A Wonderful Return Visit Home

A surprise call from the nursing home that Dad, who is legally blind, is catching a 35 mile cab ride to his country home for a short visit because none of the family members were available for transportation.... while I have set up camp at the home place and have proceeded to make things comfortable for ME.

Continuing with “A Wonderful Return Visit Home”

After rushing to restore the home to some sort of semblance of Dad’s former home in the country, I heard a car approaching the driveway. As I approach the cab, a late model Cadillac, the driver is rifling through my dad’s wallet in search of a $50 dollar bill hidden in a flap inside the fold of Dad's wallet.

These are the Dakota Plains I will remind you, with no suspicions of dishonesty at this point. I offered my assistance as the driver apologetically returns Dad's wallet to me. A little explanation, my father is partially blind and no one really knows the extent of his vision, but I take no chances with my father’s suspicion of dishonesty, especially toward me. Who knows what lurks in the mind of a 93 year old who has devised a crafty plan to return to his home in the country, not that I can blame him for his well planned adventure up to this point.

As the mysterious ride unfolds, Dad explains that the driver is actually the cab company owner who has used his personal vehicle because the only two city cabs were busy transporting riders within the immediate city.

“Hi Dad, welcome home. How was your ride out here?”
“Good, he (the driver) is a really good guy. We had a good talk on the way out here?”
(I bet that was an interesting conversation..lol)

“Good to hear, how did he know where to turn?”
“I just told him to turn at the Grand Rapids corner “
“Did you bring any bags?” “No, I should still have every thing I need here at home.”
(lots of luck finding those things he is going to need….)

So Dad has returned home and starts to rearrange things to his liking as I promptly return his Aladdin Reading Machine back to a spot near the kitchen table. I engage in the impossible task of restoring his personal items to where he remembers placing them while answering deliberate questions about where is this and where is that as I am trying to remember where I have stored the things I thought I would never again need to recover.

He is actually pretty easy to care for because he spends all his time between his bedroom and the kitchen table, napping upright in his chair at the table or sometimes laying down on his bed, as I check many times throughout the day to confirm signs of his shallow breathing. As I adjust my cooking habits to include my grateful visitor, he comments that I prepare too much food because he doesn’t want to gain any weight.
(well, this is some quality bonding with good ole pops; he even likes my cooking! Life is really good!!)

Day Two: As we enjoy some genuine fellowship the following morning along with my brother, Charles, who routinely enjoys stopping by for his daily dose of strong coffee, we become aware of details of the craftily devised escape plan during the course of our conversation with Dad.

“Larry, don’t worry about doing anything special. I don’t want to be any trouble for you, but I am not going back to that nursing home….”
(OK... now what are we going to do? but, as I stare into those determined, poker-faced, beady little eyes, I am convinced there is no room for negotiation here!)

So... now there will be prescriptions meds to order, arraignments for visits from Jan, the family health care nurse, bathing, shopping for hearing aid batteries, and what else are we forgetting? Fortunately, Roni, my sister-in-law with a nursing background in her younger days, lives nearby with my brother Charles here on the farm.

Dad takes jump starts for his weak heart when he gets those annoying little attacks. An ambulance ride is at best a 45 minute trip to an emergency facility. Not to mention arraignments with the nursing home to hold the room until we can get this misunderstanding straighten out.

(He nearly died under my care previously, when he came for a visit in Illinois when I couldn’t find his nitroglycerin, which was precariously stored in a music tape box packed for Dad by brother, TJ, before I had even gotten his things unpacked from the car.)

I have come to the conclusion that Meds should always be placed in a med container with careful markings:

MEDS!*** TO BE USED IN CASE OF AN EMERGENCY*** YES, THESE ARE THE MEDS!*** GIVE THEM TO HIM!*** QUICKLY, PLEASE LEST HE DIE!***