August 21, 2018. Once again, Dad objected to my plan to come to Temple to sit with my mother in the surgery waiting room. I told him that I had to be there for Mom, but truth be told, if something went wrong, I’d never forgive myself later for not having been there to give him a hug and kiss before his surgery.
I had a full schedule today and didn’t leave Houston until 7:15 P.M. Houston traffic was still a bear, and I was thankful that I was able to bypass most of it with my EZ Tag toll tag.
I didn’t arrive at my parents’ home until after 10:00 P.M. I had a house key, but Mom had insisted that she would wait up for me until I arrived. As I expected, Dad had been in bed since 8:00 P.M. and was asleep when I arrived. Mom told me that we would be getting up very early tomorrow because Dad had to be at the hospital by 5:30 A.M. for his 7:30 A.M. surgery. At least one of us would be well rested.
August 22. We all woke up earlier than necessary, and we were ready and in the car by 5:00 A.M. Needless to say, the streets of Temple were all but deserted at that time, and we were in the day surgery waiting room by 5:15 A.M. Dad’s name was called a few minutes later, and we rode the elevator to the second floor and located our surgical bay. We were greeted by Richard, one of Dad’s nurses, who handed Dad his surgical wardrobe. While Mom helped Dad to change into his surgical attire, I waited outside of the bay curtain.
After Dad had donned his surgical gown and cap and was situated on the gurney, Allison started his IV. Shortly after 7:00 A.M., the anesthesiologist arrived to address any questions that we might have. I mentioned our experiences of Dad’s challenges with extreme confusion following surgery. His not-so-comforting response was that as we age, anesthesia becomes more problematic, so today would be no better (and could be worse) than Dad’s surgery in March.
Moments after the anesthesiologist left, Dr. Daniel Stahl, the orthopedic surgeon arrived. He described the surgical procedure, and while talking, he lifted the portion of the sheet that covered Dad’s legs. Dr. Stahl seemed somewhat alarmed when he saw the many sores on Dad’s legs. The doctor then told us that because of Dad’s age, his kidney issues, and the sores on his legs, the hip-replacement surgery was very risky. When he offered Dad a chance to cancel the surgery, Dad said that it was too late to back out now, to which the surgeon replied that until he made the incision, it was not too late to back out. I asked the doctor why he didn’t perform the hip replacement surgery in March. Evidently, the earlier surgery of mending the hip with pins was a lot less invasive and often sufficed. I, on the other hand, wasn’t feeling great about more surgery and starting over with rehab.
After hearing from Dad that he wanted to proceed with the surgery, the doctor told Mom and me that he would meet with us after the surgery, and then he left. At 7:25 A.M., Shasta, another one of the OR nurses, wheeled Dad to the operating room. As Mom and I proceeded downstairs to the surgery waiting room, she was noticeably upset. She said that during the pre-op visit on Monday, she had not heard that the hip replacement would be a high-risk surgery for Dad.
While we waited, I mentioned to Mom that Dad would probably require rehab. She said that after their previous experience with Cornerstone, she didn’t want him to go to a rehab facility. I reminded her about how weak he was after the last surgery and that we should be open to rehab, even if we went someplace other than Cornerstone.
Dad’s surgery was over at 9:30 A.M, and the surgeon stopped by to speak with us a few minutes later. He said that Dad came through the surgery fine and explained a bit about the condition of the hip from the earlier surgery. When I asked if we would bring Dad home from the hospital, he said that Dad should go to rehab for a couple of weeks. Before he left, he told us that we would be notified when Dad was ready to leave recovery. After the doctor’s disturbing comments prior to surgery, Mom and I were very relieved and eager to see Dad.
An hour later, Mom and I were becoming concerned that we hadn’t heard anything about Dad. We were also starting to turn blue from the temperature in the waiting room, which must have been set to 65 degrees. We had seen several people leave the waiting room to see their loved ones and we were curious about our long wait. When I approached the waiting-room clerk to check on Dad’s status, she told me that “they” would call her when he had a room. At 11:15 A.M., almost two hours after his surgery, his recovery nurse, Karly, called us to tell us that he was still in recovery because there were no available beds on the orthopedic floor. I gave Karly my mobile phone number and Mom and I went home for lunch and to change into warmer clothes.
