Dad's Rosary

A few years back, youngest daughter was trying to come up with a gift for her grandfather (my Dad). Somehow, the idea of a rosary came up, so she got him one.

He loved it. The rosary is one of the things that goes into his shirt pocket every day. He's at that stage where ALL his shirts have to have a pocket, into which always goes the rosary, his cell phone, a comb, and a small American flag that frequently threatens to poke him in the eye.

He used to say the rosary occasionally, though it was mostly just fingering it while someone else said the prayers. These days, he just takes it out every now and then to show to people and to say with a smile his granddaughter gave it to him.

One time when I arrived for my weekly visit he was agitated. He could not find the rosary. I had to search though every drawer until I found it. He was relieved, looked at it, then stuffed it into the bulging pocket.

Dad has a few other treasures in his room. The picture of my oldest daughter's wedding (he was unable to attend); the picture of the aircraft carrier he served on; the picture of me dressed as Santa's "helper" on my throne at the mall holding a small girl; a picture of my brother, dead now some 26 years; photos of a few other relatives; and multiple pictures of my mother. Sometimes I come into the room quietly and find him sitting in his wheelchair just staring in the direction of one of those pictures.

Each week we write out a few checks for bills, I show him his latest bank statement or give him his most recent Legion magazine, he tells me what he had for his for breakfast or lunch, or that they had a Mass or church services at the home in the last couple of days. I tell him news about the girls, my job, my wife. He often makes some passing comment about mom - "She was quite a lady." "Fifty good years." He mentions bingo or card games at the home, and sometimes he proudly presents me with some Christmas-related small statuette or stuffed animal he won that he's sure I would like.

Then we run out of things to say.

We have, however, fallen into the routine of playing cards again. Euchre. We used to play cards when I was young. He used to win most most of the time. These days, I win more often than he does. Sometimes he forgets what he made trump, or that it's his turn. But he still loves to play. So we play, the games providing topics for conversation. Your turn. Pick it up. Good hand. You got me.

And every now and then, sometimes totally out of the blue, he will mention the rosary, touch his pocket, and smile.

Surgery Day for Dad

Dad finally agreed to get the surgery he needs. The bowels problem has not resolved in two months - and so he's been hospitalized that entire time. The doctors say surgery is the only route at this time - other than continuing to linger as he is.

It's scheduled for this afternoon.

This means finding a new home once he has recovered enough - he will need care beyond assisted living.

He has lost so much. All his retirement dreams are shot. He knows it, too.

I look at him and think that so much of this was preventable if he'd only heeded warning signs earlier and taken better care of himself. But we all have a tendency to put things off.

All this makes me realize I'd better pay attention to my own health more. And lose that weight!

The latest on Dad

After my Dad has spent more than two months in the hospital, the doctors have decided that the medical (antibiotic) approach is not likely to work. They have recommended surgery.

The surgery would result in a colostomy, which means he could not return to the assisted living home he was in. We will have to find a nursing facility.

Dad balked at first, but now seems to be accepting the idea. His choices are stay hooked up to IVs and a drainage bag, or have the surgery and be mobile again.

We meet tomorrow with the hospital team to talk about what he wants to do.

Meanwhile, I was at the emergency room three times last week with my father-in-law. I took him to his doctor today: Now he needs surgery (outpatient, fortunately).

I'm racking up miles on the car again!

Dad II

Walked into dad's hospital room yesterday.

He asked if I had been the person who left with John. John had been there that morning, he said, but then suddenly got up and left and another person went with him. He wondered if I had been that person.

John, my brother, died in 1983.

Dad then went on about being in church, and wondered when he would be goign back to his room. He was in his room.

Our converstaion wandered like this for a while. I was about to go find a doctor when the PA came in to tell me that he had been hallucinating for two days, and that they thought it was due to the antibiotics they were giving him to fight his bowel abcess.

This explains why when I stopped by on Sunday it took him a couple of minutes to realize that I was his son and not his brother (he kept calling me Jack for the first few minutes).

This is getting scary.