93 and Counting...

Dad is 93 years old today.  I can't believe I just wrote that.

I've never really known anyone who was 93 years old.  I can't fathom all those years. So much history, so many lives encountered. So much laughter, and heartache. Here he is in the Navy, a period of time he loved, with a buddy. Dad is on the right, with the big smile.

My dad has lived a full and energetic life. He has lived longer than his father did; he has outlived five of his siblings and one child. He has seen this country change in ways that make him disheartened.

He wants to be 25 again. He believes, somehow, some way, some doctor will make that possible. He is eternally optimistic about this. His doctors tell me that's why he is still with us: he has hope.

I have never met anyone with such unflagging faith that heart disease can be turned around and Parkinson's can be cured. It's just a matter of time. And he'll be here when those discoveries occur.

Dad with my brother, who had a broken arm.

I'm a bit ashamed to admit I'm not that optimistic. About anything. I pretty much think life is one ridiculous stumbling block after another, and at some point I'm going to wear out and be ready to be done with all this foolishness. So much of what we do here on the planet isn't that important (how many movies can we watch on Netflix?), so I'm not that attached. I'm already tired.

Then, I spend time with Dad and feel a bit guilty I don't wholeheartedly embrace every day, every hour as an adventure. I don't know how he does it, gets up every day, looking for the next fun, exciting, miraculous thing. He fights the aging process, the fatigue, the disabilities. I have to think, as a child, he was probably a handful. I bet his mom was tired.

Dad with our daughter, who is now a science teacher. They are very much alike. They have a weekly date. 

Today is an amazing day, because Dad will be embarking on his 94th year. There will be so many opportunities for more adventures. We are giving him a gift card to Home Depot, so he can buy some new plants (gardening is one of his loves) and tickets to choral concert (music is his other love.) We cancelled the big Hershey bar, because he was told by two separate doctors this week that he needs to give up sugar.

Dad told me recently he thought it would be great to make it to 100. I asked him why. He replied, "I'd sure get a lot of attention." Then, he grinned. Dad loves people, he's an extrovert to the core. Life is one big party that he does not want to end.

Dad with one of his 8 great grand children

I'm so grateful God gave my Dad to me. He has always been a wonderful father, a man of conviction and great humor. It is very sad to see him decline, and I know someday the party will end. I pray daily that it will be quick, and that he will be in heaven before he realizes the door is closing on this gig.

Here's a picture of Dad on his 90th birthday. Can't you just see the five-year old in there?

 

Life at Both Ends 2

Isn't it surprising what can happen in one week? When I last wrote, I was on the sofa with an ice pack on my knee. I had tripped down the stairs, and my knee was the size of a softball.

Today, the knee is back to normal, but for a couple red spots where I had skin contusions. As I was getting better, Mom was getting sick. She developed bronchitis, and we made a visit to the doc so he could listen to her goopy, wheezy, crackly lungs. We started levaquin that night, and she's now hacking a bit less. However...

Two days later, she developed a patterned rash on her back that was creeping around to her side, and the ALF nurse was pretty sure Mom had shingles. We headed back to the doc, and yep, shingles. My mom is 95 and a half and the size of a twig. Yet, she weathers illness and injury like a soldier. I was off my knee for two days when I tripped down two stairs; Mom, with bronchitis and shingles, keeps tooling around in her wheel chair, straightening her room and sifting through paperwork. I get tired just watching her.

On the Dad front, he's still in rehab after a fall four weeks ago, and then a small stroke Oct. 7. They're having trouble stabilizing his involuntary movements, which make PT difficult. He's really tired of the whole thing, and he alters between wishing God would take him and telling his therapists his goal is to walk again, unaided (which he has not done in over a year.) I try to console him; yes, it's hard to be disabled. God loves us anyway, even if we don't feel "useful."

I don't know what else to say because I don't get it either. Both of my parents have been worker bees all their lives. They have served and shared and contributed so much to their world. Now they are in wheel chairs, watching the world pass them by, and they are still with it enough to fully understand what all they've lost. Only by the grace of God does our family keep plugging along. It doesn't make sense to the mind or the heart why they are still here, but we are not the authors of life and death, so we just keep going as long as God allows. I trust someday I will understand. I pray I will look back on these years and say, I get it now.

