PART 3:

August 2008: It was a Sunday, the day before my mother's birthday (Aug.23), when we went to visit my father at the hospital. He didn't seem himself, and that worried me a bit, because until now he had been quite stable in pretty much every sense of the word. I dropped in again a few days later; he was finishing breakfast and the orderly was going to take him for a shower. When my dad stood up, his knees suddenly buckled. I held him up and we walked to the door. At the door, he abruptly slumped sideways. Now I was worried! The orderly came back with the shower chair and I told him what happened. The orderly was able to have my dad sit down and headed off for the shower. In the meantime, I went to tell the nurse there was something wrong with my father and she needed to inform the doctor. Over the following days, I saw a gradual deterioration and continued to persist in pointing this out to the nurses on duty. 

Not that I mentioned this in my previous post, but my work certainly took back seat to caring for and monitoring my parents. So I squeezed in what I could when I could, and otherwise told my clients I was busy or out of the office.  

Anyway, within days, my dad was sitting in a geriatric chair, his right side completely limp and useless. Because he's right-handed, he needed help to eat. He was also put on pureed foods, because he couldn't chew properly. On Friday, August 30, I finally got a call from the doctor who said he thought my dad had had a stroke. The Labour Day weekend was coming up, however, so a scan would have to wait till next Tuesday. Typical, I thought -- something always happened to my parents just before or during a long weekend.

Tuesday: the scan was done, and imagine the doctor's surprise when the results came back showing that my father's brain was being squashed by a significant subdural hematoma! The pressure on his brain is what caused his right side to cease functioning. Things happened fast after that. A neurologist was consulted, the Montreal Neurological Institute was contacted and by suppertime, my father and I were in an ambulance on the way to the MNI. My father could not have been in better hands with the head surgeon of this world-renowned and world-class institution. The next day, his head was shaved, his skull drilled and the blood drained. We now had to hope his brain would get its shape back and his right side resume functioning. The following Tuesday, he returned to the hospital: same room, same bed. Where before he'd been considered a bit of a pest because he was always walking around, on the prowl, now everyone felt sorry for him because of his immobility and his shaved head! 

Once again, I put work on the back burner. For the next two weeks, I spent every day at the hospital with my father as he regained his strength and abilities. Thank goodness my mother had her private companion; and I informed the nurse at her residence of my father's situation so they could keep a closer eye on her since I wouldn't be seeing her as often. Still, I knew she'd want to see me now and again, so similar to Feb./Mar. of this year, I shuttled between hospital and her residence. 

By mid-September, I realized I was burning myself out and decided to "hire" caregivers to help look after my father. I didn't want to go through an agency, because I'd have no control over who would show up, their qualifications, personality, etc. Someone suggested I go through university and college nursing schools - there are always students who need money and looking to acquire experience in the field. So I wrote an ad, sent it in to the person responsible, and soon started getting calls and e-mails. I finally hired three girls. One of them didn't work out and I found another student to replace her. I was now mini-manager of three, then (by January) four sitters. They were wonderful and made a huge difference in my father's recovery. After he regained his strength, started walking and eating by himself again, I decided to keep the girls because they were giving him all the attention and care he needed. He was clean, well dressed, well fed, went to the chapel for a prayer (or not), and had someone who would hold his hand while he walked up and down the hallway. The staff and patients benefitted from "my girls" because the former didn't have to run after my dad all the time anymore and the latter felt a bit more secure, knowing my dad wasn't on "the loose" anymore. 

Having achieved a bit of breathing room meant I could now focus on other important things: following up on my mother's her para-transit card; her "rehab" courses at the Royal Vic (2x week) - she was now walking fairly well with a walker; and the homologation of my father's mandate in case of incapacity, which finally came through mid-Sept. I was officially his legal guardian. Next was getting my mother's mandate homologated. Even though her mental capacities were back up to speed, she still relied on me for most things financial. And based on the events and our experiences from the last couple of years, we felt it safer to get it homologated as soon as possible.

With both parents in relatively good hands, I was able to take on more real work. It was nice to sit in front of a computer and do some proper work that would earn me some money.

But the worries weren't over. We still had to find a permanent place for my father. The bad news was that, in August, we had been told the hospital's long-term care unit would be closed March 31, 2009, as part of a pilot project that aimed to see long-term care patients housed in proper facilities. In other words, the Montreal health agency didn't feel a hospital was an appropriate setting (true) and felt it could place the 70-odd patients in nursing homes within six months, when in fact, some had already been waiting over a year. My next major task was getting my father into the long-term care facility my brother and I had decided was perfect for him. Unfortunately, the health agency was marching to its own drum -- a battle was gearing up between it and the patients' family members.

TO BE CONTINUED.