Lisa and Sue spent the weekend into Tuesday by dad's side. Sacrificing time away from their jobs and families. I had the ability to commute and only missed single days at a time from my family.
I head back up to the hospital early Wednesday morning. We're closing in on the end of the first week of this journey. It feels like a year since I received the call from dad's doctor last Thursday. But I am hopeful that today is going to be a great day. We are expecting dad to be moved to a rehab facility to begin his physical rehabilitation.
I enter the hospital a little before 10am. Dad's roommate is absent. yay!
Before I have a chance to sit down the nurse strolls in and says "John, did you tell your daughter what happened this morning?"
"Hello? Is anyone else hearing this?"
Had I known how the day would end up, I would have known this was an omen.
Early this morning, and by early I mean pre-4:00am early, I received a call from the hospital that dad had fallen. Nothing major, just tried to head to the bathroom on his own, and slid to the floor.
We don't dwell on it. No real reason to... or so I think.
I learn they catheterized him earlier today because he is having trouble emptying his bladder.
The Nurse Care Manager comes in and tells me that dad has been accepted at a rehab center nearby and she's arranging for his transport soon after lunch. We are excited. I peek in dad's suitcase and eye his newly purchased clothes from Sue and Lisa. It's oddly like buying new clothes to go on a trip... dad will be well outfitted for his holiday at rehab.
But today will not end up being that day.
Dad is having trouble urinating. And what he passes has blood. Not a positive sign.
They ultrasound. Decide how much urine they have to gather before they can allow him to be released and we wait.
And wait.
They decide to catheterize again. This time there is more blood. It looks bad to me. But then again, I went to school for Philosophy.
The PA from Urology arrives and assesses things. He's not too concerned with the amount of blood, but is concerned with clotting that may occur and cause further discomfort for dad. He talks to dad about symptoms he may have experienced before and in typical dad fashion, he never had things checked by a doctor. The PA decides a bladder irrigation is in order.
The Nurse Care Manager tells us that the local rehab facility can not take someone with a catheter. So that option has been ripped from the table. My heart sinks. I try to be positive for dad. I tell him that rehab is out for today, but they're going to get him fixed up and he'll be a whole new man when he gets out... ready to run a marathon. He chuckles.
After some confusion among the nursing staff and the PA, they set up to do the bladder irrigation. Which means catheter #3 of the day. I take a walk to give privacy.
I'm glad I did. My heart breaks. This has been a physically trying day for dad. He had tears in his eyes.
The roommate came back. The girl babysitting him this afternoon tells him she needs to bathe him because he's dirty. I can't help but smirk. And look for the camera. And you guessed it -
"Hello? Is anyone else hearing this?"
The afternoon seems to drag on. At one point I ask dad if he wants to watch TV. I show him how to work the TV control. He begins okay, then starts to be a little spastic with the on-off switch. on. off. on .off. In rapid succession. Finally, I try to re-teach the previous lesson... with a touch of patience. "You have to wait for the picture to appear." sigh... as I look for the camera.
I have checked out the cafeteria and the cafe; tested the limits of cell coverage in several elevators; played with the hand dryers in the bathroom - oh my gosh, they are so much fun! Posted to facebook, checked email.
Dad is being very patient today. He's allowing everyone to do their jobs. We talk about jobs he has had. Then the frustration begins. He asks me if I see the urinal. Can I get one for him. I tell him to just go, that he has a catheter. He's not understanding. I walk around to the other side of the bed just to be sure. Yes, dad, you're still hooked up. sigh.
His urine is running more clear with the irrigation. Things are looking up.
Dinner is served. I get dad situated and decide I should get going. I'm not looking forward to a rainy drive home.
I tell dad that Sue's husband Tim is going to come up tomorrow to spend some time with him. This brightens him. He tells me it will be good to see him.
Dad tells me to drive safe and I promise I will.
I step out into the dismal early evening. The sky is threatening. And I know it will follow through on its threats. It's dinner time, but I'm not really hungry. And I want McDonald's, but there isn't one on my route home.
Oh well. I'll turn on my Pandora station and sing at the top of lungs instead. See how I feel in a hundred miles or so.
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