My dad lost his teeth last night. You can't conceive of the sinking feeling that hits the pit of your stomach when you realize your parent doesn't have their teeth and they have no idea where they are.
Because Mom stays up so late at night, and I, like her, am a nightowl, I'm not the sharpest knife in the block or the earliest bird on the limb when my Dad is up. Since he's quit trying to fry bacon and make his breakfast, I don't go into panic mode anymore. I leave a banana out on the table for him and he's usually okay until I can roll off the couch and get him breakfast. He usually gets up about 8 a.m., and I usually hear him and roll off the sofa around 9 a.m.
This morning he was up about 8:30, and I got off the sofa about 9:00. I immediately started frying bacon for him, getting medicines lined up for both him and Mom while the bacon was cooking. I did the toast, and checked on him before starting eggs. He was in his chair, smiling, without his teeth. He'd looked all over for them and couldn't find them.
So before I did eggs, I did a quick search of the house. Not in the denture cup, in the bathroom, on his dresser, on his desk, in his drawers, or the trash cans. Sheesh. Further search. Not in any of the trash cans in bedrooms or bathrooms. It's amazing what runs through your mind. Did he flush them down the toilet in confusion? How quick can you replace false teeth? He'll starve. Criminy, it'll cost $600.
Thirty minutes have passed, so I finally scramble some eggs and take him a breakfast of toast with jelly and scrambled eggs. He can gum that. I can dump the garbage receptacle and look through it if he's at least got some food in him. When I walk in, he smiles and says, "You know, I bet that my teeth are in that room that I sleep in. If you look under that thing I sleep on, I bet you'll find them." Huh? A-okay.
Sure enough, when I get my butt sticking up in the air while peering under the bed, there are his teeth on the floor. He'd forgotten to take them out, stuck them under his pillow and shoved them off the back of the bed while wallowing in his sleep. I slither under the bed and snatch the teeth, brush them and deliver them to him, along with the bacon which he can now eat with his breakfast.
Other than that, thankfully, the last couple of days have been fairly uneventful. Mom asked twice yesterday where the bathroom was.
It's been 2 weeks since she's washed her hair, and I can't get her to let me do it yet. In the mornings, when I go in to give her her 9:30 meds, I always say, "Hi Bart. How ya doing?" She giggles because she knows I'm referring to Bart Simpson, which she never ever watched but knows who he is. Her poor hair is always sticking up like she stuck her finger in an electric outlet or she's kin to Bart. In the last 9 months, she's gone from having her hair fixed every Friday, to maybe some Fridays, to not ever having it fixed, to fighting us washing it at home. I think if we never washed it again, it wouldn't bother her.
After months and months of my parents wanting pizza for meals, I think the time of pizza has past. Mom can't chew the crust anymore. She's not coordinated enough to scrape the topping off now. I cut it up for her, and she eats a few bites and gives up on it. Dad used to want it every other meal it seemed like. Yet, the other day I asked if he wanted pizza, and he told me he was sick of pizza since he'd eaten it for days and days. That's again, a "huh?" since we hadn't had pizza in over 10 days.
It was finally a day with sunshine and no mist, so I put the smoker together that I've bought. I cursed for two hours while doing that. I think every company that designs something that requires assembly should give it to a hundred random people to put together before that design gets put into production. Hopefully, the curses didn't float over the fields because the neighbors will be shunning me if they did.
While I cursed and put the smoker together, Dad pulled a lawn chair out and sat in the sun on the patio. He just sat there. I can't believe he didn't offer to "help" or tell me he'd do it or tell me I was doing it wrong. Anyone that knows Joe knows that's just not normal.