September 2, 2018. Sunday mornings at the hospital are usually pretty quiet, especially in the parking lot. On Sunday, I can get a decent parking space, unlike most other days. However, today while I was walking from my car to the hospital, the usual quiet was disrupted by a hospital employee who was chasing and calling after a resident “runner.” During the day, you periodically hear announcements about missing patients who wander away from their rooms, but rarely have the patients left the premises. I tried to imagine the backstory to this event that broke the monotony of the walk into the hospital.
I arrived at Dad’s room at 7:45 A.M. His breakfast tray had arrived and was on his bedside table. He was still sleeping, but I was able to wake him easily. He finished about half of his breakfast before the physical therapist arrived. I never knew if we could expect to see a physical therapist on the weekend and I was pleased that Dad was being seen by a therapist during the holiday weekend. The session got off to a rocky start when the therapist accidentally dumped the contents of Dad’s urine bag on the floor. While she and the nurse cleaned the floor, which took a little over five minutes, Dad was able to sit without assistance on the side of the bed. The therapist was hesitant to have Dad stand up because his blood pressure was a bit low, but eventually, she decided to let him try. After standing, she retook his blood pressure, and it had elevated into the normal range. Because an aide didn’t assist her today, the therapist did not have Dad walk. Instead, she had him sit and stand a couple of times and then do some leg exercises on the bed.
After therapy, Dad was alert enough to swallow his morning pills of Midodrine and aspirin with juice.
This morning, Dad was fixated on dreams from last night about his father’s surgery and “what they’re doing to him at this place.” It was a confusing conversation because his father had died of a pulmonary embolism in 1957. I was able to get him to drink a couple of cups of coffee, hoping that it might help him clear his head and to stay awake.
Unfortunately, the effect of the coffee was short-lived, and Dad fell asleep moments before Stan and Mom arrived. Although he was awake when Dr. Hunt, the attending physician, arrived, he was very groggy. When the doctor questioned Dad about why he was in the hospital, he said that he was in Temple because of a broken leg, which was closer to reality than his answers yesterday.
I, not to mention his night nurse, was concerned that Dad’s biological clock seemed reversed. From what I had heard from the nurses, he was awake most of the night and then slept during the day. When I asked the doctor about what we could do to switch Dad’s inner clock, he said that he would check with neurology. I told the doctor that at home, Dad often took ½ of a Simply Sleep pill (which was ¼ of the recommended dosage), so they should exercise some caution when prescribing sleeping medication. The doctor said that he would check the ingredients in these pills and note on Dad’s chart that they should start Dad on low dosages of any sleeping medication.
Mom and I left for church at 10:20 A.M. After church, Stan told me that Dad had been awake about 75% of the time that we were gone, but that he was still a little confused.
Nephrologists base many of their healthcare decisions on the amount of liquid gold (urine) collected during a 24-hour period. When the nephrologists arrived for their morning rounds, Stan told them about the physical therapist’s mishap with the urine bag. However, they weren’t concerned and said that after taking diuretics yesterday, Dad had voided a liter of urine, so they would not dialize today. Instead, they would check his lab results tomorrow before dialysis to see if his kidneys were removing the toxins and electrolytes in his blood. Because Mom and Dad didn’t like the Scott & White dialysis center, we would need to arrange for Dad to receive dialysis at another location—one that wasn’t conveniently located near their home. This refusal to use the local dialysis center was an inconvenience that they would regret and that I wished that we could avoid. In any event, the nephrology team planned to get Dad started on a Monday-Wednesday-Friday schedule that would continue following his discharge from the hospital.
Following our lunch at home, Stan, Mom, and I returned to the hospital at 2:30 P.M. Dad was sound asleep, but I was able to rouse him for about two seconds. I had been looking forward to this weekend so that Dad and Stan would have time to visit. Dad’s inability to stay awake was torpedoing my plans, and I hoped that the doctor would prescribe something for Dad that would enable him to sleep tonight. Tomorrow was Labor Day, and I wanted the guys to have time to visit and perhaps play cribbage.
At 3:00 P.M., Kayla, Dad’s nurse, set up the creatinine test that had been ordered by the nephrologist. Before she was finished, Maryline, Dad’s aide, entered the room and said that she was going to bathe him. I told her that his toothbrush was in his travel shave kit that was in his closet, so she said that she would also brush his teeth. While Mom and I waited in the 6 North waiting room, Stan drove to Starbucks to get us some coffee. Kayla came and got us at 3:45 P.M. When I went back to Dad’s room, I noticed that his teeth looked shiny and clean.
He slept for most of the afternoon but woke up for dinner, although he was still very confused. He kept saying that something was different. We couldn’t figure out what he was talking about and what was different. I wished that he could have given us some clue as to what he was talking about. After he finished eating, Mom, Stan, and I returned home. I said a quick prayer that Dad would get a good night’s sleep. He seemed to be progressing well, but I wanted him to be more awake during the day.
