July 25. Dr. Ebert’s nurse called me today. She had repeatedly called my parents’ phone number but there had been no answer, and she was concerned that she might not have their current phone number. I confirmed that she had the correct phone number and suggested that she keep trying. About 30 minutes later, Dad called me to see if I had called him. Evidently, he had heard the phone, but my mother was away from home and he had not been able to answer it before it stopped ringing. I told him that the call was most likely from Dr. Ebert’s nurse. I couldn’t tell him why she was calling, but I was certain that she would attempt another call.
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.
Upon hearing this news, I lost my cool. When we were in town this past weekend for Stan’s birthday, Mom mentioned that Dad needed a haircut. I told her to wait until we returned so that Stan and I could help get Dad into the inaccessible shop. Mom said that as soon as Dad fell, she could hear my words in her ears. I told her that she and Dad needed to reassess their living options, and she said that they would never live in a nursing home. I wished that they understood that they had options other than their large, unmanageable home or a nursing home.
Before I hung up, I told Mom to contact the orthopedic surgeon and schedule an X-ray to ascertain whether or not Dad had broken or rebroken any bones.
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.
July 29. After attending my church in Houston, I packed a small bag and drove to Temple. Traffic was better than I would have expected on a Sunday afternoon, but parts of US 290 still left me white knuckled. Although the seemingly 100-year construction project was nearing completion, some of the road conditions were still far from ideal.
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.
After dinner, the three of us played a game of Oh Hell, and Dad won.
July 30. Besides the afternoon appointment with the nephrologist, Dad had a 9:10 A.M. appointment with the lab. According to my parents, Dad seemed to be having weekly trips to the lab for blood draws. Each specialist ordered lab work that addressed only his or her area of specialty. With any luck, Dad wouldn’t need any more blood draws for a few weeks. After we returned home from the lab, Dad helped me assemble a canvas stretcher for an art project. Before we were finished, I had hauled at least six different tools from his workshop into the living room, but we had a good time working with the difficult stretchers. After lunch, we all snoozed for a few minutes before going to the dialysis center to meet with Dr. Maaz Syed Ahmed, the nephrologist.
My parents had a little difficulty understanding him, but they liked this doctor. He encouraged Dad to keep taking one pill/day and to monitor his weight and blood pressure. Dad’s creatinine level was elevated above high normal, but the doctor didn’t think that that Dad’s level was alarmingly high. The doctor also did not recommend that Dad resume dialysis, but he provided the following guidelines:
- Restrict fluid intake to less than 50 ounces per day.
- Do not exceed 2,000 mg of sodium per day.
- Schedule an appointment with a wound specialist to address the wounds on his legs.
- Walk as much as possible, but when seated, keep his legs elevated.
- To address any pain, take Tylenol. Do not take aspirin or Advil.
The doctor asked Dad to schedule a couple of follow-up appointments before we left the building. Dad now had another appointment in October with the nephrology PA and then in January with Dr. Ahmed. I hoped that Dad liked this doctor enough to follow his recommendations, which seemed to dovetail with Dr. Ebert’s advice on July 17.
As soon as we returned to their home, I packed up my car and drove back to Houston, arriving shortly before 7:00 P.M.
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.
As expected, we played Oh Hell Friday and Saturday nights.
August 7. Mom was not at home when I called today, so Dad and I had a chance to discuss her birthday dinner. She would be 91 in a couple of weeks, and Dad had assured Mom that I knew how to prepare her favorite food, chicken-fried steak. I had never fried a chicken, let alone steaks, and I was thankful that I had a membership with Omaha Steaks. I was pretty certain that they knew how to prepare chicken-fried steak. Because Mom loved balloons, I planned to get her some, and I also planned to have flowers in her honor delivered to the church for the August 19 services.
August 9. Dad accompanied Mom to the store today, but he stayed in the car. He had not been walking, but he had convinced himself that using the little step that he and Stan had made would be an adequate substitute for walking. Evidently, getting Dad from the house into the car was a real struggle, and it became clear to Mom that walking was important. She decided that Dad must start walking again and planned to broach the subject with him. I stressed to Mom that he needed to walk over the weekend so that he could get into the car on Monday for his physical therapy.
August 12. Dad didn’t walk today, but Mom said that she was able to help him transfer from his wheelchair into the glider chair (with ottoman). She said that he fell asleep as soon as he was situated. I was glad that he was out of his wheelchair and sitting with his legs elevated. I’m unable to watch television in these glider chairs because their soothing gliding action puts me to sleep within moments.
