This week Dad's children made the difficult decision to put him in a care center. We won't move him till after Thanksgiving, but the plan is to move him by the end of the month.
Such a decision may come as a surprise to many, but it's been a decision that we've been discussing for some time. We've all been getting near the end of our endurance. It's been like we've all been waiting to see which family member would cry "Uncle" first.
Well, one of us did cry "Uncle," and we all knew that meant it was time for the rest of us to cry "Uncle" too.
I've cried a lot about this decision because I wanted to be able to give Dad the gift of dying at home, but when I've prayed about it--and I've prayed about it a lot--I've felt that he wasn't going to die at home.
We've chosen the Hobble Creek Care Center on Main Street in Springville--assuming they still have a free bed at the end of the month. Martha has visited this care center, and we've had recommendations about it from others.
John, Martha and I told Dad on Monday night about his having to go into a care facility. He had so little reaction it was hard to tell if he even understood what we were saying.
On Tuesday, Dad didn't remember what we'd talked about, so I told him again, more simply, and he said, "I'll try to force myself to remember." But still he didn't have any clear emotional reaction.
Since Monday night, he's been hallucinating more at night. I don't know if there's a connection or not.
In happier news, Ruth Seppi Hamilton, Christie's oldest daughter had a baby girl on Nov. 12. I showed Dad the pictures of Eliana Sophie Hamilton this evening, and he chuckled as he looked at the pictures of his 21st great-grandchild. When I told him that Ruth said that she and her husband Alan were "head-over-heels in love" with their daughter, he said, "I can imagine!"
As always, thanks for your love and concern for Dad.
Wednesday, November 18, 2009
Tuesday, November 10, 2009
Nov. 10 Update
We've had another week of ups and downs.
Dad clearly had a urinary tract infection Friday night and Saturday morning, so he now has a catheter, something we've really debated whether we wanted. I'm sold on it already! Dad's gotten up much less in the night--which is good for us since someone has to be here and "on call" all night to help Dad get in and out of bed. The other day Dad told his aide, Cris, that he'd had a really good night, and I realized it was good for him also to get a better night's sleep.
On Saturday or Sunday, Dad was saying a blessing on our meal, and he got stuck in the middle of something he was trying to say. I had to help him come up with a way to finish what he was saying. Then he didn't seem to know how to end the prayer. I said, "in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen," and he repeated it. (You have to understand that this is the standard way to end a Mormon prayer, so Dad's been saying it all his life!)
However, Barbara, Dad's nurse, explained to me that a mental lapse like that was caused by the infection, and that when the antibiotic started working, Dad's mental abilities would also improve. She was right--this morning, I opened the curtains in Dad's bedroom, and he looked out and commented on how pretty the apple tree outside his window looks.
Another low this week happened when Dad aspirated his mouthwash that we give him at night to rinse his mouth out. He choked, vomited, and coughed and coughed and coughed--I thought I'd killed him! His voice still sounds raspy, and he coughed and choked again tonight, but he's survived.
It turns out that we shouldn't have been giving Dad mouthwash--at least not to swish around in his mouth. We should have been cleaning his teeth with a swab dipped in mouthwash. It seems to me to be one of the classic problems we've encountered as care givers--the hospice people don't know everything we're doing, so they can't correct our mistakes. We're new to care giving, so we don't know that we're doing something wrong until it goes very wrong! From now on we'll be swabbing Dad's teeth.
On the positive side, Dad and I have been listening to a recording of Winnie-the-Pooh together. He's clearly following the story, chuckling at Milne's language and Lionel Jeffries' delightful performance.
This week when I teased Dad about not having any castor oil to dose him with, he laughed and said, "That's lucky!" He chuckled when I told him I was going to raise him "stem and stern"--as I raised his feet and head in his bed.
Last Wednesday morning, when I went in to check on Dad, he said, "It's hard to believe." When I asked him what he meant, he said, "It's hard to believe how I feel," and he made OK signs with both hands, indicating he was feeling wonderful.
The night Dad aspirated his mouthwash, I was apologizing to him to causing him to cough so much, and in the midst of his coughing, he was apologizing to me for causing me problems! He's an amazing man!
Dad clearly had a urinary tract infection Friday night and Saturday morning, so he now has a catheter, something we've really debated whether we wanted. I'm sold on it already! Dad's gotten up much less in the night--which is good for us since someone has to be here and "on call" all night to help Dad get in and out of bed. The other day Dad told his aide, Cris, that he'd had a really good night, and I realized it was good for him also to get a better night's sleep.
On Saturday or Sunday, Dad was saying a blessing on our meal, and he got stuck in the middle of something he was trying to say. I had to help him come up with a way to finish what he was saying. Then he didn't seem to know how to end the prayer. I said, "in the name of Jesus Christ, Amen," and he repeated it. (You have to understand that this is the standard way to end a Mormon prayer, so Dad's been saying it all his life!)
However, Barbara, Dad's nurse, explained to me that a mental lapse like that was caused by the infection, and that when the antibiotic started working, Dad's mental abilities would also improve. She was right--this morning, I opened the curtains in Dad's bedroom, and he looked out and commented on how pretty the apple tree outside his window looks.
