My arrival in Edmonton, wounded and battered from my encounter with a vehicle, after a much delayed flight and long waits in airports, was quiet and peaceful and unremarkable. My mother waited for my arrival at 1 AM and we quickly went to sleep (I watched the last few episodes of Downton Abbey and fell asleep at 5 AM east coast time). My mother sleeps late, so I was up before she was, we had breakfast and coffee and visited my father at the hospital. He had been moved to the Geriatric Unit, where he was to be rehabbed for several weeks. He was relieved to have quiet and comfortable roommates so he was able to sleep and relax and adjust. He looked great, was in good spirits and had made remarkable progress since his admission.
I decided that my purpose was to care for my mother, who seemed lost and confused much of the time. I wanted her to see her doctor for an evaluation for the assisted living home and for her driver's license. With my broken wrist, I found an excuse to see her doctor and to get her an appointment to have her rash looked at. I was proud to have things move forward. Today we visited with OT and PT and both my parents lied convincingly about his pre fracture lifestyle. He has been unsteady on his feet for years, and does not use his walker in the home and has fallen many times before, but with clear eyed innocence told the therapists that he was walking without difficulty and managing well prior to his fall. When I tried to correct him, my mother interjected with a similar story. Her aim is to get him home as soon as possible, and I am not sure what his game is. I tried to interject with some veracity, but was drowned out and did not want to be disrespectful.
Later, we learned that my father is 'colonized' with MRSA and will be in isolation for now. I imagine he contracted it from his neighbour on the medicine floor, who had an open wound and required his visitors to gown and glove. It looks as if the whole unit is on lockdown, with no more dining hall eating and restriction of movement for my father. It is all so depressing, especially since only yesterday his doctor was effusively delighted with his prognosis. My father may well die of this super resistant staph infection, and my mother and I have been intimately exposed.
I brought my mother home, washed all clothes and sheets and towels we had used in the prior two days, returned to give my father some encouragement and reassurance, and came home to the roof leaking in two places and the realization that I never did get an answer about my wrist, which I believe is broken or perhaps just bruised but intolerably painful and swollen and blue. I cannot afford medical care here and hope that does not mean I am causing more damage without having appropriate care.
My visit started so positively and with much hope, and has descended rapidly to despair and fear. Tomorrow may bring more drama. I am taking my mother to her doctor for a list of concerns, including her rash, now MRSA, a paper to be signed for assisted living which she will refuse to comply with, and her driving evaluation which I hope she does not pass. It is all so much more complicated than I feared and more and more serious.
I decided that my purpose was to care for my mother, who seemed lost and confused much of the time. I wanted her to see her doctor for an evaluation for the assisted living home and for her driver's license. With my broken wrist, I found an excuse to see her doctor and to get her an appointment to have her rash looked at. I was proud to have things move forward. Today we visited with OT and PT and both my parents lied convincingly about his pre fracture lifestyle. He has been unsteady on his feet for years, and does not use his walker in the home and has fallen many times before, but with clear eyed innocence told the therapists that he was walking without difficulty and managing well prior to his fall. When I tried to correct him, my mother interjected with a similar story. Her aim is to get him home as soon as possible, and I am not sure what his game is. I tried to interject with some veracity, but was drowned out and did not want to be disrespectful.
Later, we learned that my father is 'colonized' with MRSA and will be in isolation for now. I imagine he contracted it from his neighbour on the medicine floor, who had an open wound and required his visitors to gown and glove. It looks as if the whole unit is on lockdown, with no more dining hall eating and restriction of movement for my father. It is all so depressing, especially since only yesterday his doctor was effusively delighted with his prognosis. My father may well die of this super resistant staph infection, and my mother and I have been intimately exposed.
I brought my mother home, washed all clothes and sheets and towels we had used in the prior two days, returned to give my father some encouragement and reassurance, and came home to the roof leaking in two places and the realization that I never did get an answer about my wrist, which I believe is broken or perhaps just bruised but intolerably painful and swollen and blue. I cannot afford medical care here and hope that does not mean I am causing more damage without having appropriate care.
My visit started so positively and with much hope, and has descended rapidly to despair and fear. Tomorrow may bring more drama. I am taking my mother to her doctor for a list of concerns, including her rash, now MRSA, a paper to be signed for assisted living which she will refuse to comply with, and her driving evaluation which I hope she does not pass. It is all so much more complicated than I feared and more and more serious.
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