November 26, 2015. It was Thanksgiving Day, and I was feeling grateful. I woke up at 4:30 A.M., which might seem too early for a non-dialysis holiday day, but I wanted to work a couple of hours to catch up after all of the distractions of the previous two days. Among other things, I was grateful to have a job and supportive management, which enabled me to keep working while my mother and I took care of my father.

Dad and Gale slept until 6:45 A.M. Along with the water that we normally used when administering his meds, during the day, I planned to administer two additional cups of water into Dad’s G-tube to help avoid any more issues with dehydration.

My husband, Stan, arrived from Houston around 10:00 A.M. and found Mom and me in the kitchen, and Dad and Gale outside on the patio enjoying the seasonably nice weather. On any other Thanksgiving Day, you’d find us preparing the turkey and traditional side dishes to serve with our turkey, but not this year. Instead, this year we would set aside our family food traditions and consume a simple dinner of comfort food. I could not bear the thought of filling the house with traditional aromas—aromas of food that Dad could not enjoy.

Not all of our traditions fell by the wayside, however. Dad and Stan still enjoyed the traditional football games and spent many hours visiting. I gave Dad some ice chips and encouraged him to practice swallowing. Because watching football could be so exhausting, Stan and Dad recharged themselves by napping after lunch. At 4:00 P.M., Gale woke Dad and I woke Stan. Stan and I went to Walgreens to purchase some medical supplies, and Gale tended to Dad’s wrist, which I had accidentally wounded a couple of days earlier.

During our happy hour, we shared thoughts about what we were thankful for during the year. For me, it was Dad, Stan, Mom, and Gale. I was also grateful for my friend Rhoda, who stayed with me when both of my parents were hospitalized, and my cousin Chris, who stayed with us for a week in June. I was also very grateful for Sue, our friend and nurse practitioner who rescued us from a dire situation just yesterday. And, finally, I was also thankful for Drs. Issac and Smith and many of the wonderful nurses, who treated Dad like their parent.

During our non-traditional spaghetti dinner, Dad retired to his room. After dinner, we played Oh Hell, and I won. At 8:30 P.M., we started preparing Dad for bed by administering his nightly meds and trach care.

November 27. Dad had a very restful night, which meant that we all slept well. He called for the urinal around 1:00 A.M., and then slept until Gale woke him at 4:00 A.M. Because of the Thanksgiving holiday, the Thursday dialysis sessions had been rescheduled to Friday. The EMS dispatch office called a couple of times to adjust our pickup time and finally settled on 5:45 A.M. Before Dad and Gale were picked up, Gale told me that she thought that the Flagyl seemed to be addressing the effects of Dad’s CDiff.

At 11:03 A.M., Gale called me from the wheelchair van to let me know that she and Dad had been able to get a ride back home immediately after Dad’s dialysis session. Shortly after they arrived home, Dad retired to the bedroom for a nap. Before he drifted off to sleep, I administered his meds and trach care. Gale started complaining about hip pain and said that she was taking Advil to reduce the pain. She mentioned that the last time that her hip went out on her, she was out of commission for three weeks.

At this time I didn’t know if Michell would be returning, and the thought of losing Gale too was almost more than I could handle. I indulged myself to a little pity party about not being able to leave for a couple of days of respite if I lost both of my aides. I felt conflicted because I was determined to see my father through this ordeal, yet I missed my life in Houston and wanted to go home, if only for a day or two.

Because of all of the folderol earlier this week, Dad’s assessment meetings were pushed from the day before Thanksgiving to Monday. Dad was supposed to see Dr. Pfanner again on Monday. Unfortunately, the earliest date available with the gastroenterologist was December 14. I was anxious to get on with Dad’s recovery and hated that we had to wait two more weeks for a follow-up visit with the doctor.

Dad slept until after 4:00 P.M. and didn’t join us for happy hour until almost 6:00 P.M. The five of us had a nice visit, and then Dad read the newspaper in his room while we ate. After dinner we played Oh Hell. Stan won, beating Dad by only a few points. Afterward, Stan and Dad talked about portable screwdrivers, and then Gale started getting him ready for bed.

