Lots of buzzing today. Family conferences taking place between my sister, me, our dad and LaTonya, his aide.
My dad went to the hospital after his fall, then on to rehab. He has returned to his apartment weakened. Yesterday he got a bag of iron via IV and he’s wearing a cannula for oxygen. He’s stronger Saturday than he was Wednesday.
He’s brain sharp but physically weary. No one is really healthy at ninety two. You’re always on the edge.
The good news is my dad can regain what strength he had. The bad news is that means doing things which are uncomfortable or bothersome including exercise. At ninety two my dad should stand every hour and walk up and down the hall a few times a day. This is at the edge of his abilities.
I’m not sure I could blame him for saying, “Screw this.” He says he wants to get stronger, but sometimes it’s tough to match action to those words.
At ninety two you can get away with a lot of shit. I asked him not to be a schmuck to others. I’m sure it’s frustrating to have physical life become so difficult. He said he understands.
Few of us can know what it’s like to be trapped inside a body that no longer works right. If my dad drops something it might as well be on Mars. He could bend down to pick it up, but he’d never get back up!
Part of today’s conversation centered on drinking more water. That my father’s kidneys work at all is a surprise. Allowing more fluid in his body makes their job easier.
My father wants to drink Coke. The doctor favors water.
My sister stepped up on this one. “He’s ninety two. Let him enjoy something.”
She’s right. Water is better than Coke, but he’ll probably drink more this way which is good.
I texted LaTonya. “I think we need to consider his life is full of what he can’t do.”
And so we’re all agreed. Let him drink Coke!