My sister and I went to visit Dad in the home today. It would have been better if we’d stayed far away.
Going to see Dad is a chore at best, nauseating at worst. Today, since Lori didn’t have a way of getting down to my house, I had to go to Thorndale to pick her up, which is 20 miles in the opposite direction from Dad’s nursing home, which is 20 miles from my house, so I basically traveled 60 miles both ways.
When we got there, Dad was nowhere to be found. Everyone said, “I saw him in the day room”…”I saw him in the dining room,” etc. Finally, after combing the rather small home, a nurse’s aid found that he’d gone to bed…in the wrong room. Poor Bruce. I hope he didn’t mind.
Dad was having a bad day. He was mean. He was surly. He had a nasty scowl on his face and was literally arguing and yelling at everyone no matter what they said or did. He was absolutely awful.
Yes, the Dad I remember from my youth….just plain mean. The difference now though is that he’s not being mean because of the booze, he’s being mean because he’s fragile and scared and he has no idea what’s happening to him.
We went out on the patio because he wanted a cigarette. He bitched at Lori and me the whole time, for what, I don’t know. I guess we just looked wrong. Finally, he wanted to get out of the chair and into the wheelchair so that we could wheel him back to his room. He demanded our help, but refused to let us actually do anything. Halfway through the procedure, he forgot why he was moving and put his legs up on the wheelchair as if it was a foot stool, when he’d just gotten them off of it so he could try to get out of the chair he was sitting in. It went on and on and ended with him screaming at the nurse’s aid because she finally gave up and just picked him up out of the chair and plunked him down on the wheel chair.
I bow to her patience. She never once smacked him upside the head, though he deserved it.
Lori and I finally just left as the nurse was getting him into his bed. I don’t even want to go into the nastiness Dad was exhibiting towards his roommate and his sister, demanding that the roommate (a parapalegic) move his bed out of the way and give him his wastebasket to boot. I have no clue as to what the basket thing was about, but Dad wanted it.
I looked at Lori and said, “Let’s get out of here.” She didn’t need convincing.
I swear, if I have any friends at all, you will go out and stockpile some nice, undetectable but deadly drugs and save them for me. If I start going the way of my dad, please, give them to Brni to put me out of his misery. And if he can’t or won’t, sneak them into my jello when he’s not looking.