August 13. Dad slipped or fell out of bed this morning while trying to transfer from the bed to the wheelchair. According to Mom, it took her about 30 minutes to get him up and into the wheelchair. This event marked the second time in the past couple of weeks that he had slipped to the floor. Getting Dad up and off of the floor exhausted Mom, which concerned me. Fortunately, he didn’t have a physical therapy appointment until 10:30 A.M., so they both had a little time to rest before they had to go to his physical therapy appointment with Christi. Shortly after PT started, Mom and Dad told Christi about his fall this morning. She stopped the therapy session and scheduled an appointment for Dad later in the day with the orthopedic surgeon’s PA. She said that she would consult with the surgeon and then call my parents to see if they should continue therapy. The therapist strongly suspected that Dad would require hip-replacement surgery. Ye gods.
August 15. My parents still hadn’t heard from the surgeon’s office, which meant that Dad was just sitting around without any physical therapy—regressing.
I was a little anxious about today’s activities. Tomorrow was Mom’s 91st birthday and her driver’s license would expire. The Temple DPS office was small, and when the 30 chairs inside were full, people had to wait outside in the 100-degree heat. Mom planned to go early to avoid the worst heat of the day, but I worried about her standing outside in the heat and sun. I also was worried that she might not get her license renewed, which would create an impossible situation for my parents. Until Dad was up and around, she was the only driver in the house.
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.
August 16. Today was Mom’s 91st birthday. On this date 41 years ago, Elvis Presley died, and later today we learned that Aretha Franklin had died of pancreatic cancer. After Mom and I discussed the sad news of the day, she told me that someone from the surgeon’s office had called and scheduled a pre-op visit for Dad on Monday, August 20, followed by surgery on Wednesday. I just hated the thought of more surgery. It seemed to me that we were back to where we were on March 24 when Dad fell and broke his hip, and I dreaded the thought of another hospital stay.
As our friends showered us with kindness, Mom and I would ask ourselves how we’d ever be able to thank our friends. After almost a year of nonstop kindnesses, Dad was stable and was well on his way to leading his pre-hospitalization normal life. During one of our discussions about our friends, Mom and I decided to host a dinner and invite everyone who had lifted us up by their deeds and prayers. We contacted the Hilton Gardens and Inn and met with one of their banquet representatives. We selected September 30, 2016, as the date and Giving Thanks Day Dinner as the theme. Although I had good reason to be very thankful for a couple of our healthcare providers, we decided to exclude Scott & White employees and invite only friends. Unfortunately, four of the 14 people that we invited would be unable to attend.
When Mom and I arrived at the hotel, the room looked great. While Dad was hospitalized, I had kept real or artificial sunflowers in his room, and today the tables were decorated with sunflower arrangements. I had originally planned to let each one of our guests pick up a place card and choose an available seat. However, to ensure that everyone would be seated next to at least one acquaintance, I arranged the place cards, which also included the menu choices. Without realizing it, the placement of the place cards matched the order that I had planned to address our guests during my following remarks:
Jane and Mickey: In my 60-some-odd years on this planet, I never realized the importance of giving food during hard times. However, this was the first time in my life, and probably my mother’s life, that I was losing weight without trying or without being sick. Sometimes we came home from the hospital so emotionally exhausted that the thought of preparing a meal was more than we could fathom. Jane’s yummy salads from Austin and homemade goodies were like manna from heaven, and Mom and I kept saying that we didn’t know how we’d ever be able to thank her.
Marilyn and Earl stopped by the hospital a few times to visit with Dad, but 
In addition to the fondness that we developed for Don, we also came to love his wife, Wynn, who Mom met on July 22 and I met a couple of days later. Wynn worked at Memorial Hospital in the chaplain’s office, and we became accustomed to her visits to Dad’s room. There were several reasons that we hated to leave Memorial again for the CCH, and not being able to see Wynn was one of them.We lost count of the times that Don visited Memorial and the CCH. He is so special and important to us, and Mom and I kept saying that we didn’t know how we’d ever be able to thank him.
During Dad’s first stint at Memorial, he was the church’s Member of the Week, and he received many cards from the church members, but I’m pretty sure that Kris sent more cards than all the other members combined. And each card contained special messages of hope, faith, encouragement, and love. Joan, who is a retired nurse, also helped guide us through some of our darker days, providing support, advice, and comfort to Mom and me.And we kept saying that we didn’t know how we’d ever be able to thank them.