Another low this week happened when Dad aspirated his mouthwash that we give him at night to rinse his mouth out. He choked, vomited, and coughed and coughed and coughed--I thought I'd killed him! His voice still sounds raspy, and he coughed and choked again tonight, but he's survived.
It turns out that we shouldn't have been giving Dad mouthwash--at least not to swish around in his mouth. We should have been cleaning his teeth with a swab dipped in mouthwash. It seems to me to be one of the classic problems we've encountered as care givers--the hospice people don't know everything we're doing, so they can't correct our mistakes. We're new to care giving, so we don't know that we're doing something wrong until it goes very wrong! From now on we'll be swabbing Dad's teeth.
On the positive side, Dad and I have been listening to a recording of Winnie-the-Pooh together. He's clearly following the story, chuckling at Milne's language and Lionel Jeffries' delightful performance.
This week when I teased Dad about not having any castor oil to dose him with, he laughed and said, "That's lucky!" He chuckled when I told him I was going to raise him "stem and stern"--as I raised his feet and head in his bed.
Last Wednesday morning, when I went in to check on Dad, he said, "It's hard to believe." When I asked him what he meant, he said, "It's hard to believe how I feel," and he made OK signs with both hands, indicating he was feeling wonderful.
The night Dad aspirated his mouthwash, I was apologizing to him to causing him to cough so much, and in the midst of his coughing, he was apologizing to me for causing me problems! He's an amazing man!
Sunday, November 1, 2009
Report as of Nov. 1
Well, it's been a quiet week here--with Dad getting slightly worse in some ways.
My siblings are seeing some of the same mental problems I've seen for some time. Here's the most recent example I've seen: Today I asked Dad if he wanted to get back in bed. He emphatically replied that he didn't. I asked if he wanted to come in the livingroom, and he said yes. But when I tried to get him up to go in the livingroom, it turned out he'd misuinderstood what I'd said, and gotten my questions backwards--he wanted to go to bed!
On Monday, Dad had a dream that was very disturbing to him, but he couldn't come up with the words to describe it to me. He finally told me it was a nightmare, but he couldn't explain it further.
On the other hand, on Friday, Dad noticed the rosy light from the sunset on the mountains he can see out of his windows. He commented twice on how beautiful they looked.
Dad enjoyed seeing Rick Whisamore and the Whisamore kids--Dad's great-grandkids who've moved to Utah from Virginia. (The kids are Alan and Janice's daughter Beth's kids.) Rick replaced our front door knob, painted the front door, and attached some bedrails to Dad's bed.
The Whisamore kids enjoyed trying out the remote control for the bed and experimenting with the different massage settings while their Papadaddy was in the livingroom.
Katy Sargent, her brother Jeff and his kids Lily and Collin came by in costume on Halloween along with Martha. They enjoyed the homemade root beer our neighbor Naomi Diamond brought us. (Earlier in the week Naomi brought some apple crisp she made with apples from our trees--Dad gobbled that up!)
Here's Dad's humor for the week: Dad's had more fluid in his lungs and more swelling in his feet. It's likely caused by his heart pumping less effectively. Because of the extra fluid Dad's retaining, I gave him extra diuretic two days in a row--maybe too much at once. He didn't become dehydrated, but he did get extra thirsty. Last night he said to Janie, "What does a person have to do to get a drink around here?" He happily drank the juice Janie brought him.
That's all for this week. Thank you for your interest and prayers!
My siblings are seeing some of the same mental problems I've seen for some time. Here's the most recent example I've seen: Today I asked Dad if he wanted to get back in bed. He emphatically replied that he didn't. I asked if he wanted to come in the livingroom, and he said yes. But when I tried to get him up to go in the livingroom, it turned out he'd misuinderstood what I'd said, and gotten my questions backwards--he wanted to go to bed!
On Monday, Dad had a dream that was very disturbing to him, but he couldn't come up with the words to describe it to me. He finally told me it was a nightmare, but he couldn't explain it further.
On the other hand, on Friday, Dad noticed the rosy light from the sunset on the mountains he can see out of his windows. He commented twice on how beautiful they looked.
Dad enjoyed seeing Rick Whisamore and the Whisamore kids--Dad's great-grandkids who've moved to Utah from Virginia. (The kids are Alan and Janice's daughter Beth's kids.) Rick replaced our front door knob, painted the front door, and attached some bedrails to Dad's bed.
The Whisamore kids enjoyed trying out the remote control for the bed and experimenting with the different massage settings while their Papadaddy was in the livingroom.
Katy Sargent, her brother Jeff and his kids Lily and Collin came by in costume on Halloween along with Martha. They enjoyed the homemade root beer our neighbor Naomi Diamond brought us. (Earlier in the week Naomi brought some apple crisp she made with apples from our trees--Dad gobbled that up!)
Here's Dad's humor for the week: Dad's had more fluid in his lungs and more swelling in his feet. It's likely caused by his heart pumping less effectively. Because of the extra fluid Dad's retaining, I gave him extra diuretic two days in a row--maybe too much at once. He didn't become dehydrated, but he did get extra thirsty. Last night he said to Janie, "What does a person have to do to get a drink around here?" He happily drank the juice Janie brought him.
That's all for this week. Thank you for your interest and prayers!
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