Not the Valentine’s Day that I had envisioned.

February 11, 2016. Dad had another good night’s sleep. He was awake by 4:00 A.M. and was soon ready for dialysis. Fortunately, he was ahead of schedule because the HOP bus arrived at 5:40 A.M., 20 minutes earlier than our scheduled pickup time. They have a policy that states that if they have to wait on a rider for more than five minutes, they can revoke the rider’s service. This was not the first time that they had arrived 20 minutes earlier than our scheduled pickup time. I can’t count the number of times that he sat outside the house in his wheelchair waiting on them. I think that they had had to wait for him only once.

Dad and Michell returned home from dialysis at 12:30 P.M. Shortly after their return, I started packing up my computer and joined Mom, Dad, and Michell for lunch. I wanted to attend my Thursday night class tonight in Houston, and I departed for Houston after eating.

So far, Dad seemed to be doing well without his trach. I, on the other hand, was as nervous as a long-tailed cat in a room of rocking chairs. On the one hand, the way in which he was improving was just this side of miraculous. On the other hand, I kept waiting for the other shoe to fall. I practically held my breath every time he swallowed, and I just about leaped out of my skin when he talked while he was eating. Kristen had warned him against talking while eating because of the increased risk of aspiration. With the trach gone, all of our backup options were gone. If he aspirated now, he’d be back in the hospital and on a ventilator.

While I was in Houston, Dad’s day was uneventful, which was my idea of a perfect day. After his post-lunch nap, Michell and Mom covered Dad’s dialysis port with layers of dialysis port shields, enabling him to take a shower. Like eating, showering was another daily activity that most of us took for granted but was a potentially lethal activity for Dad.

February 12. Dad slept in until 5:30 A.M., which enabled Mom to get a bit more sleep, too. I had been worried about moving Mom into the room with Dad because she needed her rest and Dad was a fitful sleeper, to say the least. By 6:45 A.M., Dad was eating his typical breakfast of Cream of Wheat and peaches. After breakfast, Michell helped Mom administer Dad’s morning meds.

Shortly before 11:00 A.M., Pastor Don from my parents’ church stopped by to visit with Dad. He hadn’t been by to see Dad recently, and I was sorry that I missed him. I was still in Houston and would not return to Temple until tomorrow.

Don’s visit with Mom and Dad was interrupted by Janet, Dad’s occupational therapist. Her presence also provided Dad with an opportunity to sharpen his wit. He and Janet usually spent the entire session trading good-natured barbs. We were fortunate to have a therapist like Janet. She was good-natured, gave Dad a run for his money, but didn’t take any hooey from him.

Janet departed at lunchtime, and Dad had a good meal of ham and cheese on a homemade English muffin, pickles, nectar, and a Fig Newton. He would need a hearty lunch. Just before 2:00 P.M., he and Mom went bed shopping at Ashley Home Furnishings. They were back home by 3:00 P.M., and Dad was ready for a nap 15 minutes later.

At 5:00 P.M., Dad enjoyed a glass of Sprite during happy hour, which was followed by a dinner of meatballs and avocado salad, and some strawberry sherbet. For Dad, you couldn’t improve much on this meal, unless you substituted salmon for the meatballs. Mom, Dad, and Michell played a game of Oh Hell and were heading to bed by 7:45 P.M.

February 13. Dad was awake at 4:00 A.M. and was eager to get up and get ready for dialysis. Because he was still receiving Nepro during the night, he could not get out of bed until Mom disconnected him from the Kangaroo pump. By 5:00 A.M., Dad was eating his Cream of Wheat, but with pears today. When he finished his breakfast, Mom administered his morning meds. Dad was ready for the HOP bus shortly after breakfast, but today the bus didn’t arrive until 6:15 A.M.

While Dad was in dialysis, Stan and I left Houston for our return trips to Temple. Stan left at 8:30 A.M., and I left two hours later. Dad and Michell returned home from dialysis at 12:25 P.M., and I arrived in Temple just as the four of them were finishing their lunch.

I had barely unloaded my car when Mom and Dad said that they were going to back to Ashley Home Furnishing to look at some more beds.

While Mom and Dad were gone, Michell told Stan and me that she was very concerned about Dad and Mom being alone. She was concerned that we were ending the service with One on One Personal Homecare too soon. Gale had expressed a similar concern. I discussed some options with Michell and asked if she would be able to stay on for the month of March. She wasn’t sure that she could, so we dropped the subject.

Dad had not been embracing our plan to drink Nepro during the day; however, he needed the extra the extra protein that it provided because he was still very underweight. The gastroenterologist was not going to pull the G-tube until we could show that Dad could consume enough calories without it. I also didn’t like Mom waking up at 2:00 A.M. to refill the tube feed bag. I tried giving him ½ can of the Nepro when we administered the nighttime meds. It was a little messy, and he probably didn’t get all of his meds, but it might work. Meanwhile, my 140-pound father kept saying that he didn’t want to get fat.

Dad ate a pretty decent meal tonight of spaghetti and angel food cake, and he won big time at Oh Hell. When I changed his stoma dressing, it looked as though the trach was completely healed and only the neck wound needed to heal. His trach dressing hadn’t been changed since I left town  2-1/2 days ago, but the dressing contained very little drainage. Amazing.

February 14. I had been eagerly anticipating this day for weeks. Today the four of us—Mom, Dad, Stan, and I—were going to attend church together, and this would be the first social outing for Dad since he entered the hospital nine months ago. All of the pastors and some of the church members had been very supportive during the past few months, and getting Dad back to church would be a significant milestone. Unfortunately, he woke up at 7:30 A.M. with a terrible congestion. Stan also told me that he had heard Dad coughing during the night and using the Yankauer suction wand. I didn’t want to verbalize my fears that the congestion might have been caused by aspiration.

I quickly administered a breathing treatment to help break up his congestion, but he was just too sick to go to church. He balked about eating breakfast at first but acquiesced when he saw that Mom had prepared eggs, sausage, homemade English muffins, and her Christmas morning bread. This spread wasn’t typical of our Sunday-morning fare, but this was supposed to be a special day. Before Dad left the table, he had managed to eat his fair share of everything.

I was very disappointed that he didn’t attend church with Mom and me, and had to extend his regrets to some of our friends at the church. When Mom and I returned home, Dad and Stan were playing cribbage. I gave Dad two more breathing treatments during the day and gave myself one in an attempt to deal with my developing congestion. Shortly after we had finished eating lunch, Stan departed for Houston.

During the afternoon, my parents watched a golf tournament, although they seemed to sleep through most of it. They woke up shortly before 5:00 P.M., and we had a nice happy hour. Dad nibbled at his dinner of a frankfurter, tomato, and avocado salad. After eating a slice of angel food cake, he was ready for a game of Oh Hell, which I won.

By 8:00 P.M., Dad was on his way to bed. Before Mom administered his meds and set up the Nepro and Kangaroo pump, I administered another breathing treatment. By 8:30 P.M., Dad was drifting off to sleep, but I feared that he wouldn’t get a good night’s rest.

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