Cheer Up, Emo Dad
Well, I really wish he would. As it is, he's not helping himself at all.
The other day we got a letter from the hospital. He's approaching the 35 day mark in Wyong hospital (since he arrived there last) and is now posing a slight problem. Ie, he's not getting better, but neither is he exactly able to stay indefinitely in the hospital. This esentially gives us, or rather the health department, two options:
1) Start charging us for his hospital stay. (Fuck no, we can't afford that.)
2) Send him to a nursing home. And since it's a case of whichever bed is available, he might be sent down to Sydney or up to Newcastle or God only knows where. (FUCK no!)
So, we explain this to him today. He says he doesn't want to do his walking because he's "pooping all over every time he does it". We point out that a) he has the adult diapers on, so it shouldn't matter, and b) if he'd just bloody eat, he wouldn't be pooping because his system would have some fibre to bind the waste to. It would also help reduce the swelling in his legs and arms if he moved about and ate. They've put the nasal tube back in because the nurses said to us "He's only eating enough to keep himself alive."
Now, the problem is, Dad says he's moving enough and eating. The nurses say he isn't. I'm pretty sure he's telling the truth as he sees it - he just has a greatly different perception of what is "enough" of an effort. As I said to him today "I don't think you're lying, I know you're telling the truth as you see it. The thing is though, you're wrong." He's really only expending the bare minimum effort, only what he absolutely has to. Argh.
Lunchtime today was Oh So Fun. From 12:15 (when lunch arrived) to 1:30 (when we had to leave), it took him that entire time to finish his lunch, and it wasn't a lot. Yes, he did have to have a nebuliser treatment (he chose to have it during lunch instead of after, perhaps hoping we'd give up on nagging him to eat. He was WRONG.) but even so, it took him that long to eat:
One chicken and tomato sandwich (he didn't eat the crusts but that's okay, we can live with that)
One half-pear (the tinned variety) with a bit of cream
One small serve of raspberry jelly
One small cup of chocolate Sustagen.
This is crazy. When he was eating the sandwich, he just chewed and chewed - didn't want to swallow it at all. Unfortunately, Mum is well aquainted with such delaying tactics and told him so. We asked him why he was eating the sandwiches if he had such difficulty swallowing them. He said that at the moment they're tastier to him than the other options. Okay, fine, but he's gotta EAT them!
He called Mum up this morning and wailed that he'd "pooped all over the place". Mum exploded with "SO WHAT?!" It wasn't that she wasn't sympathetic - she's had bowel cancer and the operations thereof and is familiar with the problems and embarrassment that come with incontinence. The problem was the tone of voice he used - he sounded like the world was ending, apparently. Angst City. Mum compared him to a friend of ours who is always whinging and complaining. He didn't like that much.
On Sunday Dad's brother Ken and his wife Jan came up, and Ken had to go outside for a smoke to regain his composure, because when they went in apparently Dad was lying in bed with his mouth open and basically looking dead. And I can say a LOT of bad things about Ken and not repeat myself once, but he isn't a man who is easily shaken.
Honestly, we shouldn't have to stand over him for an hour and bully him into eating what is really quite a light meal. We're doing all we can by going in everyday to visit him and that takes up time, money and energy. The nurses are doing all they can by keeping his meds up for the lung problem and bringing the food and stuff. The physio is doing all he can by coming around and cajoling Dad into getting up and moving about. The ball is now in Dad's court... and so far he's not only refused to hit it back, he's reluctant to even touch the racquet.
To top it all off, I have a colonoscopy on Tuesday. Oh, joy rapture.
The other day we got a letter from the hospital. He's approaching the 35 day mark in Wyong hospital (since he arrived there last) and is now posing a slight problem. Ie, he's not getting better, but neither is he exactly able to stay indefinitely in the hospital. This esentially gives us, or rather the health department, two options:
1) Start charging us for his hospital stay. (Fuck no, we can't afford that.)
2) Send him to a nursing home. And since it's a case of whichever bed is available, he might be sent down to Sydney or up to Newcastle or God only knows where. (FUCK no!)
So, we explain this to him today. He says he doesn't want to do his walking because he's "pooping all over every time he does it". We point out that a) he has the adult diapers on, so it shouldn't matter, and b) if he'd just bloody eat, he wouldn't be pooping because his system would have some fibre to bind the waste to. It would also help reduce the swelling in his legs and arms if he moved about and ate. They've put the nasal tube back in because the nurses said to us "He's only eating enough to keep himself alive."
Now, the problem is, Dad says he's moving enough and eating. The nurses say he isn't. I'm pretty sure he's telling the truth as he sees it - he just has a greatly different perception of what is "enough" of an effort. As I said to him today "I don't think you're lying, I know you're telling the truth as you see it. The thing is though, you're wrong." He's really only expending the bare minimum effort, only what he absolutely has to. Argh.
Lunchtime today was Oh So Fun. From 12:15 (when lunch arrived) to 1:30 (when we had to leave), it took him that entire time to finish his lunch, and it wasn't a lot. Yes, he did have to have a nebuliser treatment (he chose to have it during lunch instead of after, perhaps hoping we'd give up on nagging him to eat. He was WRONG.) but even so, it took him that long to eat:
One chicken and tomato sandwich (he didn't eat the crusts but that's okay, we can live with that)
One half-pear (the tinned variety) with a bit of cream
One small serve of raspberry jelly
One small cup of chocolate Sustagen.
This is crazy. When he was eating the sandwich, he just chewed and chewed - didn't want to swallow it at all. Unfortunately, Mum is well aquainted with such delaying tactics and told him so. We asked him why he was eating the sandwiches if he had such difficulty swallowing them. He said that at the moment they're tastier to him than the other options. Okay, fine, but he's gotta EAT them!
He called Mum up this morning and wailed that he'd "pooped all over the place". Mum exploded with "SO WHAT?!" It wasn't that she wasn't sympathetic - she's had bowel cancer and the operations thereof and is familiar with the problems and embarrassment that come with incontinence. The problem was the tone of voice he used - he sounded like the world was ending, apparently. Angst City. Mum compared him to a friend of ours who is always whinging and complaining. He didn't like that much.
On Sunday Dad's brother Ken and his wife Jan came up, and Ken had to go outside for a smoke to regain his composure, because when they went in apparently Dad was lying in bed with his mouth open and basically looking dead. And I can say a LOT of bad things about Ken and not repeat myself once, but he isn't a man who is easily shaken.
Honestly, we shouldn't have to stand over him for an hour and bully him into eating what is really quite a light meal. We're doing all we can by going in everyday to visit him and that takes up time, money and energy. The nurses are doing all they can by keeping his meds up for the lung problem and bringing the food and stuff. The physio is doing all he can by coming around and cajoling Dad into getting up and moving about. The ball is now in Dad's court... and so far he's not only refused to hit it back, he's reluctant to even touch the racquet.
To top it all off, I have a colonoscopy on Tuesday. Oh, joy rapture.