While I administered the trach care, Gale prepared Dad’s nighttime meds. When we were finished preparing Dad for bed, Gale left Dad’s room and went to her room to shower. Shortly after she left the room, Dad became nauseated and started vomiting. Fortunately, Mom was nearby and was able to assist me. I quickly moved Dad to the upright position and retrieved our handy plastic basin. After Gale returned, I grabbed the documentation for the Flagyl and saw that one of the side effects of this medication was nausea and vomiting. Awesome. Fortunately, Sue had refilled Dad’s prescription for Zofran, which I immediately crushed and injected into his G-tube. To err on the side of caution, I decided to add Zofran to his daily course of meds until he had finished taking the Flagyl. Vomiting unnerved me because I was so afraid that he might aspirate. To ensure that he was OK, Gale and I sat with him until 10:30 P.M. I’m sure that it wasn’t intentional on his part, but it seemed that Dad never vomited while an aide was with me in the room.

November 28. I didn’t wake up until 7:30 A.M., which meant that I slept for a decadent period of eight hours. When I ventured downstairs, Mom and Gale were in the kitchen drinking coffee. Gale had been up since 5:30 A.M. and Mom had been up since 6:00 A.M. Surprisingly, Dad was still sleeping. When we heard him stirring shortly before 8:30 A.M., Gale and I administered his morning meds and trach care. As Gale assisted him into his wheelchair, she said that she could tell that he had regained much of his strength, that he seemed a lot stronger. It still took Dad a couple of hours to get up and get ready to face the day, but it was a good day for him.

When he tired of watching me bake, Dad and Stan worked together to assemble a piece of furniture for me. The longer that I lived here, the more my clothes and accessories migrated from Houston. My parents’ vista room, located on the second floor and which I used as a bedroom, had a nice closet but no dresser. Stan and I had found a small set of shelves and coordinating boxes at Lowe’s that would serve my purpose and that would be useful for guests after I eventually moved back home. After this accomplishment, Dad took a nap, while Mom, Stan, and I ate lunch.

During happy hour, I was able to shoot a group photo of the family and Gale. I don’t recall what prompted the comment, but my mother said that when I was in college, I forced her to have her ears pierced. This comment surprised and concerned me. Anyone who knew my mother would question my ability (or my father’s) to force her to do anything against her will.

 

After dinner, we played cards again and everyone lost at least one hand, except Gale. This might have been the happiest that I had ever seen her as she ended the night the big winner of Oh Hell. Today had been a very good day, and after the events of this week, I felt like we deserved a good day. Maybe we could score two good days in a row and get Dad’s recovery back on track.

November 29. Although it was Sunday, because of the holiday schedule at the dialysis center, today was a dialysis day for Dad. He seemed practically perky this morning and stood up from the bed by himself. Gale and I were in his room when he stood up, and we exchanged concerned glances. Standing up without having one of us nearby to act as a spotter was dangerous and a problem. However, we were so glad to see that he was getting stronger, we were happy to allow this transgression this one time. He grunted at us when Gale and I gently reminded him that one of us needed to be nearby when he stood up.

When the wheelchair van picked up Dad at 5:45 A.M., I followed the van to the dialysis center so that I could talk with the charge nurse about his fluid removal. Sue had assured me that they would restrict the amount of fluid that they removed, but because this was a holiday weekend and a Sunday, I wanted to ensure that the well-meaning skeleton staff would follow those orders. I would not have him dehydrated again during dialysis. The charge nurse acknowledged my concerns and said that she would speak to Dad’s nurse.

Dad returned from dialysis while Mom and I were attending church. He and Stan played a couple of hands of cribbage, and Dad won, which was not unusual.

While Stan, Mom, Gale, and I ate lunch, Dad retired to his room for a nap and was still sleeping when Stan left for our home in Houston. Dad woke up shortly before 4:00 P.M., which seemed like a good time for me to change his trach. I was finished and had cleaned up after myself well before happy hour. Although we were thrilled to have Dad swallowing ice chips, he would have preferred something a bit warmer to eat during happy hour.

After dinner, the four of us played Oh Hell, and I was tonight’s winner. We finished playing cards shortly after 7:40 P.M. and by 8:00 P.M. Gale and I had administered his nightly meds and trach care, and he was drifting off to sleep.

Four hours later, at midnight, Dad woke up, ready to take on the new day. Gale helped him out of bed and into the wheelchair, but by 12:30 A.M. he was ready to return to bed where he slept peacefully for another six hours.

We had been able to score a couple of good days in a row.