I was glad when Dr. Blake Tanner, the nephrology resident, entered the room, thinking that Dad might turn his attention to another subject. However, I was a bit disturbed when he could not answer the doctor’s questions about where he was or the year, which were daily questions to ascertain mentation. Dr. Tanner said that they would hold off on dialysis and diuretics today to see how Dad’s kidneys functioned. In one of the days where they gave him diuretics, Dad voided 300 ml of urine; on a day without diuretics, he voided 350 ml, so they wanted to see how his kidneys functioned today. Depending on today’s results, they might dialyze him tomorrow. The doctor checked for swelling in Dad’s legs, but they still seemed to be fine. He said that they were waiting on the results of the morning labs, but he didn’t think that they would see anything that would alter their plan. They hoped that the Midrodine would elevate Dad’s blood pressure enough to get the kidneys to produce more urine.
After waiting for 35 minutes, Storie and Miguel, the nurse and aide (CNA) entered Dad’s room. When I asked about the location of the bed, Storie told me that they had been told that they could not move the bed back to the center of the room because Dad was a fall risk and an escape artist. While they were changing Dad’s gown and adjusting his position in the bed so that I could raise the head of the bed, I ran downstairs for a cup of coffee. When I returned, I heated up Dad’s breakfast and started to feed him, but he fell asleep before we had made much progress. He still needed to take his morning meds, which was an ordeal when he was half asleep. Fortunately, he still had some Cream of Wheat in his bowl, and Storie was able to crush his pills and mix them in the warm cereal. He made a face as he took the nasty concoction, but at least we were successful in getting the pills in him without him choking on a liquid while trying to swallow the pills. By 9:10 A.M., Dad was sound asleep.
At 11:45 A.M., Miguel took Dad’s blood sugar and it was 42 (normal is 100), which prompted him to call the nurse. Storie entered the room with Shelly, another CNA, and had him drink a couple swallows of orange juice. Shelly then had the nearly impossible task of getting Dad to consume a tube of a substance similar to Karo syrup. He hated the taste of it and she practically forced it into his mouth.
At 3:15 P.M., the nurse pulled out Dad’s central line on the left side of his neck, which had been replaced by the tunneled line 
When Mom woke up at 6:00 A.M., she said that she was exhausted and that she was frustrated that she didn’t have time to do anything around the house. Last night, Stan and I had talked about trying to get Mom to stay at home and rest, so I took this opportunity to suggest that she stay at home this morning, and I would bring her with me to the hospital after lunch. She gratefully accepted my offer.
Dr. Tanner, one of the 
At 11:00 A.M., Katherine, the 
Amber and Shelby were able to get Dad to sit on the side of the bed. While he sat on the side of the bed, Katherine exercised his arms and checked his toes and legs. Katherine and Amber then worked together to get Dad to stand up, with me cheering him on from across the room. By 11:20 A.M., Dad was exhausted and ready to lie down.
So far, I’d seen everyone today that I wanted to see, with one exception: I had not seen Dr. Hunt. However, it was now 11:40 A.M., and I needed to get home for lunch. After a quick lunch, Mom and I returned to Dad’s room at 12:50 P.M. When I reached out to touch his right arm, I noticed that his gown was damp on his right shoulder. When I mentioned the damp gown to Aspen, she said that while I was gone, they tried to give him a pill and some water had spilled on his gown. I don’t know if I could swallow a pill while slumped down in bed, especially if I was in a groggy and confused state. I didn’t question her more, but I assumed that he was able to swallow the pill.
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.
Moments after the anesthesiologist left, 
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.
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.
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.
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.
When I spoke to Mom on the following day, she told me that Dad had had a good day in physical therapy and that they both liked the new therapist.
When we arrived, I told Dad that I had taken care of tomorrow night’s dinner. He then told me that he had already planned Mom’s dinner, which surprised me. For many years, we had had an understanding that Mother’s Day dinner was my responsibility, although we often discussed the menu and the logistics of the meal. Now that he was confined to a wheelchair, I had assumed that he would not be able to share in the dinner preparation. Because I wanted to grill the steaks, a task better done in the evening, we agreed to have the steaks for dinner on Saturday and the dinner that he had planned on Sunday for the midday meal.
May 14—17. Dad attended physical therapy today and would do so again on Thursday, three days later. He didn’t get out of his wheelchair on the days between his sessions; however, he felt especially positive after his Thursday session and said that he was getting ready to get rid of the wheelchair. I was hopeful that he had changed his attitude about exercising between sessions and that he was becoming inspired to get better.
May 24. I suspected that Dad didn’t have the greatest physical therapy session today. According to Mom, Steve, the physical therapist, lectured Dad about the need to exercise between his physical therapy sessions. I hoped that Dad would listen more to Steve than he did to me. Dad had been out of the rehab center and had been attending outpatient physical therapy since mid-April and I could not see much of an improvement in his mobility. If anything, it seemed to be getting worse.
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.
Tale of Two Parents 