About an hour later, Karly called and told me that a room on the orthopedic floor was being cleaned. When I asked her for the room number, she said that to avoid problems caused by last-minute changes, she could not give me the room number until he was in the room. At 1:15 P.M., as we were backing out of the garage, she called me again and told me that Dad was in room 546 South. We arrived at Dad’s room at 2:00 P.M., and Pastor Tom from my parents’ church entered the room about five minutes later. During his visit, he told us that quite a few of his church members had had hip replacements and recovered quickly. After a short visit and a prayer, Tom left at 2:15 P.M.
Dad’s nurse, Brittany, was very nice and spent a significant part of the day monitoring his vitals. His oxygen saturation level was low because he sometimes stopped breathing, but it eventually leveled out between 98 and 99%. She asked if he had any history of sleep apnea. We said that he didn’t, but I mentioned that we had seen similar breathing patterns after earlier surgeries.
With Dad sleeping soundly, I was able to give the nurse an update on his meds. I also told her that he had a bit of fluid overload, and that his face was usually puffy in the morning, although the fluid usually dissipated by mid-morning. Unfortunately, as the day progressed his legs became swollen from sitting in the wheelchair all day. A couple of hours later, she said that Dad’s face seemed swollen from lying down all day, and she elevated his head.
Around 3:00 P.M., a millennial in red scrubs and many tattoos entered the room with a heart monitor, and hooked it up to Dad. When I asked her if she worked in the war room, she said yes. I had seen the war room employees in one of Dad’s earlier stays in the hospital and was relieved that his heart would be monitored. The color of employees’ scrubs identified their role at the hospital, and the red scrubs stood out among all of the others.
Dad’s oxygen saturation and blood pressure levels looked good for most of the day, but his heart rate hovered around 109, which seemed high to me. When I asked Brittany about it, she said that as long as it wasn’t fluctuating between the 60s and 90s, he should be all right. She reminded me that because of his AFIB, he was being closely monitored by the heart team in the war room, and they would keep an eye on his heart rate.
Try as we might, Mom and I could not get Dad to open his eyes for more than two seconds, and he only grunted like a bear when we asked him questions. At 4:45 P.M., his condition had not changed, and we decided to go home for the day. Mom and I were sleep deprived, had been here for the better part of 12 hours, were starting to get hungry, and Dad would probably sleep for the remainder of the day.
We were relieved that the surgery had seemed to go well and that his condition seemed stable. I didn’t know how well Dad’s new hip would work with all of his excess fluid. I hoped that he might have some dialysis during his stay, which I hoped might improve his mobility.
Because of his history of delirium and confusion caused by the anesthesia, the next three to four days would be important for him, and probably a little challenging for the three of us.
When I called Mom a couple of hours later, she told me that Dad had not walked or exercised since Stan and I had left on Sunday, three days ago. I suggested that she move Dad’s little step into the living room so it would be easier for him to access and perhaps use it. I didn’t think that it was a reasonable substitute for walking, but it was better than nothing. During our call, Mom told me that Dr. Ebert’s nurse had called to tell them that Dad’s November 20 nephrology appointment had been changed to Tuesday, July 31 (next week!), at 3:30 P.M. I was relieved that the appointment had been moved up because I didn’t think that Dad or his kidneys could wait four months to see a nephrologist. Also, with this schedule, I could do my volunteer shift at the wildlife center, drive to Temple for the appointment, and then come home on Wednesday in time for my shift in the cattery at the SPCA. Everybody wins.
July 26. I called my parents’ home numerous times today, starting at 3:00 P.M. Finally, at 4:50 P.M., Mom answered the phone. I could hear Dad’s voice and a woman’s voice in the background, and Mom said that she would call me in five minutes. When she called, she told me that Dad had fallen while trying to walk from the car into the barber shop. As they were coming home, neighbor Jo’s aide saw them and offered to help. She wheeled Dad into the house and started bandaging his bloody arms.
July 27. After spending a few hours away from home today, I logged on to Dad’s MyChart account and noticed that his Tuesday appointment with the nephrologist had been rescheduled to a date and time that I could not make. The change was required to accommodate a new appointment with the orthopedic surgeon. I called Mom to see if she would let me try to reschedule the nephrologist appointment to a more convenient time for me, and she agreed. I spent the next 30 minutes on the phone with a very patient woman who worked at the appointment desk at the dialysis center. I was able to reschedule the appointment with the nephrologist to Monday afternoon. It wasn’t the most convenient time, but I could make it work without missing any of my commitments or appointments in Houston.
