Such a Day, Louie!

It rarely seems to work when I attempt to plan a day. At least from my perspective, it works that way. I planned it nicely…sew the labels on the Binkie Patrol Blankets, get them to the Brownie troop leader. Get the dog to the groomers, go to the bank, print the tax envelopes for Poppy’s tax forms, get them signed and mailed. Go to my doctor, get lunch, pack the girls, organize the meds we plan to take, pack snacks, not a lot, but enough to satisfy the four of us on the 10-1/2 hour plane ride, take Poppy to the dentist, come home, finish packing. Be ready for Scott when he comes home from work. Clean the house. Yeah, right. I think I planned a little much, but I thought I could get it all done.

Little did I know that dear old Poppy had other plans. I got a phone call from his residence, saying that he was on his way to the hospital. It seems he had some kind of rage attack at the lunch table, and wheeled himself out of the lobby and tried to go out into the street causing a car to hit him. Fortunately, someone caught up with him and stopped the wheelchair. This action of his ventured out of the ordinary for his behavior style, so the staff called his doctor, and the call went to the hospital to come and get him.

Meanwhile, I went to the residence to talk with Poppy, and find out how he felt about the whole thing. After discussing a few things with him, I felt so very bad for him. He felt awful. He didn’t like it that “they” were sending him to the hospital. He felt that he was being “taken” like he allowed my mother to be “taken” and she didn’t come back. He felt that he wouldn’t come back either. He couldn’t see that we were attempting to help him feel better and only thought he would get worse. He thought his meds were fine; he thought his meds would get worse if he went to the hospital. The medical staff and I tried to comfort him. We mentioned a new medicine the doctor had prescribed for him and said it might be counter-indicating with his other medicines. We said that the hospital stay would help the doctors determine a balance of medicines so he could feel better again. Nothing really helped.

While sitting and talking with him, I noticed that in one of the gathering rooms, piano music from the 1920’s through the 1940’s streamed in; the residents were being entertained by a very nice piano player. In the courtyard outside, the staff was holding their staff appreciation meeting. Laughter, games, chatter, etc., came through to us from another doorway. It felt so surreal to me to be sitting in the middle of such sadness while hearing cries of “Yay!! She won!!” mixed in with swing music.

I felt terrible, but left him after about 1-1/2 hours, since I had farmed out my two daughters to others who didn’t know I would be gone so long. I had to pick up the dog at the groomers before they closed. I had to get to the post office to mail Poppy’s tax forms. Now I’ll visit him in hospital tonight, hoping he won’t be so very despondent again, but hoping he has calmed a little. It will strain me to go on this trip with him in the hospital, but realistically, he will get better care in hospital, his meds will get balanced, and he’ll be “home” in three days or so. The only thing I’d be able to do for him if I didn’t go on my trip, is sit in his hospital room and hold his hand or something, which is what he wants.

But I’m going on my trip. It may sound selfish to the un-informed about my relationship with my father, but I’m going, and I’ll phone when I can to check in on him, as well as learn of his progress. I know he’ll be alright, but it is suddenly like leaving a child behind. He is so lonely; nearly all of his friends have passed away; those who are still alive live too far to travel here to visit him. His relatives are far away; and cannot travel very far at all, let alone all the way across the country. It is such a sad situation for him to endure.

What’s an old girl to do? At least the girls are nearly packed now, and I know what I want to take...