Dad moves to a new rehab facility today, where he will have another thirty days to recover. We don't yet know what "recovery" will look like. There are some new deficits that might be permanent, but we won't know that until he is unable to overcome them. I pray he can return to his ALF with Mom, but we just don't know yet. So, we wait and watch and take him strawberry milkshakes on bad days. 

On the sweet, glorious front, our daughter-in-law came down for a visit this past weekend and spent some loving time with Dad. She brought him a book he's been wanting and some chocolate and put lotion on his arms and chatted with him like he was her best friend. She's wonderful that way.

She's also carrying our first grandchild, James, who's the size of a large mango. Here's a picture of the three generations, although James is not yet visible. He's warm and snugly under his mama's blue dress. Dr. Ben Carson made it into the picture as well.

I love pictures like this because they hold the full spectrum of life. A new budding babe sharing a seat on the bed with his great grandpa, (who's middle name is James) who has lived a full, adventurous life and is longing for peace of mind and an end to all struggles. Both of these lives are fragile, yet full of expectation. I pray in February, I can get a picture of Dad holding baby James.

So, in spite of the challenges of aging, I am blessed by the thought of holding fresh life in about four months. I'm excited for our son and his sweet wife. I'm grateful my knee is 90% back, and I'm glad all the Halloween candy is finally out of the house. I ate entirely too many Milky Ways.

The adventures continue here in the Ballpark...

Life at Both Ends

My 94-year old Mom has been in the hospital for nine days.

A few states away, there is a new baby in the family, just two days old.

Both are wrapped in cozy blankets, both are fragile and needy and vulnerable.


Both are loved so much.


Opposite ends of the spectrum, these two lives. One is surrounded by joy and tears. The other is accompanied by frequent sadness and tears. Both tug on the heart and draw us closer to God, who authors all life.

Mom will be 95 in just a few days, and in a month, her latest great grandson will be visiting. I pray we can get a photo of these two together, but today Mom talked of being so tired and getting a feeling that her life is winding down, so we will see what God has planned.

When I look at Mom, I see a long, full life.   When I gaze on this sweet new grand nephew of ours, I see a long, full life. Mom has many memories; our grand nephew has none. I cannot visualize our grand nephew at 95.  Only God knows what his journey will be. 

Life is short and long at the same time. When I'm sitting with Mom, who is often confused these days, the hours are long because there is a relenting grief that this may be the last day I see her.  When my brother holds his new grandson, I'm sure he's aware that this little boy will grow up as fast as his own sons did. Time seems to be measured by the heart - what we are celebrating, and what is painful. 

Life is amazing and scary and surprising at both ends.  It has value at both ends.  And every day in between. 

8 Rules for a Lifetime Marriage

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Nonagenarians

The word nonagenarian refers to someone who is in their 90's.

I didn't know that. The word is interesting to me, because it breaks down to non-age-arian, which looks like the person is no longer aging, or has no age.

This certainly fits my dad, who is almost 92 and believes he stopped aging at 25.  He attempts to defy the aging process with every doctor visit.  He believes the next pill will turn back time.  Even though his body is winding down with Parkinson's and heart issues, his spirit is 25.  He is the eternal optimist when it comes to living.  He will never permanently leave his wheel chair, but his New Year's resolution was to return to walking unassisted.

My mom will be 95 in July.  She is more realistic about her physical limitations, but insists her mind is as sharp as a tack, and if anyone is confused about anything, it's going to be you.  She has been diagnosed with dementia, but don't tell her that.

My folks, Jane and Klinedale

I guess by the time you hit the age of 90, you are entitled to believe what you want, regardless of the facts.  That's one of the perks of being a nonagenarian.  

Two Things I Need to Remember (constantly)

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May Days

According to my May posts, in May, I learned I have fibromyalgia, and I made Biscotti and Puffy Biscuit Rolls.  Lest you think all I do around here is develop odd syndromes, and then bake, here's a few other things that happened in May.