When I arrived at my parents’ home, Dad was sitting in a glider chair with his legs resting on an ottoman. It was the first time since his surgery in March that he had been able to get himself in this chair. In addition to it being much more comfortable than his wheelchair, having his feet elevated might help reduce the swelling in his legs. Unfortunately, while he was on the glider, he was watching the Texas Rangers beat the Houston Astros.
August 3-5. After Stan arrived home from work, we drove to Temple and spent the weekend with my parents. Dad ignored my requests to walk with him and did not walk during the weekend. He and Stan built a higher step, which Dad was excited about using. I still didn’t think that the step was a reasonable substitute for walking, but Stan gave me a look that suggested that I not raise any objections. Dad had enjoyed working on this little project with Stan and felt that it would help him. For me to raise objections wouldn’t accomplish anything and would only irritate Dad.
When I called Mom this evening, I was pleased to learn that she waited only 15 minutes outdoors and then another hour inside. Even better, her license was renewed. One hurdle down, numerous more to go.
When I called my parents again later in the day, it seemed that my parents had had a 
July 15. Mom and I usually attended church when Stan and I were in Temple. Because Stan wasn’t here, Mom thought long and hard about whether she should attend church and leave Dad home alone. She finally decided that we would go when Dad insisted that she and I attend church. Unfortunately, while we were gone, Dad tripped on one of the front wheels on the wheelchair when he tried to stand. He wasn’t badly hurt, but his fragile skin was quick to tear and bleed. When we returned home, Dad had a bloody leg and sock. Feeling guilty for having left him alone, Mom dug into her stash of bandages and tended to his leg.
Fortunately, he didn’t stay mad at me for long, and we spent quite a bit of time planning for his 90th birthday celebration on October 6. We were expecting one of my cousins and her family, and we needed menus for three days. Dad and I were partial to many of the same foods, and we developed menus that contained some of my favorite foods as well as his. Dad also wanted to play a few hands of Oh Hell during the festivities, and he drew a seating chart of how we would seat seven people around a table that accommodated six.
July 17. When I spoke with Mom this evening, she said that Dad’s appointment with Dr. Ebert had gone well. While they were in the doctor’s office, she referred Dad to 
July 22. Today was Stan’s birthday. We had arrived in Temple yesterday and celebrated the previous evening with some of his favorite Midwestern foods. He and Dad also spent some time playing cribbage. While Mom and I attended church today, the guys played more cribbage and took time out to build a mini step that Dad could use to exercise his legs while he was sitting. I was able to get Dad to walk twice this weekend. We now sing She’ll be “Comin’ Round the Mountain” when he walks. We could usually sing four verses before he had to stop and rest.
Dad said that he needed a haircut and would see the barber either this coming Wednesday or Thursday. Recalling the difficult time that Mom and I had getting him into the barbershop during a previous visit, I implored her to wait for a weekend when Stan and I could help get him into and out of the building. I didn’t get much of a response, but I hoped that Mom would recall the harrowing experience.
Stan and I left Houston for Temple shortly before 3:00 P.M., but because of an accident in 
My parents had a large vegetable garden. Between Dad’s stint in the hospital and rehab and Mom looking after him, weeds had taken up residence among the tomatoes, squash, beans, and cantaloupe. While surveying the garden, I wondered why the vegetables couldn’t be as low-maintenance as the weeds. After lunch, I weeded the vegetable garden while Stan planted a couple of rose bushes and a couple of saplings in the yard. The day before Dad fell, he had placed bags of mulch in the front gardens. A couple of weeks ago, Stan had spread the mulch but thought that we needed to purchase a couple more bags, but Dad wanted only to use what he had purchased. When I had finished weeding the vegetable garden, I redistributed mulch in the front gardens. I had often said that my parents’ large yard kept them active and was good for their health. The large yard was now becoming a chore for Stan and me, and we fantasized that they would consider downsizing.
