It’s been awhile since I’ve posted anything.  It’s partly because I don’t really have anything good to write about.

These past few years, the long, dark days of winter have dampened my mood.  I’ve also gotten way out of shape.  When I’m stressed, I tend to eat more.  When I’m at my dad’s place, I snack like crazy.  It doesn’t help that my sister leaves a lot of junk food around.  Dinners there are usually take out food.  No one really has time to cook.  I downloaded a fitness app only to find out how far out of shape I’m in.  I don’t sleep enough.  I know I’ll pay dearly for this.

My dad’s health is declining rapidly.  We used to celebrate minor victories.  He ate well.  He slept well.  He had a bowel movement.  There wasn’t any pain.  It’s hard to find those minor victories now.  I stayed over the other night.  I told my sister to go to bed and she did around 1 AM.  My dad called out frequently when he is asleep – not deep sleep.  I had to keep checking to see if he was really calling out or just talking in his sleep.  He did wake up a couple of times and I gave him some water.  I would hold his hands to give him some assurance and told him to rest and go back to sleep.  I think the hardest part is watching him grimacing in pain when he is being changed.  I finally got to nap for an hour around 4.  My sister woke up a few times to check.  She eventually got up around 5.  It’s like this for her every night.  I left the house just as the rush hour started.  When I got home, I fueled myself with caffeine to get me through the day.   My brother came over later that day with food.

Is this heroic? No.  I’m just doing my bit to help.  I have no idea how previous generations handled all of this.  How do the people living around the poverty line manage with elder care and dementia?

Writing is one of the few things that keep me sane.  I wish I had more time for this.

Dementia has got to be one of the most cruel diseases around.  It’s reduced my dad from a very intelligent & articulate man to one that lashes out (verbally and physically), cries and hard to manage.  It escalates at night turning bedtime into a nightmarish situation.  I don’t understand his mind.  He seems fine during the day and during the night – this other person comes out.   My sister bears the brunt of this.  I’m able to go home and wallow in guilt.

My dad is still in the hospital.  He is out of imminent danger thanks to a transfusion and a lot of medication.  But this experience is taking a toll on him physically and mentally. He gets confused very easily in this different environment.  He still can’t walk yet and it’ll be awhile before he can even go home.  The memory losses he goes through scares me.  He also gets depressed at the physical state he is in and being so helpless.  He depends on everyone for his well being.  If he needs to be changed, he has to wait until a nurse or attendant is available.  They moved him yesterday to another wing.  There are more people here that are “confused” and bed ridden.  It is a depressing place and I pull the curtains around dad’s bed so he doesn’t see everyone in his ward.

When I go home after spending a day at the hospital, I shower immediately. While the hot, soapy water washes away any germs, it doesn’t wash away my guilt, insecurity and fear.  At the hospital, I am the patient and filial son.  We hold his hands and assure him when he cries.  He has these huge fears of abandonment.  He worries incessantly about the financial burden and the toll it has taken on us.  We tell him we will still be there.  We also tell him that we’re trying to get personal care attendants too.  But I’m also the angry son who snaps back at my dad when he doesn’t eat.  I have become cold and emotionless.  It’s what I have to do to survive another day. 

I’ll soon leave for the hospital for my shift.  My siblings and I still provide round the clock coverage.  I caught myself thinking that I’ll get some sleep when this is over.  But that triggered another wave of guilt and sadness.