Devil and the deep blue sea
By M on Wednesday 10 January 2007, 22:25 - Journal - Permalink
Dad's been having a bad week, so I thought I'd try hard to make his day a
pleasure. He spent the morning and early afternoon at day care - and had an
enjoyable outing to the nearby lagoons. I waited at home for him, and then took
him out for the rest of the day - to see some of his doctors. Not a bad way to
spend a day, given his recent run of bad luck.
The first doctor was the dermatologist, Dr Tibia. On the serious side - the suspicion that dad is developing skin cancer - there is little to report. The good doctor examined dad's skin and took a sample. I am to call him on Friday for the result. On the lighter side...he took one look at dad's height and asked if he used to be a rower. By sheer coincidence, dad and I had just been talking about dad's epic row to the Nova Scotia coast, after being torpedoed in 1942. Dad mentioned this, and then the three of us had a good long chat about U-boats, the Laconia incident, and North Atlantic meteorology. It was all very blokey and enjoyable.
Next stop, Dr Femur, the GP. Quick prod and poke and the verdict is clear - dad has a broken rib. No treatment, just be careful. I nip out and buy some Chelsea buns and we have afternoon tea with mum before I head off for dinner with Greg and Regan.
The crux of the matter is this: mum's 'slapping' of dad is much more serious than supposed. Greg surmised that she kicked dad in the back on Sunday, but the fact is that we do not really know what happened - none of us was there and no-one saw it on the webcam. All we know is that dad was struck a blow hard enough to break a rib. I think we now have to face the immediate necessity of medicating, or doping, or tranquillising - whatever euphemism we choose to use - our mother. Unless we do, we are consigning dad to a continuing level of torment I am not prepared to endorse.
Drugs now seem to be the lesser of the two evils.
The first doctor was the dermatologist, Dr Tibia. On the serious side - the suspicion that dad is developing skin cancer - there is little to report. The good doctor examined dad's skin and took a sample. I am to call him on Friday for the result. On the lighter side...he took one look at dad's height and asked if he used to be a rower. By sheer coincidence, dad and I had just been talking about dad's epic row to the Nova Scotia coast, after being torpedoed in 1942. Dad mentioned this, and then the three of us had a good long chat about U-boats, the Laconia incident, and North Atlantic meteorology. It was all very blokey and enjoyable.
Next stop, Dr Femur, the GP. Quick prod and poke and the verdict is clear - dad has a broken rib. No treatment, just be careful. I nip out and buy some Chelsea buns and we have afternoon tea with mum before I head off for dinner with Greg and Regan.
The crux of the matter is this: mum's 'slapping' of dad is much more serious than supposed. Greg surmised that she kicked dad in the back on Sunday, but the fact is that we do not really know what happened - none of us was there and no-one saw it on the webcam. All we know is that dad was struck a blow hard enough to break a rib. I think we now have to face the immediate necessity of medicating, or doping, or tranquillising - whatever euphemism we choose to use - our mother. Unless we do, we are consigning dad to a continuing level of torment I am not prepared to endorse.
Drugs now seem to be the lesser of the two evils.
Comments
Hi,
I've read several items from your blog that are both interesting and moving and I can empathise with the experiences you and your family are going through. One website I found interesting is the site posted above, based in the UK, where people can celebrate their memories of loved ones, events and moments. It's worth taking a look.
With best regards
Alex
Not sure if the link to the site made it, so here it is: http://www.millionmemories.org.uk/
I wouldn't assume that finding a medication for you mother is the same as "doping" her. In our family, a mid-level dosage of Seroquel has seemed to liberate my father not only from his agitation and boiling-point hostility, but also from some needless and obsessive worries that plagued him for decades. It has also liberated my mother from the pervasive anxiety about his mood that defined the first 60 years of her married life.
Yes, he is calmer, but that isn't necessarily a bad thing. I sometimes think he's quite a bit happier than he was for most of his life.
No, it hasn't helped the dementia at all, but it wasn't expected to. That seems to progress at its own mysterious pace, no matter what medication he takes.
Not being personally familiar with the circumstances but able to imagine the horror of it as it elevates, I would say do what is necessary.