1.  I gave up extra sugar.  Crazy, right?  Especially, since I love to bake (and eat Biscotti and biscuits rolls.)  But, it was time.  The big surprise - it hasn't been that difficult.  In three weeks, I've cheated twice.  I'll get better.  It helps that I CAN have an ounce of dark chocolate a day.  Whoo-hoo!

2.  I researched and started ingesting glucosamine sulfate, Curamin, and ribose.  These are supplements that supposedly help fibro.  Isn't that fascinating?  I'll keep ya' posted.

3.  I visited eight doctor's offices.  Between the folks and myself, we're keeping the physicians in town hopping.

4.  I attended a womens' retreat with a good friend.  We had quiet time, prayer time, and a great meal that I did not fix.  That was the best part.

5. My daughter and I made soup and homemade bread for a women who was fading from this life due to cancer.  She passed the following day.  Our gift to her was probably her last meal.  I pray it soothed her body and calmed her spirit.

6.  Our girl celebrated a birthday.  Here she is at age five, exploring life though a magnifying glass.

Today, she teaches high schoolers science and character.  She doles out Jolly Ranchers on test days and gives extra credit points for observed kindnesses. If I had a science teacher like her, I would have almost liked high school.

7.  Our baby boy had a birthday.  He weighed nearly ten pounds at birth, and my bladder has never been the same.  He's now the tallest one in the family, but he'll always be my little bubba.

Here he is getting caught in the rain with his lovely wife.

8.  My Dad had a birthday.  Here he is enjoying his favorite thing on earth - a night out with our girl getting frozen yogurt and double hot fudge.

Have you ever seen a happier 91-year old?  We have several May birthdays, but we make the biggest ta-da over this one.

9.  We spent an hour at Starbucks with our financial advisor.  A cup of sweet chai tea makes the number-crunching go down more smoothly.

10.  My brother, the ex-clown, was in town with his colleagues.  They like to visit our local pie shop and come to our place with the goods.  We all eat like pigs before they go back to work.

This was the cream of the crop.

LEMON MERINGUE

Is this gorgeous, or what?  We have the best pie shop in the country.  Sadly, they don't ship because it's cost prohibitive, but if you're ever near Melbourne, Florida, Sweetie Pies is the place to go. 

June already has four doctor appointments listed, as well as a colonoscopy.   I'll spare you the details on that one.

Summer has arrived!

Only One Thing is Unchanging

I just received some news that a blogging buddy has breast cancer.

This makes me sad.  She's a joyous writer who now has to make some difficult decisions.

I'm reminded of Angelina Jolie and her COURAGEOUS CHOICE.

T.D. Jakes wrote that "life is the great equalizer," and I think of that quote often.  No matter how young or beautiful or successful or healthy we are - eventually, we lose it all.  In our final hour, we can't take beauty or strength or money or power with us.

What we can leave behind is the effects of our generosity, or kindness, or sacrifice.  Loved ones will benefit by what we shared and gave, not by what we hoarded or wasted.  When someone I know becomes ill, or dies, I am reminded of this.  As Elton John referenced, our lives are "candles in the wind."  We are bright and shining for only a time, and then we are gone.

As many of you know, my parents are 91 and almost 94.  Their lights are dimming, but they still sparkle when we are with them.  They have made a lasting impact on so many people over the course of their lives.  They were both in the Navy, both served tirelessly in their church for over sixty years, raised four children, and buried one when he was just 23.  They've lost most of their friends and half of their siblings.  They understand heaven is close, but if there's still good work to be done, gosh darn, they're going to do it.

When some people become ill, they question God - why me?  My blogging friend said, Why not me?  I'm no more special than anyone else.  What a beautiful perspective.  As the saying goes, God never promised us a rose garden.  Even if He had, lest we forget - a rose garden is full of thorns.

Such is life here on the planet.  Roses and thorns.  God wants us to know He is with us through both - the smelling of the roses and the wounding by the thorns.  His love for us, His plans for us don't change.   He is the same yesterday, today, and tomorrow.

After the rose petals are crushed beneath the snow, and the thorns are rendered powerless, and the breasts are removed, and legs no longer work, and memories are no longer clear, God and His love for us is exactly the same.

Lessons Learned (8 things I've learned from caretaking)

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K is for Klinedale

Klinedale is my 90 year-old dad.  Yep, that's his real name.