And when my father came home, Stan transformed my parents’ bedroom into a functional hospital room. And every night when I called him, he’d listened to me cry, complain, and rant. I know that we had vowed to be there for better or worse, but he really raised the bar. And his mother-in-law and I don’t know how we’ll ever be able to thank him.
Yesterday was an anniversary of sorts for us. One year ago yesterday, my father was discharged from the CCH into Home Care. Six days from now, the man who doctors said would not live to see his 87th birthday will turn 88.
The finished cake sported numeral-shaped candles, each candle representing the second digit of our ages: 1, 2, 8, and 9. I had not considered the weights of the layers, and when I was finished, the cake resembled something that you might see in a 
Like many of the other procedures that Dad had had, this one would be simple and would be performed in the 
After dinner, I asked Dad if he or Mom had checked his dressing since he had come home. Mom said that she hadn’t checked it, so we asked Dad to unbutton his shirt for us. The dressing was very bloody, and even Dad was concerned about the pool of blood that had collected. It was now after 7:00 P.M. on a Friday and holiday weekend. This was the second time that we had scheduled a simple procedure on a holiday weekend, which made me question our sanity.
After reviewing both photos, he said that he didn’t see anything emergent and suggested that we stop by the IR clinic on Saturday after dialysis. As much as Dad hates the Scott & White emergency department, he, Mom, and I decided that he should get rid of the oversaturated dressing before tomorrow afternoon. I texted the doctor and told him that we were going to the emergency room. While en route to the hospital, he texted me as asked for our ETA. When we stopped at a signal, I responded that we were less than five minutes from the hospital.
For all intents and purposes, this surgery marked the official end to Dad’s health care odyssey—a mere 420 days after he entered the hospital for elective heart surgery. He would still need to gain some weight and strength, but he was now driving, attending church, and getting around my parents’ acre lot with little to no assistance from his cane, and he used his walker only when he went to dialysis. He had beaten the incredible odds against him and was a walking miracle.
My husband suffers from 
And then the woman with the traveling laptop entered the room to resolve my bill. After handing her my insurance card, she told me that I had a very good insurance plan for emergency care. My bill had come to $6,000.00 (approximately $1,000/hour), but my out-of-pocket portion was only $2,000.00 (gag). She started to say that if I were to be admitted, there would be some other process, but stopped midsentence and said that I would be admitted. When I asked why, she said that the doctor would return soon and she would tell me. After all of these tests and the pending admittance to the hospital, I wondered what the heck was wrong with me. When the doctor returned, she said that she was admitting me because I had pneumonia. I had spent a lot of time with someone who had had pneumonia twice during the past year, and I was pretty certain that I didn’t have a single symptom that would warrant that diagnosis.
The good news was that they were going to give me a nice IV cocktail of concoctions that would make my headache go away. Although I was grateful to get rid of the pain, I was not convinced that it wouldn’t return after all of the good drugs wore off. When I asked her if she had any idea what caused the pain, all she said that she doubted my assertion that I didn’t get headaches, which was hugely annoying.
June 2. Fortunately, I had the prescriptions from the urgent care center, which we filled after breakfast. Because my pain had started in my head and extended down my back, the urgent care doctor had prescribed one medication to address the backache and another for the headache.
While Stan and Dad spent the day on outdoor activities, I kept running through my Pilates routines and noticed that my headache and back pain had diminished significantly.
Before Dad’s extensive hospitalization, my parents worked 
A dove had built a nest of sorts (Doves are inept at building nests.) on our front porch. Whenever I walked up the porch stairs, I would stop and check on the status of the (ugly) baby dove and its mother. Today when I got home, the mother dove was gone, and it looked like a dead baby bird was in the nest. I checked before going to bed, and the mother dove had returned. I assumed that I was wrong about the baby dove, but marvel at how still baby doves could lie. We had also had a dove nesting in a crepe myrtle tree in our backyard, but that nest now seemed to be empty. During the past couple of years, the porch had become a favorite nesting location for doves. Stan said that he didn’t like the messy doves nesting on the porch, but I enjoyed having this bird’s-eye view of spring.
Although I had planned to limit my time in Temple to long weekends, the upcoming holiday weekend and family reunion scheduled for the next weekend caused me to extend this trip to two weeks. Unfortunately for Dad, I would be commandeering his computer workspace during this time. After my father had been unable to get up while adjusting the irrigation in my parents’ vegetable garden, Stan suggested that we get them a 
May 30. Today was the observed holiday for Memorial Day, so I had the day off from work. Instead of sleeping in, I was rudely awakened at 3:00 A.M. by a thunderstorm. With the memory of last year’s 
Because Stan planned to take off from work next Friday and spend a long weekend with Dad while Mom and I attended a family reunion, he had stayed home this weekend. In addition to some chores that he had to attend to around our house, Peanut, our female cat, was experiencing some health problems that seemed serious, and she needed some attention.
