Bad memories

Last night I went to visit Dad. Usually he's in the dining room when I get there but he's been having some trouble lately so they had him in his room on an IV. He was really out of it, barely conscious. Right after I got there they brought him his dinner. I told the nurse that I would feed him. She said she hoped I'd have better luck getting some food into him than she did.

Pretty much all he did during dinner was stare at me blankly. I had to tell him to open his mouth, tell him to chew, tell him to swallow. Instead of sucking on the straw, he'd bite it. The only way I could get him to drink was to spoon it in. I found that that was the best way to stimulate him to swallow. He had only eaten a very little bit before he indicated he was through. I asked him if he wanted to hear some music. Barely a response there.

I got out the uke and sang him a couple of songs. Every once in a while he'd grimace like he was in pain. At one point his face froze, forehead tight, mouth wide open. I put down the uke and tried to get him to relax, hoping that would help ease the pain. I stroked his hair and his forehead. I rubbed his legs. I asked him what was hurting but he couldn't answer me. Then I noticed that his knee was pressed up against the rail of his bed. I felt myself starting to get very upset. Hold it together, Donita. Do your crying in the parking lot.

We're coming up on the second anniversary of Jim's death. I've been feeling antsy about it and I'll be glad to get past it. On the day he had his stroke I held it together. Like a champ. I held it together when the paramedics took him away. I held it together in the ER. I held it together when they showed Ken and me the scan of Jim's head that showed the huge area of bleed in his brain. And I held i together when they kept saying, "Not a good outcome." I held it together when Jim's brain started to swell and he went into distress and they had to sedate him.

And then I noticed that the skin on his leg had a dent in it from being pressed up against the rail of the gurney. Jim was a big guy. There was no extra room for him to spread out even a little. I went all over that ER looking for anything that could cushion his arms and legs. It was busy that night and I had a hard time getting anyone to slow down enough to help me. I'm sure their workdays are filled with dealing with worried and demanding family members, so they are expert at ignoring and rushing by. I understood that. But damn it, I needed pillows. I finally found someone who showed me where they kept them. I want back to Jim's room and tried to lift his legs so I could stuff the pillows in. And that's when I couldn't hold it together any longer. All I wanted to do was make him comfortable and I was having a hard time doing it. He was already sedated and was certainly in no pain, but I couldn't stand to have him pressed up against those rails. It was a desperate moment for me. I just had to stuff those pillows in.

So last night when I saw Dad's knee pressed against the rail it all came rushing back. His leg could have been that way for hours. He could have been laying there with his face frozen in pain FOR HOURS. I got the pillow from the empty bed next to him and tried to lift his leg to stuff it in. But Dad is so stiff now. Moving his limbs hurts him. I couldn't left his leg high enough before he started to gasp. I found a folded up hospital gown and put that under his knee. He relaxed pretty much right away. I talked to him a little more before he drifted off to sleep. I gathered up my things and left. On my way out I stopped by the nurses station and told them to please make sure he didn't have his arms or legs jammed against the rails of his bed. I asked the nurse to please tell anyone that attends him to make sure he's cushioned and comfortable before they leave him. The nurse nodded and looked at me blankly and said she'd pass it along. Maybe she will. I'm sure her day is also filled with demanding people. My tears started as soon as I turned away from the nurses desk.

During the drive home it was all I could think about. I hope Dad dies soon. Seeing his face last night, the blank stare, the look of pain. Really, he just needs to go. This is no life.