When my mom first met him, she chuckled after hearing his name.  "Klinedale?" she repeated.  "What do people call you?"

Deadpan, he replied, "Klinedale."

They've been married 64 years.  

Here's a picture of him doing his favorite thing these days.

Getting a hot fudge sundae with our daughter

He received his Master's in Public Health and worked for the government most of his adult life.  He was an accomplished pianist.  He had four children, one of whom died at the age of 23.   He has developed Parkinson's in the past few years, so he's mostly parked in his wheel chair.

His spirit is still young (about 12), and his sense of humor still shines.  A lot of people think their dad is the best, but mine really is.  Ask either of my two remaining siblings.   

I don't know when God might take my dad, so I just wanted you to meet him.

You've probably never met a Klinedale before.

And you'll probably never meet another one.

Sharing My Care-taking Heart

I was going to acknowledge St. Patrick's day yesterday, but the day got away from me, and before I knew it, it was tomorrow.  Or today.   Anyhoo...hope you all had a shamrock-y kind of day.  I have some Irish in me by way of my maternal grandmother, but I did not get the lovely green eyes, or auburn hair.  Our daughter got those.  She's pretty lucky too, so I think she's the Irish gem in our family. 

Today...I found myself here with Dad again...

If you guessed we were at the library or Pizza Hut, you get a goose egg.  We made our weekly trip to the ER for another infection.  Since the placement of Dad's SP tube, infections have been popping up weekly.  We're on a hamster wheel...around and around we go.  He's only off antibiotics for a day or two before another bug starts brewing.  We see the urologist again on Thursday. 

How long can this go on, I keep asking myself?  Can one be on antibiotics forever?  Doesn't seem like a good plan, but what are the options?  A 90+ bladder is a puzzling thing.  Dad's spirits are pretty good, although he's very tired of ER runs.  I'm grateful we have a good ER set-up and to date, the docs and nurses have been very kind.  We should be racking up some frequent flyer miles though. 

We're flying to MD this weekend to help my in-laws get settled in a new apartment.  My father-in-law had a stroke last week and is now in rehab.  The hubs and I are going to be helping clean out the old townhouse and hoping to bring some cheer to these youngsters, who are 85-ish.  When you work with 90-year olds, folks in their 80's look pretty spry.

I've been helping my folks for five years, since Dad's stroke in 2009.  It's been such an eye-opener to realize all that's involved in helping the elderly.  As body parts deteriorate, there are many, many issues that have to be addressed.  Geriatrics is an entire field of study that I never thought two hoots about until my dad needed assistance.  I continue to be surprised by how complicated the body is and how one weak unit affects the others.  It's like trying to play catch up with a cheater.  The game isn't really fair, and we never get ahead.

I know our time with my parents and my in-laws is limited, and we do our best to be helpful.  I somehow think that will change all this - that the right care, enough attention, enough encouragement will make the decline stop, or at least slow down.  But, it doesn't.  This makes me very sad, and sometimes, I just cry for no reason.  I'm not having a bad day, and nothing triggers it, but tears just come.  I think my heart is weary of the long goodbye. 

My sweet mother-in-law with two of her seven children

I've heard people who have a loved one dealing with Alzheimer's talk about this.  Neither my folks, nor my in-laws have been diagnosed with Alzheimer's, just some standard dementia expected at their age.  But, it's true that walking through the years of decline in a loved one is like a relentless grieving.   You know the end is coming, but you don't know when, so you guard yourself, and yet prepare yourself, and the heart goes back and forth and up and down and outward and inward. 

My only strength is in God, and His love for all of us.  I have no strength of my own anymore to uplift and help Mom and Dad.  My flesh is truly weak.  Even up to last year, I thought the efforts of my family could change things, but they really can't.  There will come a time when all I have left to do for the folks is to just hold their hands and smooch their foreheads. 

This whole letting go thing is so strange.  Dad thinks he will walk again and visit his childhood home in Indiana sometime.  Mom thinks if Dad took better care of himself, he'd live forever.  They both think every doctor visit will offer some new solution that will cure them of all their ills and turn back time.  

And I keep thinking all of this will surely get easier.

 

It's Slump Day

Happy the-few-days-after-Christmas slump! 

