Locked in a Closet

It's my dad that I'm referring to in the title.

Yesterday, I thought I'd just work and let him call me if he needed anything. Usually, I just show up, and he immediately starts ordering me around.

It's always stuff that he needs physical help with--like in an assisted living place! And that's when I end up over there for hours on end. So, I stayed home.

I did a lot of "2-minute" jobs--in case he called, I didn't want to be in the middle of a long job, like cleaning out the pantry, which is breeding moths at the moment!--along with a lot of studying, and I made it until 8:30 p.m., when he called me for the first time.

I went over there, and he'd not gotten out of his chair all day. He'd had nothing to eat, although he said he had; he'd confused it with the day before, when I'd made him a sandwich he was guaranteed to eat: Farmer John sausage links, bread, and mayonnaise. What's not to like? Salt and grease--MMMMMM! Ha! (In my profile, it says I'm a vegetarian, which is accurate. But I haven't ALWAYS been! Ha! My daughter wrote my profile, by the way, for a different blog! Ha!)

He has a pressure sore--or "bed sore"--that's gotten worse over the last 2 days, because he's pretty much lived in that chair. He felt horrible--no food certainly does that to me!--and his back hurt. He said he wished he were a dog, and I could just "put him down." I fixed him a tv dinner, which he didn't like. Then, I fixed him a fruit salad, which he said smelled good.

And then he said he had to go to the bathroom. But he sat there, and sat there, and sat there. Finally, I pointed out that it was 9:30, and the last time he'd called me over for help off the toilet, I ended up home at 12:30. I said I couldn't do that again, so if he wanted to go, he needed to do it. I'd help him to the bathroom, but he had to go now. He looked at me and said, "It really hurts (the pressure sore) to sit on that toilet seat."

Talk about a rock and a hard place! I felt sorry for him, but there was nothing I could do. A sky-hook would have been a good thing, right about then!

Today, I intend to go over around 9 or 9:30 and do for him what an assisted living place would do. They might not bring him breakfast in bed, but all the ones I've seen would either take him, via wheelchair, to a dining room, or they'd bring breakfast to his room/apt. Regardless of which method they'd use, he'd get something to eat. They'd also get him out of bed, which he has trouble doing for himself, too. Etcetera!!!!!!

Anyway, he'd get a lot more care than I can provide, seeing as how I'm not a 24-hour, awake-care unit ALL BY MYSELF!!!

Also, hospice is coming over today, and they might take one look at him and say, "By the powers vested in me (us), I command you to go POST HASTE to an assisted living facility that your daughter has already previewed and has decided is good for you! Yes, you have to trust her, since you cannot do it yourself!!!"

I can dream.

In the meantime, I can take my computer and do homework. I can also, I realized this morning, take the window screens, and the paraphernalia to rescreen them, over to his house and do it a little at a time, which would go a long way towards resolving my angst over not getting anything done! That is, of course, provided Dad will hang out periodically, so I can actually get them done! Ha!