Déjà Vu

Almost 2 years to the date of his last fall, Dad slipped in the bathroom again: same kind of fall, same hospital. This was his 3rd strike; a new chapter has begun. After a few weeks in skilled nursing, he will be located in an assisted living studio with onsite caregiver support.

I was prepared. I was at his home for the first bad fall in 2013 when he crashed through a glass shower door. I missed the 2nd fall in 2015, a backflip where he laid on the floor for 14 hours before being discovered. This time I was nearby. The evening before, he tried an electric mobility scooter for a sunset drive around the courtyard. I wanted to ensure he could navigate it to the dining room for breakfast. I woke up early, sensing something was wrong. I got to his room 20 minutes after he fell and alerted the EMTs. Tip: don’t try to lift an injured senior unless you are trained, call 911. Even though we’ve had many talks about pushing the panic button, and he could easily reach 2 alert devices, he didn’t use either system. He struggled to move his body because he wanted to prove he was independent. He didn’t realize until later that he fractured 3 ribs.

Vibes were already wobbly due to the recent removal of my mother’s ancient walker from his closet for disposal. When I wrestled it free, I was thrown backwards. Doris clearly did not want to be disturbed. Did Mom cause Dad to slip to keep her company? Did he just trip? I don’t know. His fall was broken by her old shower chair, maybe she saved him. Last month I purchased a newer, safer shower chair that he refused to use. Would it have made a difference? Maybe. It doesn’t matter.

My father is a tough guy who has survived a lot of trauma throughout 94 years. I expect him to rally. His attitude is upbeat despite intense pain. Nurses, doctors, physical therapists and cleaning staff have been wonderful. Sometimes they ask if I’m his wife, then I have to explain that he’s my daddy, not my sugar daddy. I’m using pickles as motivation to get him to exercise his lungs to prevent pneumonia. After decades of self-management, he agreed to a palliative consultation to recalibrate drugs and services to honor his priorities and goals. Do I wish I had done more to prevent yet another crisis? Of course. To respect a person’s dignity while keeping them safe is quite a challenge. (101-year old Ida chimed in with her opinion that Sid is “an overgrown baby” and just needs to get his act together.)

I’m now packing up Dad’s stuff since he’s going to downsize again. Boxes I grabbed from Costco are labelled “fully cooked bacon” which makes me laugh (this is a kosher facility). It’s much easier than the last round. Garbage bins are down the hall instead of making “trash and dash” runs all over town. Emptying a 1 bedroom apartment is faster than dealing with a giant house. I am excited to finally get rid of the crusty plaid sleeper sofa circa 1972. After calling a bunch of donation centers to find that nobody wants a vintage eyesore, I found someone who said he can make it disappear as part of the move to Dad’s new unit. I’m not asking questions. I was on the verge of dumping it into the nearest ravine. The problem is that my mother may get pissed off again, but I’m willing to risk her wrath.

I’m fine. Advocacy training comes in handy, although it’s hard to personally experience what you preach and teach. Friends are helping me cope, this community is supportive, the timing of each change is aligned. I’m even getting a suntan from a daily beach walk. Last night I ate barbecued ribs - appropriate to recognize Dad’s latest mishap.

Can’t Make This Stuff Up

I’ve been trying to take a beach walk for 3 days. Life intervened. As soon as I arrived in Encinitas for my monthly visit with Dad, I’ve been running around. The first crisis was when he complained his new hearing aids kept falling out of his ears. I scheduled a visit to the audiologist. However the next morning I got to his apartment to find him long faced, explaining that he somehow flushed his left hearing aid down the toilet. I was willing to dive in to the plumbing until he explained his stomach was upset and it involved #2. Nope, not gonna go there. He stripped his clothing for a full body inspection. I hand delivered an insurance claim to expedite a replacement. Then I wondered if perhaps the problem was that he had them reversed. Sure enough, when I brought the remaining hearing aid into Costco they confirmed it. “We color code the devices,” the rep said. “Red for right. Blue for left.” Nice strategy; however Sid is color blind.

This morning I arrived at Dad’s place to find him sheepishly holding 2 hearing aids. He found the missing one laying in the hallway in front of his door. Someone, a Good Samaritan, anonymously delivered it. Amazing karma! I tried to cancel the replacement claim. I re-inserted both aids into the correct ears. I would be mad at him but honestly, these gadgets are tricky. Plus last week he stole a pile of chocolate covered matzoh from the dining room and kept it in his walker seat for me. That’s love.

We had another talk about transitioning into assisted living, using this latest debacle as an example of how a little more help was needed to get through the day. It was a teachable moment. He calls it “the fancy bathroom place.” In the meantime, I’m arranging all sorts of services: nurse visits, repackaged medications, assistance with the laundry. I bumped into a little old lady using an electric mobility chair, and her husband told me that they plan to sell it to get one with a longer distance battery. I offered them cash on the spot. Sid could ride a red scooter at speeds up to 4 mph to relieve his compromised body (he has COPD along with atrial fibrillation, arthritis and diabetes).

The irony is that I was interviewed today by the Seattle Times about patient advocacy. I explained that you do whatever is necessary to make things easier. I didn’t mention that my skills are tested every hour!