During our happy hour, Dad announced that he and Mom had decided that they could not continue living in their home for many of the reasons that concerned Stan and me. Dad said that they wanted our opinion and looked to us to do some research. We discussed many options, and it seemed that they wanted to move into a small house, which wasn’t my first choice for them. However, I knew of a 55+ community in 
My week in 
I had decided that I would not tell Mom that we were coming for a short weekend visit. Knowing her the way that I do, I knew that she would try to tidy up the house or prepare dinner during our three-hour drive. When we were about two miles from Cornerstone, I called Dad. Although he answered his phone, he couldn’t hear me. We continued our drive to the facility and surprised him when we walked into his room. During our 20-minute visit, I adjusted the speaker control on his phone so that he could hear callers. I then called Mom and told her that Stan and I were with Dad and that we would be arriving soon. In the 30 minutes that elapsed before we arrived at my parents’ home, Mom had rushed around the house, trying to tidy up. Truth be told, even when she thought that the house was a mess, it still looked like it was minutes away from a photo shoot for 
April 10. Dad had been the sole occupant of his semiprivate room and had been enjoying his privacy. Although the 
After hanging up, I tried calling Dad at Cornerstone to get his side of the story and see how he was doing, but after the phone rang a few times, I decided to hang up. I didn’t want him to try to get to the phone if it happened to be out of his reach. I called Mom, and she was breathless when she answered the phone saying, “Melody, is it Dad?” The ringing phone had awakened her, but by the time she reached it, the caller had hung up. My call came moments later, and I told her about the call from Cornerstone. Mom said that the incident surprised her, saying that he had been out of bed before to use the bathroom. This incident only heightened my concern about Dad coming home early.
Shortly before 11:00 A.M., the case manager called me from Scott & White Hospital to tell me that Dad was still in the hospital but would be transferred to Cornerstone later today. She said that she had tried to reach my mother, but no one answered the phone. I told her that I was in Houston, but my mother was with my father at the hospital and that she could speak to both of my parents by going to his room. I was a bit surprised that she had not tried Dad’s room first. Even if my mother hadn’t been there, Dad would have appreciated knowing the details of his transfer.
March 31. I wasn’t sure what time Mom planned to leave home this morning for Cornerstone, so I called her mobile phone, hoping that she might have it with her. Mom usually kept her phone in her purse and had a difficult time answering it before the call was transferred to voicemail. I knew that Dad kept his phone on the bedside table, so when there was no answer, I tried his mobile phone number. As I had expected, Mom answered Dad’s phone.
Mom called me a couple of hours later from Dad’s room. Dad was in physical therapy, and because my parents’ neighbors said that they might visit this afternoon, she remained in Dad’s room during his session. While Mom and I were talking, an aide wheeled Dad into his room. I was thrilled that he had had therapy on a Sunday, and Easter Sunday at that. At the end of our call, I was feeling good about this facility and Dad’s care. It seemed that his stay at the Cornerstone facility was going to exceed my wildest expectations.
I was encouraged that he shared his events with me so that we could sort out what was real. During the day, he asked me about a cat that was sitting in the corner of the room. Although it seemed real to him, he believed me when I told him that there was no cat in the room, although he could still see it.
The morning’s happy mood took a nose dive when Alisa, the nurse, tried to give him a doxycycline capsule. He insisted that he would not take this pill because it had made him vomit. Alisha said that she would give him a Zofran for nausea to take with the antibiotic. I reminded him that he had had problems with this antibiotic when he took it on an empty stomach, but he had just eaten breakfast. He eventually calmed down and agreed to take it, but I was not hopeful that he would take the second pill after dinner.
At 10:30 A.M., I went to the cafeteria to get some coffee for Mom and me. When I returned, Dad was in the bathroom. Being able to get out of bed to use the bathroom was a significant and welcome milestone after hip surgery. With his movement at glacial-speed, the short trip took quite a bit of time, but Carrie, the aide, eventually got him back into the bed at 11:10 A.M. After watching the process that was required to get Dad from the bathroom to the bed, Mom was convinced that we had made the right decision to have Dad discharged to a rehab facility. Dad had insisted that he could have out-patient therapy, but Mom and I together could not have safely transferred him from home to the rehab facility.
During Dad’s therapy session, Mom told me that he had agreed to go to Cornerstone and complete his therapy as fast as he could. The doctor and therapists had estimated that he would require two weeks, but he planned to be ready to come home in half that time. I was thankful and encouraged by his change in attitude. I left the room to find Dr. Bolanos to let her know that we were all on board with his rehab plan at Cornerstone.
