My poor dad. In the last few days, he has fallen two more times. That means he has fallen a total of three times in the last week, all while under my care. I am only giving you this information in case you might ever consider asking me to care for you someday.
If you recall, when he first fell last week, he came home with a fractured left hip. Of course, I assumed … my first mistake … that a fractured hip would slow him down and he would mend while getting plenty of rest. Obviously, I had forgotten who I am dealing with. A few days after coming home, the old coot decided to get up and walk at six in the morning. This led to fall number two. Luckily, he landed face first, saving his hip from further damage. Having that gorgeous, chiseled Casas face is surely what saved him from further harm when he hit the floor although his poor shins look a bit worse for the wear. After fall number two, I had a hospital bed delivered. Surely, a hospital bed with high rails on both sides would keep the old geezer from further harm since I seemed to be unable to accomplish this.
The first night in the hospital bed, Kid Cassidy's dementia kicked in convincing him there was an intruder in his room at three in the morning. This, of course, meant that he needed to defend the family from harm. His first weapon of choice was the bottle hanging on the bed rail. You know, the one they give guys to pee in when they can’t make it to the bathroom because there are hospital bed rails keeping them safely in the bed. He grabbed the bottle, which he had peed in a few times during the night, and flung it at the guys head. When yellow rain didn’t seem to melt the invader, the old man, with the fractured hip remember, flung himself over the bed railings and began to pummel the dude. By the time I heard the commotion through the baby monitor, jumped out of bed, grabbed my robe and ran down the hall, the intruder had finally gone.
As I stood in the bedroom doorway of my dad’s room, with my mouth hanging open, speechless at the sight before me, the old man, kneeling on the floor in a huge puddle of what I prayed was lemonade, turned and looked at me with a huge grin. His first words to me were, “I bet you didn’t think I had that much fight left in me, did you!” My answer was, “Bob!! Get in here!!”
Yesterday, the damage of the three falls seemed to catch up with the old guy. His pain level became unbearable to the point of Hospice delivering morphine to bring him some comfort. So yesterday and today have been an emotional rollercoaster. One minute I am watching him fade before my very eyes and the next minute he is looking at me cracking a joke. I have cried more than I thought I would but probably not as much as I am going to.
Today, as I was preparing another dose of morphine for my dad, I burst out laughing. I hadn’t noticed until that moment that the drug is raspberry flavored. I am not sure why this hit me as odd but it just does. So here I am, preparing my dad’s nightly raspberry cordial. Sleep well, you old geezer and instead of dreaming of intruders, dream about the daughter who’s life will never be the same because of taking care of you. I love you, Dad!