Pneumonia.

My dad has pneumonia. 102 fever, sudden.
I'm not treating it. It's up to God now.
I'm going over there tomorrow to see him. It's been over a month.
I am feeling a tremendous amount of guilt. But sending him to the hospital to be poked and prodded isn't going to help him.

Woot!

So... my new job is officially going to rule.

The HR girl is my new best friend, as I commented on her Michael Kors bag, we talked purses for like 1/2 hour. She then let me know that I was one of over 300 applicants, and asked me if I'd cruise the mall with her on lunch sometime. Hahaha!!! She's rad, she had on lots of bling and she told me how she likes to change her hair all the time - she has a bunch of wigs she rotates to match her outfits. She told me I am the same age as her daughter. hahaha

There are lots of 30ish people there, which is awesome - and I asked about tattoos and no problem - a few people have piercings and funky hair, just all professional clothing, which I dig on dressing up anyway.

The girl that gave me the tour started whispering outside the CEO's office, pointing him out to me. His assistant whispered we could go in. His door was open and everything. She was all timid, "Excuse me, don't mean to bother you, uh, this is Sara, our new Print Coordinator." I marched over to him, stuck out my hand and introduced myself and he welcomed me etc etc. We had a brief convo. The two ladies looked like they were going to shit bricks. I don't understand why people get all weird about bosses. I don't get intimidated by people, everyone is the same to me. I would treat the janitor with the same respect.

I overheard her telling another VP after I cracked a joke "Sara is going to fit in great. And she's definitely not shy." No kidding. LMAO

Yeah... so it kicks the ass of my old job. Talk about movin' on up in the world. The girl who is vacating my job only had it for a year. So things are looking very very good for yours truly.

Moving on.

Got the job. Coulda had both jobs. But got offered the one I wanted just after 5 today. I'll take a 10K a year raise, less commute, NO CRAZY DRAMA, an office without everyone's stupid CRAP and life coming FULL CIRCLE.

Let me explain.

When I was 23 and obviously temporarily retarded, I got engaged to the moron known as my ex-husband. I had a really good job as a Marketing Assistant for a foodservice brokerage and marketing group. Moron complained and bitched and moaned that I would have to TRAVEL (like twice a year) and basically manipulated me into quitting my job and I was stupid enough to fall for it.

I loved that job, and it was the most money I ever made, and as soon as I realized what I had done I felt like the hugest dumbass ever. And I was damn good at it too.

When I went back to work in an office I ended up temping for an insurance place and that's how I got stuck in insurance hell for these last 8 or so years.

Well, that job was the most money I ever made. Until NOW. And this is starting wage!

I feel like I am back on track. I feel like I've got myself back, on every level.

The philosophy there is you have to work hard, have a good sense of humor, and while education is helpful it isn't everything. I only have my AA, and they mentioned "Oh you have an AA" and asked if I wanted to go further, and I mentioned I wasn't sure. They discussed that they had tuition reimbursement, yet the VP of Marketing said "At Papa Murphy's we look at who you are, what you do, and not your fancy degrees. Our CFO doesn't even have a Bachelor's."

The one thing I've beaten myself up for screwing up is fucking around and not getting more school. And it doesn't matter here. I can do as well as I want to, and I'm so completely relieved. I feel set free right now. It was so time for me to move on.

Now giving notice is another issue. Not looking forward to it... ugh.

VA=CRAP.

Yesterday was the day from hell.

Dad had his annual VA physical, I took him. We got the wheelchair van to pick us up, which was a relief, as I had to make about a dozen phone calls to have him hooked up with that Service. It was next to impossible to get him into my little Hyundai. The primary care doctor is an asshole, no other word for it. We've tangled a few times.

So he's shocked at the condition dad is in since last year, asks me what's new, I tell him that he's up most of the night, incontinent etc all the typical dementia stuff. First he infers that maybe the home I have him in isn't adequate. Uh, no, I explain that they are great. He latches on to this incontinence thing (which has been a natural progression from occasionally to constantly, it's not like it just showed up overnight) and he says it could be prostate issues, which is easily treatable with meds. I'm cool with that treatment. Asks if he can do a quick bladder scan. I agree, am in the room with dad, talking to him while it's happening, it's quick and non-invasive. He's confused but he gets through it ok.

That comes back and he says he wants to do a quick rectal exam to make sure it's not the prostate. I hesitate, say I don't know if he can handle it, he says some BS like "oh, it will be fine."
I leave the room at this point for some privacy, then come back in, doc says prostate is fine. Says it could be a bladder infection causing the incontinence and he wants him to see a urologist.

