May 6, 2016. It was hard to believe that one year ago, Mom and I had accompanied Dad to Baylor Scott & White hospital for his aortic valve replacement surgery, a 7-10 day hospital stay that became a 148-day hospital stay, followed by five months of home care. His surgery had been successful, but the recovery was a failure.
When I called my parents’ home from my home in Houston today, my mother told me that she had been informed that Dad’s second round of home care would be ending soon. Once again, I felt like I was losing a lifeline. Although I rarely needed them, just knowing that I could phone a nurse for assistance was comforting.
May 7. It was Saturday morning and Stan and I were driving to my parents’ home in Temple in separate cars. He left home at 7:45 A.M. I had a couple of errands to attend to and followed Stan a couple of hours later.
When I arrived at my parents’ home shortly before 1:00 P.M., Dad was home from dialysis and Stan was mowing the lawn. After lunch, Dad and I went to HEB to purchase groceries and supplies that we would need for the dinner that we had planned for Mother’s Day tomorrow. While I was there, I found a beautiful bouquet that I purchased for Mom.
Dad told me that he wanted me to start reducing my number of trips and days with them. He said that he wanted to start using his computer again, and when I was there, he couldn’t access it because I used that space to work. He added that when I wasn’t there, they felt like their life had almost returned to normal again. I wasn’t sure how I felt about this announcement. I also wanted to reduce my time away from home, but I still felt that their situation was somewhat tenuous.
Very little can dissuade us from playing cards after dinner, and Dad won big time at Oh Hell.
May 8. For as long as I could remember, my parents had eaten waffles for breakfast on Saturday. During Dad’s seven months of hospitalization and home care, Mom had abandoned this tradition. After preparing countless batches of waffle batter, Mom had committed the recipe to memory. Between the months-long lapse in preparing the waffle batter and her having a stroke, Mom had forgotten her recipe. When preparing waffles last weekend, she searched in vain for her written recipe and resorted to one in a cookbook. During the past week, she had continued her search but without success and had to use the substitute. Although Mom prepared the batter, Dad had been the official waffle baker, a role that he now resumed.
After Mom and I returned home from church, the four of us enjoyed chocolate-dipped strawberries with our lunch.
During happy hour, Mom opened her Mother’s Day card and a little gift from me. My wonderful husband gave Mom a gift card to Chico’s. Because she had lost so much weight during the past year, most of her clothes no longer fit her. So that I could accompany her on her shopping trip, he also gave me a gift card.
For dinner, Dad and I fixed some of Mom’s favorites: baked potatoes and rib-eye steak. Dad also had me prepare one of his favorites: sautéed mushrooms. Everything was great—even the banana pudding ice cream that Dad had selected for dessert. Although the flavor didn’t sound very appealing to me, it was surprisingly good.
Stan left for our home in Houston at 4:30 P.M, but he didn’t get home until 8:00 P.M. One of the cats welcomed Stan home with the gift of a furball in the middle of the family room floor. Poor Stan.
Back in Temple, I won our game of Oh Hell, beating Mom by two points.
May 9. I started working at 4:00 A.M. My father had an early post-op appointment today with Dr. Jaffers, the surgeon who performed Dad’s fistula surgery. My parents and I agreed that I would skip this appointment but would go with them to Dad’s later appointment to see Dr. Martin. We planned to take two cars so that I could drive to Houston from the doctor’s office.
At 10:00 A.M., after a 6-hour workday, I stopped working and packed my car. When I turned the key, the engine hesitated before it started. When we arrived at the doctor’s office, I asked my parents to wait for me to start my car before leaving the parking lot. In case my car had a problem, I didn’t want to be stranded at the doctor’s office.
Dr. Martin repeated what we had already heard: Dad had several compression fractures. We talked with him about Dad’s three falls (May 2015, January 2016, and March 2016), and the likelihood that one of those falls had caused Dad’s current back problems. Because back injuries can be cumulative, the last fall or the standing up in church could have been the tipping point that caused Dad’s pain. The doctor wanted a blood test and a bone density scan to determine if the compression fractures were caused by osteoporosis. When my parents went to the lab for the blood work, I went home. I was relieved that the car seemed to start without any hesitation and assumed that I had imagined some problem with my car.
When I stopped for gas in Somerville, my car struggled to start. I called Stan to share my concerns and discuss my options. I had planned to go to the office and then meet a former coworker for dinner. I was afraid that if I went to the office or out to dinner that the car wouldn’t start and that I would be stranded. We agreed that it would be prudent for me to skip the office and reschedule my dinner plans.
I drove home and called Stan when I approached the neighborhood. We met at the house, unloaded my car (with the engine running), and he followed me to the Honda dealership. Through the miracle of smartphones, I was able to attend a meeting during my drive to the dealership. The service department representative said that they could fix my car within an hour, which allowed Stan and me to grab dinner while we waited.
When we arrived home with two fully-functioning cars, I called Mom to see how Dad was doing. After they left the lab, they ran a couple of errands, and by the time that they reached home, Dad was in a lot of pain. His back was hurting him so much that he had to lie down. Mom was very concerned and told me that he had a difficult time finding a comfortable position.
Mom was a little confused and a bit frustrated by the doctor’s visit. She had thought that the doctor was going to start treating Dad, so she was surprised when the doctor said that he needed more tests.
May 10. When I called Mom at noon to see how she and Dad were doing, she told me that she had received bad news from the dermatologist: her biopsy was cancerous and she would need surgery. The cancer was slow moving, so the doctor said that she could schedule the surgery for after our family reunion in June.
Dad was feeling somewhat better today. Mom had had him take some Extra Strength Tylenol last night and it seemed to lessen his pain. She told me that Dad returned to the x-ray department at the Scott & White clinic for a bone density scan this afternoon. The scans weren’t painful, but lying on the table was very painful.
May 14. After spending a few days at our home in Houston, Stan and I planned to return to Temple for the weekend. Like before, we would take separate cars, enabling me to stay a day or two longer. After handling a few chores around the house, Stan and I departed for Temple; Stan left about 10 minutes before me. As I was passing the Buc-ees in Waller, I passed Stan. He could seldom pass this mega rest stop without stopping for coffee or snacks. He stopped again in Rogers to pick up some doughnuts for my mother (so he said), so I arrived almost 15 minutes ahead of him.
I hadn’t been in the house for more than a few minutes before Dad started complaining about the doctor and the lack of information from Scott & White. I decided to log on to Dad’s MyChart account and discovered that Dr. Martin had sent my father a message, telling him that he had severe osteoporosis. The doctor added that he had requested a consultation with an endocrinologist. I emailed Dr. Martin to see if we needed to make the appointment or if we would be contacted by the specialist. I also noticed that Dad had an appointment for additional blood work, but I couldn’t tell which doctor had placed the order.
We later got into a heated discussion about how my parents wanted Dad to replace his prescribed statin with pectin. Evidently, the home care nurse told my parents that statins were dangerous and that she had been giving her husband pectin instead. I could believe it because my sister-in-law’s father-in-law had had some severe side effects from prolonged statin use. However, I’d prefer if we clued in the cardiologist before we started self-medication.
When he saw Dr. Martin last week, Dad’s chart did not include the statin, but my parents did not recall any discussion with Dr. Ebert about stopping this medication. Because it was on the list of medications that I maintained for Dad, Dr. Martin had added it back to Dad’s chart. We decided that I would contact Dr. Ebert, tell her about the situation, and see what she advised. Who knows; if she thought that substituting pectin for a statin was a good idea, I might have Stan ask our doctor about it.