It's inevitable.  We can spend money and eat sugar cookies for only so long (usually until the money and the cookies run out.)  I'm spending my 48-hours-post-Christmas doing laundry.  A lot of it.  You can read about that HERE, where I also share the real reason I love Christmas.  I was in the MMW dugout this morning.

My other after-Christmas slump arrived in the form of a head cold.  It's noon and I'm still in my PJs.  I'm on my second box of Puffs, and I keep eating whole wheat rolls to absorb all the mucus I'm swallowing.  That was probably too much information. 

I'll end on a happy note, so you can scoot over to the MMW blog and see my stack of laundry.  It's higher than my washer. 

We had a wonderful Christmas day with most of our family here. 

Every year, I think this might be the last Christmas with my parents, 93 and 90, so I'm adamant now about getting a family photo.   We took several.  Even the dogs were patient.

Hope your day is filled with something other than laundry.

A Simple Advent Wreath! If You're Five or 90, This is For You!

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Snippets from the Dugout. And Donuts.

I've been in the dugout for a few weeks.  Writing, reading, and more writing.  I'm taking a marketing/publishing class, which is excellent, but time consuming.  I'm realizing how little I know.

 

In the meantime, my dad has been in the hospital for a bad UTI, then rehab.  He's doing very well at the moment and will be home Thursday.  I thought we might have a glitch in that plan when he fell in the restroom of a large medical facility a few days ago.  I suspected there was a problem when he was in the restroom for fifteen minutes.

I finally asked a man going in the restroom to check on Dad.  I heard Dad's voice the minute the man opened the door.  Together, the stranger and I spotted Dad's shoes poking out from under a stall door.  He was OK, just sitting on the floor after slipping in his transfer from toilet to wheel chair.  "I can't reach the door to unlock it," he said, and I had to smile.  He was just waiting for someone to come in and find him.

I went to the information desk for help and within minutes, nurses came.  Somebody slid under the stall door, freed Dad and settled him back in his wheel chair.  He wheeled out looking a little sheepish.  I was reluctant to let him go behind all those closed doors by himself (he's supposed to have assistance with EVERY transfer), but he insisted he could handle it.

We both learned something.  I decided, when he's with me, he's not going in the bathroom alone again; he decided when he's alone in the bathroom in the future, he won't lock the door.   It's clear we're not on the same page. 

Parents.  They have a mind of their own.

The government partially shut down today, and so far, my life feels the same.  I know there are organizations that are not open today and that affects people who work in those places.  I hope the Hatfields and McCoys start working together soon, because it's not fair to all of us who pay their salaries.  Maybe it's just me, but I don't like paying for things that don't work like they're supposed to.

Has anybody seen the new show Hostages?  Oh my word, I can't write or fold clothes or even munch on chocolate chips while I'm watching it.   It's full of suspense and twists and cute Dylan McDermot.  Although, he's a bad guy.  I think.  As we learn about his past, it's getting murkier.  Check it out, Monday nights on CBS.  Be there or be square.

I'm thinking about Christmas already, because I'm writing a book about Christmas.  And giving.  And partridges and hens and pipers and drummers.  It's very noisy in my head.  Is Christmas on your radar yet?

If not, here's a picture to get you in the mood. 

What Christmas carol item is this?   Hmmmm....

A Snaphot (or 4) in Time

My mom, at almost 93, doesn't need anything.  Except consumables like Puffs and watermelon-flavored gum.

For Mother's Day, she wanted a day out shopping.  Can you imagine a 93-year old hitting the mall?  She wanted some lightweight sweaters.  And a suit.

"A suit?" I asked her.  "When do you wear a suit?"

"I never know when I'm going to go someplace nice," she replied.  Olive Garden and church are the fanciest places Mom visits these days.   Maybe she was longing for an invitation to a corporate board meeting.  Or the theater.  To which I don't think I'd wear a suit.  But, I'm not Mom.

"It's always nice to have a suit," she stressed.

So, off we went to the mall.  She scooted around Dillards on her walker, slowly fingering her way through the sales racks.  I occasionally lost sight of her because she's a stooped over five-three high, tiny little thing.  When she leaned over to inspect a garment, she briefly disappeared.