Shortly after lunch, Amy, the occupational therapist arrived and had Dad stand with the walker. Before Amy left the room, Brooke and Lisa, the physical therapist and her assistant, arrived. They had Dad stand up and sit down and then sit in a chair. While he was enjoying being out of bed, Pastor Tom entered the room. While Tom was there, he spoke of the many benefits of rehab. The pastors in that church always seemed to answer my prayers. Before Tom left, he urged Dad to get well quick because he needed a Christian in the church, which was a running joke between them. Tom had a very busy schedule this week, and Mom and I greatly appreciated his taking the time for a visit.
When we entered Dad’s room, we encountered chaos. Dad was eating breakfast and arguing with Alisha, an aide who was trying to take his blood pressure, which was required before he could have his morning meds. He insisted that he would not take the meds, and wanted her to leave. Steve, the electrical technician, was also in the room, trying to repair a problem with a spastic call light and oversensitive bed alarm. It didn’t help matters any that Steve and a nurse were discussing the problems with the system.
Adding to the parade of people who dropped by was the case manager, who asked whether she should start looking for a rehab facility for Dad. Dad didn’t hear her question, and I quickly ushered her out of the room. Rehab was still a touchy subject, and I didn’t want us to launch into another argument in front of the case manager. I returned to the room and told Mom that she needed to see the case manager in the hall. While Mom was gone, she signed the appropriate paperwork to set the discharge process in motion. While Dad had been in surgery, I had asked Pastor Tom about 
March 25, 2018. After last night’s disturbing phone call from Mom about Dad’s fall, I wanted to get an early start to Temple so that I could be there during Dad’s surgery. I was up by 5:30 A.M., called Mom 45 minutes later to let her know that I was coming, and left home at 7:40 A.M. Because of my early departure, and some good highway luck, I arrived at my parents’ home at 10:15 A.M. I quickly unpacked my car, drove to Scott & White Hospital, and made my way to room 566 in the south tower.
The doctor said that Dad would have his first physical therapy session and evaluation the day after his surgery. Following the surgery, he would remain in the hospital for 2-3 days and then move to a rehab facility for two weeks of rehab. It was at this point in the conversation that Dad balked and said that this plan didn’t work for him. He had no intention of going to rehab; he was needed at home. Unfortunately, Mom seemed to agree with Dad. In an attempt to sell my parents on the notion of rehab, I related the 
When I finished making my phone calls, I returned to Dad’s room. Dr. Bolanos returned to the room a few minutes later and told us that they had noticed a spot on Dad’s heart that looked like a clot. Before they could operate on Dad’s hip, they would need to run some tests, which were scheduled for tomorrow. By now it was 12:30 P.M., and Mom and I were hungry and decided that we would leave Dad for an hour and go home for lunch. When we returned to Dad’s room, because his surgery was rescheduled for tomorrow, his NPO restriction had been lifted, and he was eating lunch and complaining about the food. Some things never changed.
When the nurses had finished drawing Dad’s blood, Mom and I made our way to the OR waiting room. After waiting for about an hour in the freezing-cold room, we were pleasantly surprised to see Tom, my parents’ pastor. I don’t know how he found us, but pastors seem to know their way around hospitals. We had a nice visit with him, and during our discussion, I mentioned my concern about Dad’s reluctance to go to rehab. I hoped that Pastor Tom would be able to have a guy-to-guy talk with Dad sometime before he was discharged from the hospital. After talking with Mom, I learned that part of her reluctance to send Dad to rehab was because of the promise that my parents had made years ago to not put the other in a nursing home. I explained to her that he would be admitted to the temporary resident section of the skilled nursing facility, not the permanent resident section, commonly referred to as a nursing home. I think that she felt somewhat better about rehab after our discussion.
During the first weekend of March 2016, our friends Mike and Rhoda visited my parents. The visit went well, and Dad walked around the house with little or no assistance from his cane. We were all pleased and impressed with his progress and felt that his recovery was nothing short of miraculous. Unfortunately, a couple of days after they left, 
As March 2018 approached, these same friends asked if they could join Stan and me during one of our weekend trips to see my parents. My parents love our friends and were thrilled that they had time for a weekend visit. Not only did I look forward to Rhoda and Mike’s company, I hoped that they might be able to provide me with a little perspective. Dad and I are very much alike, and we have a history of digging in our heels. For the past few months, he and I had been locking horns about his 
Fortunately, or unfortunately, my concerns were validated by my friends when they told me that they also thought that Dad seemed unsteady. My husband, who can usually talk me down when I’m overly concerned, didn’t help much when he said that he was also worried about Dad’s gait and the swelling in his legs.
Tale of Two Parents 