Bedside Company

Star marks the spot where Dad is now. I hope we can take him out in a wheelchair sometime soon, because Van Dyk Manor is right near the Montclair Art Museum.

Tonight I took Sug to visit Dad at Van Dyk. We were there from 7:30 P.M. til about 9:15 P.M. While I like knowing that H. and Figgy see him, too, I often go by myself, so that I can really focus on listening and being there for him.

Sug promptly took her spot on the bed, curled up against Dad's leg. She adores him. She's really digging in, Dad said, pleased, as she snuggled tightly against him. And when I brought him a Styrofoam cup of ice water, she leapt to her little feet. After he had his drink, she drank out of the same white cup, without leaving the bed.

Rocky Road, and I Don't Mean Ice Cream
But as I've said often lately, it's an ugly road. My family doesn't see any other alternative. Sunrise Senior Living in Bergen County was really elegant, and Dad liked it well enough. But just as he was about to move into the Assisted Living side, he took a turn for the worse and had to be hospitalized for six weeks and really has not been able to stand and/or walk alone since, not even with his walker.

I feel guilty about leaving him in a nursing home, I really do. But none of us has the space at home. Sis lives with Don in a condo that has two big flights of stairs to get to the bathroom (and Don is an older man, too), and Will and Kelly share a very small apartment in NYC. Our house has been under construction since the tree fell on it March 13, but anyway, it is quite small.

Still, back when Dad was in Englewood Hospital, before moving to Van Dyk, I did ask his doctor to come out into the hall so I could ask her about it.

Our house is small, I said. And we're not living in it now, because a tree fell on it. But I just want to know, what would be involved if we did want my Dad to live with us? I know we would need an extra bedroom.

You wouldn't just need an extra bedroom, she said. You would need a whole addition, with two bedrooms, one for your father and one for a 24-hour caregiver. And a hospital bed, and maybe a ramp. No, he needs a rehab facility with nursing care.


And so he moved to Van Dyk for rehab.


Big Picture
I try to visualize it, about how it would be to have Dad right under our roof, but I really don't get very far. Maybe I could bring him some of what we had for dinner every night, assuming we did make dinner--maybe some fish or pasta or soup. Figgy could see him, and Punch when she visits, too. And of course, the fluffy white Sugar Bear.

The bad thing would be that he is still in Depends, and can't get out of bed by himself, and so far can't go anywhere, because he can't sit in a wheelchair and be wheeled to a car. And it would feel really weird to know he was right in my house while I tried to work and live, especially since H. and I both work at home in our separate offices.

So in some ways I feel Van Dyk is okay. But it really isn't, is it?

Clouds in My Coffee
Tonight, he was confused [again] about being stuck there, having missed the bus that took others away and left without him. Two other residents, B. [a man] and E. [a woman] were talking along that same party line Friday night when I visited. Tonight, Dad was asking me to put his khaki pants on [which one person really can't do, because he must be rolled and lifted], even though it was bedtime. Insisting that the phone didn't work, although Sis said he called her earlier today.

But as always, the longer I stay, the better it is. Same when Sis and Will go, I'm sure. We talked things through, talked things over. His memory and presence of mind are sharp and astute except about the fact that he is somewhere he does not want to be and thinks he can just get up and leave. He is right on target about all of his relatives, and his tax return, and his bills.

We each had a snack-size ice cream bar, and talked about Will, and Figgy. He asked about  H.'s brothers up in Maine, and my work, and the house repair. As always, even though he is stuck in bed and wearing Depends and has a feeding tube peg, my Dad was there for me. To reassure me that everything would turn out okay with the house. To be glad that I am busy with work and sympathetic when I said I had to work on a deadline today. That's what happens, he said calmly. You gotta expect that. And suddenly, after feeling rotten about  having spent hours working today, I felt okay about it. That's what happens. You gotta expect that.

I can't possibly repay my Dad for all he has done for me, the time he has given, the support he has shown. But I can give back my unconditional love--I don't even have to try, it just comes naturally.

Yet there he lies in room 111 and I just zip in and out between work, boot camp, chauffeuring Figgy, buying groceries and watching Mad Men.

A lady called out to me from her room as I was leaving. Hello? Hello? God help me, please, I'm begging you. 

There Dad lies, and it ain't pretty.