I point out he has no other signs of bladder infection (like fever, abdominal pain), and if it is a bladder infection we are not going to treat it anyway. At this point he's absolutely horrified and says "You mean you are willing to let him die over a bladder infection?" I say "Yes, because that's what he wanted. Look at his DNR order. It says quality of life meds only." "Well a bladder infection causing incontinence is a quality of life issue." "The caregiver reports that he isn't even aware when he's being changed for the most part." My dad is nodding off in his wheelchair at this point. So we go back and forth and he puts through a referral to urology anyway. I tell him I'm not taking him. He essentially ignores me and is really rude at this point, infers I'm basically going to kill my dad, or I want to kill my dad. I get my dad out of there as fast as I can. He is very agitated at this point.

The thing also is about 2 years ago the neurologist (who I like) showed me his brain scans, and there was so little healthy brain material left, he was amazed how well he was doing, so it seems that that string essentially broke and his condition is matching the scans now. This isn't surprising. It's sad, but not surprising at all.

The second we get back to the home he loses it and starts crying, he's saying a bunch of stuff I can't understand, then he starts asking for pills, for ALL the pills and says "I'm dead… I am just dead…can't do anything anymore…I'm dead… I'll sign…" so basically he was begging me to give him all the pills so he could off himself. I told him I was sorry but I couldn't do that. I basically bailed at that point, because then I was crying, and the caregivers took over, and I told him I'd see him this weekend.

The main caregiver, who has become a friend of mine, asks me what the hell happened, I told her, and obviously even being poked/prodded that much set him off, as he's been very docile and happy for the last month or so. We both agreed Dr. Asshole should witness what we just did and then he could tell me that treating a bladder infection was quality of life.

When I get the letter about the urology appointment in the mail I'm canceling it, asking to talk to a social worker, and complaining about that idiot doctor. I had already put in for a change of provider but it's about 6 more months on the waiting list. I hate the VA.

I just completely lost it last night. I haven't cried like that in years. I don't think Dave knew what to do with me. I don't want to kill my dad. I hate that doctor for how he made me feel. I don't want my dad to die. But he is going to die. He is already dying, slowly. And who the hell am I to refuse let a natural process happen, when it's what he's wanted, and has vocalized many times before he couldn't communicate? Today I'm totally just wiped out, like I'm in a haze, and I'm on autopilot. I was happy to go to work. I just wanted something "normal" to happen today.

I am going to do my damndest to keep him out of as many doctor appointments as possible.

Broken.

Today's adventure began shortly after 9am, when the caregiver at my dad's place let me know that on Monday he took a fall, and while he initially seemed okay, over the past couple of days his hands in particular swelled up more and he was bruising pretty good. She thought he probably needed to go to the ER. She offered to take him, and I decided I should let go a little bit and let her take him. I offered to compensate her extra for taking him.

Well, it seems he's broken some fingers, and everyone is amazed that he hasn't been complaining, she even moved them when she was checking him out and he didn't even flinch. I guess he's got a high tolerance for pain. The hours waiting for news were torturous, and I felt guilty that I wasn't there, even though the next best thing to me was there.
So the next decision was did I want him to be pinned (and therefore put out) or splinted. I chose splinted. I know he'll be wiped out tonight, so I'll go see him before work in the morning.

And so it goes…

Dementia Sucks.

So yesterday I took dad to the Parkinson's/neurology clinic for his six month checkup. The doctor asked him what his name was. He just looked blankly ahead. The doctor asked him to point to the ceiling. He just sat there. The doctor asked him if he knew how old he was. He just looked straight ahead. The doctor asked him to clap his hands. He made a couple of fists.

And that was that. The doctor said at this point they are pharmaceutically backing off, as there's basically no point. He advised me that since my father is close to being mute, and when he isn't mute he is essentially talking nonsense, that the next step will be that he forgets to walk. When this happens he becomes bedridden. The doctor advised me when this happens that it's time to call hospice.

Apparently when that stage starts one of a few things happens: 1. pneumonia, as when someone with Alzheimer's can't walk, they can't choke if water goes down the wrong pipe like you can when you are healthy, therefore they essentially drink everything into their lungs. 2. a secondary infection of some sort, bladder being the most common, 3. a fracture, and the complications thereof. He asked me if we had a plan in place. I explained yes, and my father elected a DNR many years ago, and that we would not administer any antibiotics. The plan is relieving the pain so that he can go peacefully.

The irony is his heart is great, liver function is great, if it wasn't for this disease he'd probably live to 100.

Then after being essentially mute for the exam, we get in the car and he said "That guy never tells us anything." LOL

And that's it.

I did good though, I didn't cry. I mean, it's not like a surprise, but no matter how much you try to prepare I don't think it's possible not to feel the devastation of losing someone close to you. In a way, it's worse. I hope I just keel over when I'm old, instead of rot away slowly as your brain is eaten away by plaque. I don't want my family to have to go through a long process of grief as bit by bit your old self fades away.