She tried on several cotton button-downs, which she favors, and some sweaters, which weren't long enough and didn't have pockets.  After an hour, she decided there was nothing she really wanted at Dillards, and we meandered back to the car to head to Macy's.

At Macy's she found two perfect sweaters, a long-sleeved shirt, and a pair of cotton Capri's.  She was pooped, but happy.  The suit was forgotten.  

We lunched at TooJays, which has yummy food and even better desserts.  Mom got split pea soup, and I ordered a salad.  She can't talk when she eats, because she has choking issues, so it was quiet while we ate.  I watched her sip her green tea and nibble on her crackers and thought about the fact that this might be the last time we have a girlie afternoon together.  At 93...you're on borrowed time.

On the way out of the restaurant, I spotted one of those photo booths where you get four little pictures for a quarter.  Only now it's four 2x3s and 16 tiny copies of the 2x3s for five bucks.  I suggested to Mom we hop in the booth and get some snapshots to commemorate the day.

She laughed and shook her head, this crazy daughter, but indulged me.  I helped her into the booth, then secured and hid her purse on her walker, which had to sit outside the booth.  She was nervous about having her purse two feet away.

The photo booth was more confusing than they use to be.  I had to choose a theme, a style, a color, type in my Zodiac sign, my nickname, and other hoo-ha.  I punched buttons until the automated voice started the countdown.  It was clearly off our pose because the first picture looked like this.

I then suggested to Mom we look silly.  This is her silly face.

It's very similar to her regular face.

I don't know what the heck I'm looking at.

I got the giggles while Mom held her pose.

She is one steady cookie.  And she clearly found the camera before I did. 

I laugh every time I look at these pictures.  The photo booth keyboard was as complicated as a jet liner panel.  I didn't know what we'd end up with, but I wanted whatever came out.

With a smile, Mom looked over the pictures and then said, "Is my purse still out there?"

Life at Both Ends

It's been over a week since I visited the dugout here at the Ballpark.  I wanted to check in all week, but life just kept happening.  During the past month, I've experienced opposite poles on the emotion spectrum.

Two weeks ago, I thought my dad was passing from this life.  As I sat with him, tears dripping, I tried to envision what was he was seeing.  I prayed it was wispy angels, a soothing lullaby, Jesus whispering, "Welcome home."

To my surprise, Dad rallied and by the next morning, he was looking brighter.  Yesterday, he celebrated his 90th birthday, and is currently in rehab.

He likes to surprise us, my dad.  I have never known another soul with such enthusiasm for life.  The Superman shirt was a gift to Dad from my brother, the ex-clown.  No matter how debilitated Dad becomes, in his heart, he can still fly.   

A few days after that grief-filled night, a fresh baby arrived at the Ballpark.  Her parents were in town for the 90th birthday bash.  A great-grandfather and his great-grandchild - 90 years apart.  To see the wrinkled, Parkinsonian hand reach for tiny, chubby toes....so beautiful.   

There is nothing more popular than a fresh-from-heaven baby. 

Holding this child was a balm to my weary heart.  She was as warm as fresh bread from the oven.  I loved curling her fingers around mine and sniffing her soft little head.  She was so new and untarnished by life.  So willing to just be held and smooched on.  It's refreshing and soothing and healing to hold new life.

The company has returned home now, and my focus is back on my super hero dad, who has chronic health issues, but is currently stable.

Author T.D. Jakes said that life is the great equalizer.  We all start out with supple skin, toothless grins, and great potential.   We grow to be strong, independent, and productive (hopefully.)  Eventually, we become weathered and disabled and forgetful.  Unless we die young, we will progress though every phase.  It's the human journey.

I will probably never again see two lives, 90 years apart, in the same room.  Hug them both, kiss them both, pray over them and with them.  It was wonderful to be standing in the middle and savor the experience.

We took hundreds of pictures, so we will never forget.

Both subjects are a bit blurry because they never stop moving. 

Neurosurgery at Ninety?

Today, I had planned to write about my father turning NINETY in three weeks.

However, on Friday, it was discovered he had two small brain bleeds (subdural hematomas) that would need a bit of brain surgery to correct.