Although the ground was a little soupy, the conditions were perfect for pulling out weeds, and I was prepared with my knee-high rain boots. Mom and I weeded the vegetable garden for about an hour and were pleased with our results. The sky had remained overcast, so we weren’t sweltering from heat.
The doctor recommended that Dad take medication to strengthen his bones. Because of his renal failure, the only drug that he could take was Prolia, which is administered as an injection every six months. I told the doctor that I had known some women who sounded like they were dying after taking similar drugs. She told me that today was just a consultation and that we should go home, research the drug, and then make a decision. She said that if we had any questions, we could call her.
Now that Dad seemed to be recovering nicely, he didn’t need my constant presence, which enabled me to spend more time at my home in Houston. I left my parents’ home at 12:30 P.M. and arrived at my home in Houston around 3:15 P.M. I logged on and worked until Stan got home from work at 5:00 P.M., armed with some barbecued ribs, one of my favorite meals.
While the house was being prepped for its beauty treatment, Mom drove Dad to his appointment with 
When preparing the house for the repair work, the contractors had us remove vases, knick-knacks, and any other objects that they might damage. After lunch, I helped Mom return everything to its rightful place—sort of. I couldn’t believe how difficult it was for us to remember where everything had been for five years. I questioned both my power of observation and my memory.
Mom and I went to church, leaving the guys at home to play cards and perhaps do some chores. On the way out of the church, Pastor Tom hugged me and told me to say hello to my father. I told him that I’d been eager for Dad to get to the point where I could take him out to dinner. I then asked Tom if he could recommend any good sushi restaurants. He looked at me for a couple of moments and then said that I was still welcome to attend church. Mom hadn’t heard what I asked him, but the people behind us did, and they laughed. Tom loved beef and comfort food, but anyone who knew him also knew that he detested salad, vegetables, and sushi.
May 4. Mom woke up in the middle of the night, bleeding from the spot on her forehead where the doctor had taken the biopsy. She was able to stop the bleeding and did what she could to bandage it.
I kept hoping for a couple of weeks in a row where nothing happened to either of my parents. I sometimes felt like we should have one of those signs like the ones posted in factories: 7 days without a medical incident. Today the counter was reset to zero.
I had to drive back to Houston this afternoon. I was already fighting to stay awake and decided to take a short nap during my lunch break, so I missed seeing the physical therapists when they arrived at 11:30 A.M. Dad was walking pretty well, but his recent back pain had affected his balance somewhat. Kathleen said that Brenda would focus more on his 
We had driven to the doctor’s office in two cars. After the appointment, I helped my parents into their car, drove to Starbucks for some coffee, and then started my drive to Houston at 3:19 P.M. The traffic was relatively light, but I was feeling drowsy when I reached Waller, approximately 40 miles from home. Fortunately, Waller had a 
April 15. Kristen, Dad’s swallow therapist, stopped by for her final session with Dad. Before she left, she said that Dad could start trying to swallow his pills. She encouraged him to start with very small pills and coat them in applesauce. Dad had been crushing the pills and mixing them with applesauce. Evidently, some of the pills tasted vile, so being able to swallow them would be a welcome change. Still, the thought of his swallowing pills made me nervous. I had been taking liquid vitamins for several years, and I suggested to Mom that we should ask Dr. Martin if Dad could swallow the pills with the liquid vitamins. When mixed with water, the liquid was a thickened liquid and quite slippery, which I thought might ease swallowing.
When the very nice officer handed me my driver’s license and warning, he advised me to watch my speed today. Because of several festivals in the area, there were many more patrol officers monitoring speeds than usual. As I eased back onto the highway, I noticed that I had stopped just a few yards shy of the posted 70 MPH sign. After setting my cruise control at 72 MPH, I arrived in Temple at 2:03 P.M.
