a terrible, horrible, no good, very bad day
by Bella Rum
We’re at Dad’s. His caregiver called yesterday morning. He was in extreme pain and the Vicodin wasn’t touching it. He was screaming. It was horrible. I asked her to call 911 from Dad’s phone. My brother was in a meeting an hour away, and I was over an hour away. She went to the hospital with Dad. She said he was calling for H.
I don’t know how, but my brother managed to get to the hospital before Dad. I’m sure he broke a few rules. The hospital doctor got the pain under control. That’s my opinion, but Dad would probably disagree. He continued to have some pain, but it wasn’t as frequent or severe. We wanted them to keep him overnight, but the doctor thought home would be a safer place for him. There are so many nasty bugs in hospitals, and it would most likely disturb his biorhythums and cause confusion. We all understood, but we were concerned about the pain returning in force.
We’re loaded up on pain meds now. We have narcotics to “break through” the pain and nausea meds for the side effects of the narcs, 72-hour patches for continuous relief and neurontin for nerve pain. You could say we’re afloat in pain meds. Through the haze of pain and narcotics, he asked me if I could find the Yankees on television for him.
The narcotics confuse him but they also make him sleep. It’s a trade off. H got the shingles vaccine at Walgreens on Monday, and I told my brother that he had to get it, too. He’s getting it this week. If you ever see how horrible this is, you’ll run to the nearest location and get the vaccine. One of Dad’s caregivers is a nurse. She said it was the worst case she’d ever seen. The doctor said it was so bad because of his advanced age.
So, we’re hunkered down here until there is some improvement.