Following the apocalypse of Tuesday - Joe getting kicked out of the last nursing home in west Ky. that would take him and the mad scramble to find a lock-down unit that could - I mostly collapsed on Wednesday. I slept on and off all day. I had a headache and was groggy all day, barely functioning.
Today, Thursday, I woke up feeling much better and able to do at a few things. I managed to get by Bardwell and pick up a few groceries, then drive to the Courthouse and make an appointment next week for a deed transfer.
I drove down to Martin with some paperwork they needed and an extra blanket for Dad. I opted not to see him after talking to the nurses in order to give him time to settle in and let them gather a picture of his mental status. They had had to give him a shot on Wednesday (yesterday) to calm him down. If I saw him, I would simply agitate him and skew their assessment. They said when they gave him the shot it didn't knock him out or anything, with looks of amazement on their faces, and that he simply went into the dining room to eat. The picture of them giving him the equivalent of enough Ketamine to knock a horse out yet the 99-pound man just kept on going went through my mind.
He apparently had a run-in with another resident yesterday. A wanderer wandered into his room and wanted to take his shoe. Oy, he's going to hate that kind of thing. They seemed to have handled it with aplomb.
One of the workers made a mistake in telling Joe that I had been by with the blanket. I assume this because I hadn't been away from the facility and on the road for 20 minutes when my phone rang with them telling me that Joe wanted to talk to me. I declined the call for 3 reasons: 1) I don't like talking on the phone while driving, 2) There was an echo of my own voice I couldn't hear around, and 3) I knew he only wanted to ask me to take him home.
Lemme say this: In my ENTIRE life my father has NEVER called me on the phone until he went into nursing homes. I'm 57. He has never ever called me because he needed to talk to me. Not because he liked me and just wanted to talk to me. Not because he loved me and missed me. Not because he hadn't seen me in a while and wanted to know I was okay. He has never telephoned me.
That's acceptable after he became totally deaf about 10 years ago. However, I was the first person he couldn't hear. He quit talking to me, even in person, about 22 years ago. Oh, and he didn't write letters, either.
Soo if you think I'm gonna fall all over myself now to talk to him on the phone from a lock-down unit to hear him plead for me to take him home, please rethink.
When I got home, Lola didn't ask how Joe was or even seem interested in where I'd been. When I left to go to Martin, she asked how he was. She had no clue. She couldn't remember from what I'd told her yesterday. She had no clue how broken down I was yesterday. She had no remembrance that he's now in Martin.
I'm wondering about seeing a psychologist myself for direction on how to handle her. Does one reach a point where discussion of the spouse in the nursing home isn't even needed? Should she be told the real truth or just an acceptable story? I don't know these things.
Fortunately, right now she's mobile enough to be up most of the day. She's not mobile enough to wander. She has a pleasant disposition and nature and is easy to care for. I'm hoping we can get things with my father ironed out enough to not need constant attention before she hits that stage. Shudder, what a thought - run from one hell to another.