After the church service, we mentioned to our friend Sue, who was also the nurse practitioner at the dialysis center, that Dad was still experiencing a lot of pain. She said that she would order x-rays for him. I also asked her about 
I spoke with Dana and then Julie at the 
A few days ago, Dad and I had created a recipe for ham loaf, and tonight we prepared it for dinner. Dad also wanted carrots for dinner, and I found an interesting recipe in Mom’s cookbook. My parents had had a good friend who used to serve us ham loaf every time we ate at her house. Mom had never prepared it, and Dad and I were anxious to see if we had created a dish that she would like. Dad and I liked it, but it was a bit high in sodium, which wasn’t good for Dad. We decided, and Mom agreed, that it would be a good use for leftover ham.
We played cards after dinner. Mom and Dad went to bed early so that they would be well rested for Dad’s fistula surgery tomorrow. When I went to the office to shut down my computer, I became distracted with work and didn’t get around to calling Stan until after 9:00 P.M. This time might not seem late, but whenever I deviated from my schedule—calling later or earlier—my husband was concerned that something was wrong. Living on pins and needles had become our new normal.
Dad wanted to prepare his family-favorite Locke’s Lasagna for dinner, but he was in so much pain that he could barely lift his arms. I told him that I would stop work at 4:00 P.M. and help him fix dinner. Mom and I both helped him, so preparing dinner turned into a family activity.
Dad was still in a lot of pain. After 8:00 A.M., I called Dr. Patil’s office and asked her nurse about 
Stan arrived from Houston and immediately started doing yard work. Before the day was over, he had mowed the back lawn. During the afternoon, I took a break and the four of us drove a mile away from home to a huge lot that was filled with wildflowers. The lot was a favorite of the locals for wildflower photos, and I wanted to have a photo of the four of us among the iconic symbols of springtime in Texas.
Although his back pain was slowing him, my parents left for dialysis on time, a few minutes after 6:00 A.M. Stan was still sleeping, so I decided to catch up on a little work. I had just sat down with a cup of coffee when the phone rang. I don’t like 7:00 A.M. phone calls, especially from my mother when she’s with Dad at the dialysis center. I was relieved when I learned that she was calling to tell me that she had left the garage light on when she left. As I turned off the light, I had to laugh to myself because I knew that Dad had noticed the light and had told her to call me.
After breakfast, Stan and I drove to the nearby town of Cameron to look for wildflowers. We didn’t find any in the place where I had seen them earlier, but we stumbled upon an old cemetery that had millions of flowers. I had intended to take some infrared photos on the way home, but clouds materialized and blocked the sun. Infrared film photography requires strong sun. It was a running joke that clouds would materialize whenever I pulled out my tripod.
When Mom came out of their bedroom, she told me that Dad wanted us to make an appointment with Dr. Patil to see if there was anything that she could offer him that would help him to manage his pain. Dad had also said that if she could not see him this week, we should try to get an appointment with someone else.
We watched the 
Mom left at noon today to attend her book club. While she was gone, Dad took a nap and then he and I walked out to the garden to water their young tomato plants. After tending to the garden, we walked around the backyard and checked out all of the fruit trees. The blossoms were starting to fall and you could see hints of the fruit that would take their place. Unless we got another freeze, the 
I had spent a lot of time during the day thinking about Dad’s upcoming 
Tonight was Stan’s regular poker game, so I spent the evening on the couch with my cats. When I was home in Houston, I spent most of my time running errands, doing laundry, and switching out my clothes to accommodate the changing seasons. I would have preferred some downtime with Stan, but the cats were good company, albeit not great conversationalists.
March 16. I worked from the Houston office again today. Back in Temple, Dad had an appointment with the Tube Clinic at the gastroenterologist’s office to have his PEG tube removed. I was eager to talk with Mom to hear how Dad had handled the procedure. However, when I spoke with her, she said that Dad did not have the 
I stayed in Houston for a couple more days. I didn’t get much information from Mom about Dad’s condition during my daily calls. When I spoke with her on Friday, March 18, she told me that she would give me more news about Dad’s appointment when I returned to Temple on Saturday. Unlike me, she didn’t come to the phone armed with copious notes about the day’s activities, so our in-person chats were usually more productive.
March 20. This morning got off to a good start. The weather was beautiful, and the Texas bluebonnets were in full bloom. The three of us slept well, enjoyed a great breakfast of eggs and homemade English muffins, and then we went to church.
In addition to our concerns about Dad’s abdominal pain, we had a list of questions for Dr. Patil. At the end of the exam, she said that she thought that Dad would benefit from some additional physical therapy and referred Dad to another month of 
I called the swallow therapy department at Scott & White Memorial Hospital. After Dad had partially aspirated thin liquids during his last MBSS, 
Tale of Two Parents 