Why I haven't called you back

For awhile now, I've been planning to start this second blog for those of you interested in keeping up a little bit more with my mom and me and how things are going. I generally try to keep Dad's blog upbeat and informative and mostly about him. But I thought maybe some of you might want to know what's going on behind the scenes.

So, our first episode is Why I Haven't Called You Back, in which I give you a little glimpse into my life so you know that I'm not ignoring you, I'm just like a shark moving through my day: if I stop, I'll die. (I'm not trolling for sympathy, though I wouldn't turn it down ;) , but just welcoming you into my little world.)

Let's take today for example. Fridays are our "day off," which means I try not to schedule anything for Dad. So today, now that he's (thankfully) sleeping, we get to "sleep in." At 8:22, the phone rings, waking us both up. It's the clinic managing his coumadin (once a week he has his blood tested to make sure his blood is thin enough to prevent clots, but not so thin that if I nick him while giving him a shave we have Psycho flashbacks). This is a new clinic because now we're having the VA do it instead of IHC. So, I'm on the phone for half an hour rehashing his story, his medications, his recent blood draw history, etc. and scheduling our next blood draw (this means we go to our nearest hospital and have their "vampires" take a sample). After the phone call, I explain what I'm doing to Dad, tell him I'll let him sleep a little longer, and then wander off to see what's on my list for today (so much for sleeping in).

Becky lent me a big dry-erase board I have hanging in the kitchen to keep track of Dad's appointments and the to-do list, everything color-coded (which means if you stick around long enough I'll assign you a color and start writing down things for you to do).

There are four things on my to-do list, but they're just the things I'll forget if I don't write them down. The real list is in my head. So I spend the next half an hour opening the blinds, putting out the flag, bringing in the paper, cutting up a butternut squash that's been hanging out in the fruit basket so long I need to cook it or name it. The phone rings again at 9 (the coumadin clinic with a follow-up) and now Dad's done trying to sleep. We chat for a minute while he wakes up. My phone rings and it's Joe (see Dad's blog for details on why he's out of town). I talk to him, dust Dad's bedroom, and help Dad to the bathroom (yes, all at the same time).

After talking to Joe, I give Dad his pills, make him breakfast, cook the butternut squash for later (nothing like the smell of Mrs. Dash Garlic and Herb mingling with waffles!), read Dad the headlines, help him eat, do laundry, clean out the fridge and work on a grocery list, and finish dusting the house. (No, not all at the same time, although there is lots of multi-tasking happening.) I also begin making a list on the white board (see above) for my niece to do when she is "hanging out" with Dad later (hanging out seems much nicer than "Dad-sitting"). I quickly vacuum and clean Dad's bathroom.

Now it is 11:30 and I'm freaking out. My niece is coming over between 12 and 12:30 so I can go have lunch with my friend and I still have to give my Dad a shower and shave. Dad is sleeping in front of headline news so I have to gently wake him from the stupor of the drugs that help him sleep at night (yay). So, I get Dad into the shower. This is a procedure that involves five towels; me trying to keep a naked, wet man on blood-thinning medication warm while providing a modicum of privacy; and trying not to slip and fall OR let him slip and fall. Yes, this is every bit as fun as it sounds.

I get Dad showered, I get him dressed. My niece shows up while I am getting Dad shaved and her daughter, The Cutest Baby in the World tm, watches in fascination as I cover Great-Grandpa's face in foam. I shave, I explain what needs to be done, I play with TCBitWtm (she talks a ton, but the only words you can really understand are, "Are you okay?"...does that give you a glimpse into what kind of alarmist freak family she got plopped down into?).

By the time I get into the shower (technically I get soaked showering Dad, but I'm also sweating [ya gotta keep it at 80 degrees while you're dealing with a naked, wet man on blood-thinning medication]), it is 12:30 and I should be leaving to meet my sweet (and thankfully very gracious) friend for lunch. I manage to get out of the house at 12:55 (I did have to stop and wave and blow kisses about a thousand times to TCBitWtm).

So, while I make the half-hour drive downtown, I (please forgive me for this), call my niece to give me some phone numbers so I can a) call Dad's old coumadin clinic to let them know the VA is handling it, b) try to make an appointment with a new orthopedist for Dad. Then, I call Becky to make arrangements for the stuff she's doing with Dad this weekend, kvetch about our situation, make her laugh at me by tossing off obscure (to her) references to Douglas Adams, etc. and arrive to pick up my (did I mention gracious) lunch date.

After a brief hour of catching up (and eating a bowl made out of bread the size of my head...with soup [I realized when we got to the restaurant I hadn't eaten breakfast...funny, 'cause when I went to bed last night, I realized I hadn't eaten dinner, just four of the cookies I was baking...you wouldn't think it to look at me, but I need to add "eat" to my to-do list!]), I drop off my friend. On the way back home, I stop to take some of those cookies I was making last night to friends who just lost their mom/MIL/grandmother. I wanted to stay longer ("Hihowareyoudoing[hug]sorryIcan'tstayherearesomecookiesprayingforyoubye" just didn't seem to convey my heartfelt condolences, but I know my friends understand) but I had to get home so my niece could take TCBitWtm home for a nap.

So, I get home, take Dad to the bathroom, wrap things up with my niece, give hugs to TCBitWtm, finish up some of Mom's laundry to take to her, give Dad some pills and get him ready to go. And we go. Our visit with my mom is not stellar. I love my mother. Most of you reading this know that. But we are coming to understand more about some of the mental issues she is truly dealing with (she is seeing a psychologist with whom we are scheduled to have a family meeting next Monday). Basically, as many of you know, my mom has just abdicated all personal responsibility for herself and simply cannot make the connection that her actions or lack thereof are what is driving her situation. She "tries" to do PT, but she is unwilling (for the moment) to work through the pain that sent her on this journey in the first place. (Please pray about this, that she will have ears to hear her psychologist and that she would accept the help God wants to offer to get her better.) Anyhoo, between that and her medications (for anxiety) conversations with her are disconcerting at best. I try and avoid them myself (yes, I'm a bad person) and simply let her and Dad talk.

So, after our visit, Dad and I head home. I make dinner, I do more laundry, I feed Dad dinner and then eat mine while he falls asleep in front of the Jazz game. I make some dessert, I clean up and put things away, I update Dad's blog (and start this one), I talk to Joe. Dad wakes up at the end of the Jazz game and I give him his dessert and some pills. He's tired (of course!) so I help him to the bathroom, help him brush his teeth, put on the medications he has in transdermal patch form, put out clothes for tomorrow, answer his questions about tomorrow, put on a relaxation CD, go out to check on laundry, go back and forth for a few things for Dad (sip of water, CD sound's too low, CD is too loud), update the to-do list, research some things about Dad's medication online...

...and finish this blog. It is 11:17 p.m. and I feel like I got a bonus hour tonight 'cause Dad went to bed early! Usually at this time of night, I've just closed his door and am starting on the laundry/dishes/list updating. I guess this really is a day off! (Yes, that was a wee bit of sarcasm.)

Just so you know, yeah, I'm tired, but I love doing this stuff. (And honestly, it's much better when Joe is here to take up some slack, and Beck gives me tons of time off over the weekend when she's done with her work week and finally gets to spend her time with Dad.) "After all, it's nice to be needed," says mousy Pauline in Anne of Avonlea. And so it is.