He was having a good day on Sunday. He told me that he felt trapped in his body. I told him I was sorry. I told him Happy Father's Day and gave him his new shoes, and he was happy.

When I dropped him off last night and kissed him goodbye, he said "Thank you, sweetie." And that is when I got in my car and cried.

Coincidence?

The old man continues to decline. As a result, I have stepped up Nursing Home search 2007. Part 2.

I've been pretty upset about this, and worried something bad is going to happen to the male half of my DNA, and it's kind of overwhelming. There are SO many homes, and they promise all this stuff, and there's waiting lists etc and I just decided to do the only thing I really could do... and well, that's pray, and ask God/Buddha/Allah whatever for a sign I couldn't really miss. Boy did I get it. More than once.

I went to one last night, it was in Salmon Creek, super big huge nice house, and the people that owned it seemed nice enough, but the referral guy was a little pushy, wanted a deposit etc all this stuff. I felt like it was a good place, but I felt the need to keep looking. Everyone there was in a wheelchair, and while Dad will be there soon, he still has this gimp about those that are really "sick" in his mind.

I talked to my mama, who knows everyone and her dog due to her chosen profession of Hair Stylist/Almost Free Therapist and she has a client that has a care home. She called her, and she didn't have any vacancies, but she left her a voicemail that she had several friends that also have group homes that go to the same church etc and left phone numbers.

Well between the combination of being deaf, and this lady's Romanian accent, my mom couldn't understand the names left on her voicemail but she could understand numbers.

So I have this list of like 9 phone numbers, and I reverse directory them, and only one comes up. I decide ah, well I'll call this one first, because at least I have a name to ask for.

I get busy at work, and mom calls back - she talked to her client again, and the client said her number one choice would be the lady whose name I just happened to find out. Ok, that's an interesting little coincidence. Ok.

So I call her, and she speaks perfect english, no accent, which is good - because my dad has a hard enough time anyway, and a heavy accent on a caregiver would be difficult for him. I like her instantly on the phone. She emails photos of the home and the room that just opened up, and there are more pictures of the residents than the home. This is unual, because 90% of these old folks places are trying to impress you with their nice furniture and fancy chandeliers, and that doesn't mean JACK SHIT. What matters is my dad is well taken care of and respected. So huge points there. Also, zero pressure from this girl.

I set up an appointment for tonight to go see her after seeing the pictures, and she emails me the address. It's 7*** Alabama Street.

My dad was born and raised in Alabama. Hmm, another interesting coincidence.

I get another lull at work, and I decide to call and check on the complaint records of these facilities. Most people don't realize this is public record and you can call and find out what happened.

Home 1, fancy one, has a complaint that was recently investigated on July 10th. The case is closed, with no evidence of wrongdoing noted, but there's no report available for me to look at. I discover they've only been open and licensed since March, which isn't the impression I got from the home. Hmm.That gives me pause.

Home 2, referred one, has zero complaints, and got a perfect score on every single surprise inspection. Hmm.

I go there, and the house isn't fancy, but it's immaculate and the people there are half in wheelchairs, and half not. Instantly I go up to the youngest looking guy there, and introduce myself. We shake hands and I flat out ask him how it is to live there. He tells me how wonderful it is and about how we are like a family here etc etc. He tells me I look young to have a dad in need of care, and that my dad must be young. I tell him "Not as young as you, I would imagine." He tells me he's 60. I tell him my dad's 74. He tells me he lives there because his kidneys are failing and he has seizures. He tells me he goes to the VA and was in the Navy, I tell him my dad was too, I crack a joke about waiting hours at the VA. I like this guy.

So I talk to the owner, Daniela, and she asks all the right questions, and has all the right answers to mine, she's sincere, and she has a good sense of humor. I explain to her that I'm looking for a place that my dad can stay at through the duration of his life, and ask specific questions about that. She has the perfect answer - she says caring for the vulnerable and elderly is her life's work and she considers it an honor to be able to assist people as they are in their final moments.
I decide she's hired.

I tell her I called the state, and she's the only one I asked about that got a perfect score. She's excited I did the footwork, and is excited to tell her husband - he walked by and she said "I told you people check!"

We discuss paperwork, timelines etc and talk for the better part of an hour. I like her more and more. We are similar in age. She tells me she worked at her mother's adult care home at the age of 16 and has been a caregiver ever since. She's in process of obtaining her nursing degree from Clark part time.

As I shake her hand and tell her I look forward to having her help care for my father, she gives me a brochure. I haven't seen it yet.

On the cover there is one picture - purple lotus flowers. Exactly like my tattoo. Yup, there's my final sign, in case I didn't pay attention the first two times.

Thanks, whoever you are up there. I will sleep well tonight.