I call my Dad several times a week. He's always grateful for the call. I fill him in on little things going on around here (he loves to talk about the weather), and check to make sure he's doing okay. I often ask about his weight, as we are always concerned about the possibility of him going back into congestive heart failure. Last week he acknowledged that he'd gained a bit of weight, but assured me he wasn't retaining fluid, because his ankles were skinny. I reminded him that the last time he went into the hospital (with 60 extra lbs of fluid), his ankles were skinny. He was silent.
The next day he told me he was definitely retaining fluids, and he was sure that it was caused by the medication he was taking to reduce his potassium level. My brother took him to his regularly scheduled doctor's appointment, and he'd gained 25 lbs. Brother said the doctor chewed Dad out and put him back on the heavy duty diuretic (that caused him to become dehydrated and caused his last hospitalization) for a few days.
Yesterday morning Dad called Brother. There was blood on his underwear from a sore on his butt that he hadn't known about, and thought maybe he should have it seen. (He has diabetic neuropathy, so is often unaware of these kinds of things-- that's how he ended up having a toe amputated last spring.) So, Brother picked him up and took him to the ER. Apparently it is an old, healing bedsore that he didn't know he had. It's probably dates back to his time in the nursing home last spring. Sister is taking a half day tomorrow so she can take him back to his doctor to have it looked at.
He has a visiting nurse coming in. Sister is going to ask that the nurse dress and monitor the sore. I suggested that the nurse should also be monitoring his weight and lungs. I talked to Dad a few minutes ago, and he's spending lots of time in the bathroom and not doing much walking because he's short of breath from the congestive heart failure. We're not sure how much longer he'll be able to stay in his independent living apartment.
Mom is doing better. The Nurse Practitioner we dumped had been taking her off lots of her meds, including her anti-depressant. As a result, she became depressed. She spent much of her time crying and refused to interact with her company. We expressed concern, and the new Nurse Practitioner put her on an anti-depressant. She's no longer crying, and is happy and laughing. Dad had gotten to the point he hated to go visit her, so he is greatly relieved by her improvement. Of course, with the powerful diuretic, he hasn't been to see her in a couple of days because he's spending so much time in the bathroom.
Daughter has an appointment with her neurologist in a couple of weeks. We'll be within an hour of them, so we may make a quick trip up to see them. Lately it seems like we only go if one of them is in the hospital. This year, that has meant we've been there multiple times. It is hard, trying to be helpful from a distance. I'm grateful Brother and Sister live closer to them. Unfortunately, Brother is traveling much of the time, and Sister has her hands full as the single parent of a 3 year old and a first grade teacher.
I'd love to move closer so I could do more, but God has yet to provide the opportunity for that to happen. In God's time. Frustratingly, God's time is not our time. I keep reminding myself that God is never late.
Apparently this is one of those days blogger isn't going to let me put lines between paragraphs-- my apologies to all who struggle through to the end.
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