Two and a half more days until I fly like a bird away from my cage to nine days of the life I call “normal.” Normal, as in singing with my choir, seeing good friends, sleeping in my own bed sandwiched between two cats, and catching up on some gardening.
I told Mom today about the plan for me to take a break and for Dad to stay in the nursing center with her for a week. She took it very well, expressed no concerns or anxiety. Man, those must be great meds they’re giving her!
I also signed all the paperwork for Dad’s stay and found out that he will get the room right next to Mom’s. I sure hope this works out and that they don’t drive each other and everyone else crazy. I typed up a three-page list of “tips” for the nursing staff about what aspects of daily living Dad can do for himself and what things he needs/expects assistance with. The Director of Nursing was most impressed – “I’ve never had any family member give us such a thoughtful and thorough description of a patient’s needs,” she said.
I’ve always been detail oriented. Strategies, plans, logistics are my forte. OK, so I’m a control freak. One of the things that scares me to death is the way an illness, such as Parkinsons, can take a strength and twist it into a obsession that no longer helps, but hampers, one’s ability to function in a way others would consider normal and reasonable.
Take my father, for example. He prides himself on his ability to keep himself clean and looking nice. Nothing wrong with that. But the Parkinsons Disease has turned the fairly simple activity of showering into a 90-minute loop of soaping, rinsing, re-soaping, re-rinsing, while the caregiver stands guard to catch him or pick him up if he falls.
Now, what will my obsession with planning look like in 25 years? Lists, long lists of meaningless things that I think I must do but can no longer do. Note to caregiver: Just give me a flipchart and some markers and let me make my lists.
Sue
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