping on the floor. One evening, he "kidnapped" her and locked her in his room. One night, she was found in his bed... and we had to "kidnap" her back out to her bed. My sister and I were called in each time to negotiate a peaceful outcome to these incidents, which increased as time went on. Sad to say, on most of those occasions, the evening nurse totally mishandled the situations. In his frustration, my father would become aggressive... and one night, violent.
May: A neighbour had often invited me to his country cottage, but I had never been able to accept the invitation. With my sister in town, I was finally able to go for a weekend. Ah... bliss - I could eat, drink, relax and sleep in peace for two nights. Little was I to know that a scant half-hour after my departure, my sister would get a call saying that my father was threatening the evening nurse with the metal footrest from my mother's wheelchair (which meant he'd taken her to his room again).
I heard the whole story when I came home Sunday afternoon. My brother and sister had agreed that my dad be brought to hospital for observation on the Friday night. My sister was now the one who had to run between the hospital to monitor my dad and talk to the doctors, and keep an eye on my mother, etc. I imagine she understood more fully what I had been going through for the past couple of months.
Because my sister was the current "go-to" person for our parents at the residence, she was the one who was told by the executive director that they would not accept my father back and she would have to find another place for him (not the exact words, but nearly - my sister was rather shocked at the unsympathetic delivery of such news).
In the meantime, given that my mother's prognosis was still uncertain, we began to look into full-care nursing homes for her, while at the same time, realizing that my father would probably soon be declared incompetent, we started the paperwork to have the Mandate In Case of Incapacity homologated. This would make me my father's legal guardian.
By the middle of June, my sister was preparing for her return home. It was with a very heavy heart that I saw her go, but we had found a wonderful companion to stay with my mother during the day, so I could continue with my work.
Over the next several months, my mother slowly improved and made progress in her walking. At the same time, my father gradually adjusted to living on the long-term care unit at the hospital.
TO BE CONTINUED
