2001-05-07 - 11:28 p.m.

The Continuing Crisis

And here we are on the fourth day of my Dad's little health crisis. I imagine that all of you must be as tired of hearing about it as I am of living it. However, it is what's in my mind now and I can't avoid it.

It now seems pretty obvious that Dad is not going to die, or anything like that, at least not right now. However, this does not mean that everything is simple and all my problems are solved.

Right now Dad is living in a adult home, what they euphemistically call "assisted living." Dad has freedom to pretty much come and go as he pleases, and the staff is there to help him out on occasion. The trouble is that before this happened it was starting to become obvious that Dad was getting near the limits of the "help" they could offer. In other words, he was starting to need pretty constant supervision.

After this, he's going to need even more. Not only is he going to need more physical help with day-to-day things, but he might need more special care, thanks to his heart and lung problems. Add this to the fact that he seems more confused and childish than ever, and he is going to be a real handful once he becomes mobile again.

Two words: nursing home.

I have no idea what this entails or how much it will cost. I'm trying to set up an appointment with a social worker at the hospital to explore my options. This is not going to be fun, people.

With Dad, everything has to be done the hard way. It's like he figures out what the most difficult, expensive way to act is, and then he does it. He's a genius in reverse.

Lily and I went to visit him in the ICU today. He was already off the breathing tube, and looking better than he had the day before, but he was still very weak and confused.

When he spotted Lily he pointed a shaky finger at her and said, "You're pretty!" While I certainly agree with him, Lily said he was probably fascinated by her bright red shirt.

He was wearing an oxygen mask, and for some reason kept taking it off his mouth and putting it on the bridge of his nose. I explained to him that he needed to keep breathing through it, but still he kept moving it. I finally figured out why he was doing it: he thought the clear plastic mask was his GLASSES and he kept trying to put it over his eyes.

Oy.