Holey moley.

Brain surgery?  At ninety?

We had twenty-four hours to think about it.  In the meantime, they would send Dad to ICU, stop his coumadin, give him plasma and Vitamin K, monitor his vitals, and have wonderful, attractive nurses check on him every few minutes.  Aside from all the medical stuff, he was pretty happy.  

The next morning, we met the neurosurgeon.  He explained the procedure of drilling burr holes into Dad's skull and flushing out blood clots and excess protein and sheaths and fluid and whatever else didn't belong there.  He talked about this operation casually, as if he was explaining how to carve a pumpkin.

I  kept envisioning my husband's Black & Decker coming off a dusty garage shelf and whirring away.  Drills and human skulls just don't go together. 

Surgery was Sunday at 10 a.m.  We arrived at the hospital early to send Dad off with hugs and prayers.  Once they wheeled him away, we felt anxious and aimless and restless, and decided to head to the cafeteria to kill time by eating - what most Americans do when we don't know what else to do.

Some of us had eggs and grits.   Some of us had other things.

You just can't think straight when a loved one is having brain surgery.  You need comfort food.

Three hours later, the surgeon appeared to report that Dad was fine.  The doc was able to remove the goop that was causing trouble.  The doc remarked that Dad's skull was thick, and he had to drill the full length of the drill bit (for lack of a better word) in order to get to the problem.  We all chuckled, because Dad has always been thick-headed about what he was going to do and not going to do.  We now had proof.

Yesterday, Dad was moved to a regular hospital room where the nurses don't check on you every few minutes, and you get a roommate who snores.  This means you're getting better.

Hopefully, in a few days, Dad will move to rehab.  Amazing.   

My original post was about some things Dad had experienced in his ninety years.  I just added another one...

1.  Fourteen Presidential elections

2.  A manned moon landing

3.  Discovery of the polio vaccine

4.  Invention of the Jet Airliner, MRI, the microwave, video games, and cell phones.  

5..  DNA fingerprinting

6.  The creation, and loss, of two space shuttles and their crews.

7.  BRAIN SURGERY

IPAD

I have to tell ya', we're slow to acquire the latest technology.  We were the last ones on the block to get a home computer, a VCR, a DVD, cell phones, a laptop, and now an iPad.  My brain is too full with the last thing to incorporate a new thing.

Recently, a dear nephew gifted his grandfather (my dad) with an iPad.  Dad, who's coming up on 90 soon, loves the new gadgets, but needs help using them.  Having facetime with the grand kids and great-grand kids is his latest treat.

The craziest and most hilarious iPad feature, however, is Photo Booth, a program that is reminiscent of a fun house mirror.  You can distort and twist an image into goofy dimensions, and then laugh your head off.

Some examples...

DAD

MOM

DAUGHTER

Can't you just see the family resemblance?

DOCTORS

Between both my parents (89 and 92), they have ten doctors.   In 2011, they had 131 doctor visits.   I didn't count them up for 2012, because I know there were more, and 131 is enough to make the point.

We spend a lot of time in doctors' offices.  So much so, that I now take along the two latest issues of Time, maybe a book, and a water bottle.  Sometimes the mail.  I make sure I have my folks' medicine charts, a pen, and some gum.  Then, we settle in for the long wait.

We have never been in and out of a doc's office in under an hour.  It's usually two.

For the good docs, we don't complain.  They are kind and warm and know Mom and Dad very well.  It's a blessing to have someone in your corner like this.

For the urologist who treats his patients like cattle - herd 'em in, herd 'em out - the wait seems rude and wasteful.  After a year of hoping things would improve, we transferred to a new urologist, who calls himself "the plumber."   Dad gets a kick out of that.

My favorite physician is Dr. R. (the folks' primary care doc.)   He nods kindly when Mom insists her health store supplements are keeping her alive.  He holds Dad's hand in a manly shake while gently reminding him that, yes, your heart is still weak, and no, we don't live forever.

Several times, Dr. R. has talked to me on the phone about the folks.  As I've watched Mom and Dad decline, he has allowed me to share my fears with him.  In front of him, I have often blinked away tears.
 

Mom with Dr. R.

He doesn't know this, but he's my doc too.