It’s Monday, June 30, and we are licking our wounds again,
dad almost literally although he’s wearing a pretty thick gauze bandage. Yesterday was supposed to be a day of
rest, the traditional late breakfast at Tim’s, a big chair for dad to sit in
after, a bit of shopping for me and mom, a drive by the ocean, a Presbyterian
beer, dinner and down for the night.
Breakfast went well; we got the only good, soft, big chairs in the food
court at Hillside Mall. Mom and I
left dad in one of them while we went shopping for a bra for her and bed covers
for their new twin beds, the second of which I ordered on the phone yesterday
to be delivered to Shannon Oaks the day we move. (Their decision not to take to the new place the double bed
they bought when I was in grade 6 and that mom has been sleeping in by herself
for the last 10 years at least was a great relief to me. The idea of their going back to
sleeping together in a double bed after years in different beds and different
rooms made my heart flutter, but my frequent suggestions about buying another
single bed to match dad’s new one had not been entertained by mom and dad is
too weak to contradict her. He
just wants it all to end and to rest in peace ‘wherever’ until it does.) As we
returned to him after taking much longer to find our stuff than mom had thought
we would, she was tired but moving as quickly as she could, feeling guilty for
having left him alone for so long.
There he was, sitting straight in the chair where we had left him, his
hands flat on the wooden arms.
Then we saw it. The
paper-thin skin on the back of his left hand was ripped in an almost perfect
‘V’. I use a capital because if
one had lifted up the flap of skin, the whole back of his hand would have been
exposed. He had fallen while trying
to sit back down after having gone successfully all the way to the washroom and
back; that was some distance.
Fortunately, two men had helped him up and into the chair, got him some
serviettes for the blood and left him fairly comfortable. He was pale and there was some blood
but not much, so we decided to take him to Emergency. I have to admit that for the first time I gave mom full
credit for being a caregiver. Up
to that point I had thought that she was exaggerating when she complained about
how long she had been doing that.
I hadn’t thought dad needed much care. But now I can appreciate that worrying about his falling and
then dealing with the inevitable falls over the last few years must have been
exhausting. And she does have post
herpetic neuralgia and a mild case of lymphoma that seems to have been put into
remission by oral chemotherapy. He
fell once when I was here in April and now twice this time and I can see how
traumatic it is, especially if you don’t have anyone to drive you around. Mom’s been doing all the driving. I was impressed by how calmly she
helped him up and walked with him to the door while I went to get the car. The triage aspect of the emergency ward
went quickly, but then you are treated according to the severity of your
case. Dad was manifestly not the
most seriously troubled person in the place. Two people with serious heart problems came in after
us. I waited an hour and then
decided to leave mom and dad, go and do more packing and pick them up when they
phoned. About two hours later I
got the call. They came home and
instantly went to rest. I
continued packing. We had
asparagus on toast followed by raspberries and ice cream for dinner and then I
went back to Barbara and Terry’s to sit like a zombie in front of the t.v. and
watch ‘Endeavour’ and ‘Vicious’ before falling into bed and asleep.
I’ve had a good chat with Jay, breakfast, coffee with
Barbara and Terry and a walk with them.
Now I’m ready to return to the Whitehall and see what awaits. Happy Canada Day tomorrow. The move is on Tuesday.
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