I won’t be around the blogosphere much for a while. Don’t know how long.
My dad called yesterday . . . at 7 am.
As soon as his name popped up on my phone, I knew something was wrong.
Dad never calls that early.
“Robin, I’m in the Emergency Room. I fell.”
And I got in my car.
Dad fell on Thursday while carrying groceries up the stairs to their house. He landed hard on his right side and the two jugs of milk he was toting exploded. Dad shook it off, bandaged his scraped arms, and took two ibuprofen. At 2 am, the pain in his ribcage was unbearable, and he called 911. With early-stage Alzheimer’s Mom in tow, Dad went to the Emergency Room in an ambulance.
By the time I arrived at the hospital, Mom had been sitting in a stiff plastic chair by Dad’s side for 10 hours. How awful. When we finally got home tonight (Mom did a full 16 hours by his side in the hospital), she said, “I feel like I’ve been dragged through a knothole backwards.” Talk about showing, not telling.
After a battery of tests, the doctors discovered that while Dad didn’t break anything, he has congestive heart failure and his lungs are filled with fluid. He was admitted into the hospital and the doctors are addressing his heart failure, as well as the excruciating pain in his rib cage.
How lucky I am that I can be here to help.
Dad needs me.
Mom needs me.
And I need to be here.
P.S. For those of you who read my post about Mom’s early Alzheimer’s, I had a wonderful glimpse of my old mom tonight.
Mom and Dad live in a lovely senior community . . . tree–lined streets, manicured flower beds, golf course, etc. She said, “Living here, you can take the dog out for a walk at night and not worry about someone coming after you. Or, you can feel bad that someone ISN’T coming after you!”
Mom! You randy thing you!